Running Away, a fic by Hambel. (Green Cortina)
Author: Hambel
Title: Running Away
Rating: Green Cortina
Words: 671
Spoilers: S1 Ep1, S1 Ep8
Summary: Questions answered, a missing part of a scene.
Disclaimer: No-one belongs to me. I have borrowed them from the BBC and Kudos and won’t give them back until Series 3 is commissioned. I am making no money from this whatsoever, just enjoying the freedom of t’internet.
A/N: Comments make me happy :D
Running Away
Vic Tyler was having a bad day. His Cavalier had developed more rattles than a baby’s toy box and the front tyre was decidedly dodgy, tread-wise. He was still wanted by the Met, to answer questions about the murder of a porn baron, so he’d come up to Manchester to collect some money that was owed to him, and then he’d be able to disappear somewhere else and start again.
He’d taken the Cavalier as part of the deal. Sanders didn’t have all the cash and Vic didn’t have time to prat about. He’d only got to the end of the road before he realised why Sanders was so keen to get shot of the car. Still, he carried on, knowing that he‘d be rid of it before the week was up. He certainly wasn’t leaving a trail for anyone to follow. It wasn’t just the police who were after him.
So, there he was, driving a car that was registered to someone in Norwich, uninsured and with a stolen tax disc on display, when his mobile rang. He glanced down at it, then back to the road, but it was long enough for the car to veer towards the kerb. He straightened the wheel but over-compensated and found himself heading for a stationary jeep. Yanking the wheel back, he saw a man’s face briefly, and then heard a sickening thump as he went over the top of the car. Vic hit the brakes - a bit spongy, but they did the trick - and looked into his rear view mirror to see the body fall to the ground.
Oh shit. That’s all I need, he thought, looking round. It was still quiet, the only noise coming from the cars on the road above. He grabbed his bag and left the car at a trot, thinking maybe he could turn this to his advantage. The jeep was much newer than the car he was driving, and would get him all the way to Glasgow without overheating or running the risk of being pulled over by the pigs.
He paused to look at the man lying on the ground. Nice suit, might have a bit of cash or a few credit cards on him. He dropped beside the man who looked vaguely familiar. The eyes flickered open, then shut. Still alive then, Vic thought without emotion. He rifled through pockets until he found a wallet and opened it up.
Thirty quid, a Gold credit card, a debit card, police warrant card. It didn’t bother him that the man was a policeman, apart from the fact that they tended to hunt a bit harder when one of their own got hurt. Out of curiosity he looked at the name on it, while taking out the cash and cards.
DCI Sam Tyler.
Sam Tyler? Hold up. He did a quick reckoning up - his Sammy would be about, what, 36, 37 now? Was this him? He certainly looked the right age. Sammy’d always gone on about being a policeman - Vic couldn’t shut him up about it. Don’t say he’d actually gone ahead and become one? That would’ve been Ruth’s influence. She always was a sanctimonious bitch. I bet she cried when he put his uniform on the first time, he thought, with a sneer.
Straightening up, he took a well-aimed kick at the prone form lying on the ground, before legging it to the jeep. Turning the key, he squared his shoulders and drove his way up the ramp to the Mancunian Way, with the sound of sirens in the distance. The last time my luck was this good, was when that idiot Inspector let me go free after I pulled a gun on him, he thought, smiling to himself. That was over thirty years ago. It had all gone downhill from then on. Maybe it’s finally changing for the better.
If he had known what he’d started with the man lying on the ground below him, he would have been kicking himself, not his son.