Opening Scene: Is This Clear?

[bashfullyshameless]

So I'm poking at something for my next piece/series. I wanted to kick off one of the character intros with a bit of a bang. I am concerned, though, that the action here is confusing or fuzzy.

Anyone wanna take a look? Offer some criticism? Suggestions?

Thanks!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



“Please don’t make me shoot you. Please don’t make me shoot you. Please oh please, motherfucker, just don’t do it…just don’t…”

Standing behind the driver’s side door of their patrol car, Officer Tyrone Jackson was oblivious to the way his partner behind the passenger door muttered under his breath. Both men already had their guns drawn. “Turn off the car and keep your hands visible!” ordered Tyrone over the patrol car’s loudspeaker.

The Bronco in front of them was boxed in. The driver had turned into an alleyway only to be blocked by a freight truck still parked up against a loading dock. Tyrone had pulled the patrol car up behind him. The guys at the dock moved for cover as soon as they saw how serious the cops were about the sudden alleyway stop.

Rain was still coming down in a drizzle. The sun was going down. Rush hour had just started; all of downtown Seattle’s streets behind and beyond the scene were already getting busy with people just getting out of their offices. There were sirens in the distance, but it was anyone’s guess if that was their back-up or just for another call.

Both uniformed officers waited. The engine on the Bronco didn’t turn off. Instead, the reverse lights came on.

“Shit,” the partners both grunted. With that, there was a squeal of tire wheels, and both men flung themselves away from their car as the Bronco rushed backward into their patrol car. Kyle was up against the nearby wall just in time for the patrol car to be batted backward and aside as the Bronco pushed through the alleyway.

There were gunshots then. The Bronco’s driver had both hands on the wheel, but the passenger next to him had nothing better to do. He opened up with his handgun, firing wildly at the cop up against the wall closest to him while screaming something.

Kyle didn’t think twice. He rushed forward, straight at the vehicle that was now backing out into the street behind them, firing the Glock in his hand. He put two or three bullets directly through the windshield into the passenger and kept moving, swiftly sidestepping his own vehicle as he rushed at the Bronco.

It came out into the street, turning out of the alleyway to slam its already damaged rear end violently into an oncoming car. Kyle didn’t stop. He had his left hand on the hood of the Bronco for just a moment while firing the gun in his right hand. Even at such a close range, there was plenty that could cause a man to miss.

He didn’t.

The Bronco was still in reverse, but the driver no longer had his foot down on the accelerator. He was slumped over to one side in a bloody mess. The engine was still running, though. Cars around the vehicle ground to a halt while the intelligent pedestrians screamed and ran and the less thoughtful onlookers simply watched.

“Kyle!” Tyrone shouted, rushing out of the alleyway. He was only a couple of heartbeats slower, no more than that. His leap from the side of the patrol car had taken him off of his feet. “Kyle, you alright?”

Kyle tried the passenger side door. It was locked, but the window had been opened so the passenger could shoot at him just a moment ago. Kyle reached inside to get the door open, then hopped in over the bloody, expired occupants to throw the Bronco into park. He lingered just long enough to pull the keys out of the ignition.

Neither occupant moved, nor would they again. That much was painfully obvious.

Kyle slipped out to find his partner waiting for him. The sirens were getting closer.

“Hey, man,” Tyrone said calmly, “you alright?”

“I’m okay,” Kyle nodded. He holstered his weapon and stepped back from the vehicle. 3rd Street was already a mess of honking horns and shocked witnesses. Tyrone paused to clap his hand on Kyle’s shoulder, looking his partner in the eyes to make sure Kyle was still there with the rest of the world. A moment later, Tyrone turned to take control of the immediate scene.

Kyle looked up to the sky. The drizzle had picked up into actual rain. Not for the first time, his blue Seattle Police uniform -- itself barely two years old -- was covered in blood.

He turned twenty-nine that day.

 

[CWatson]

I think it works just fine. The one thing I don't think you need to do is mention so many hands. He's not going to be firing with his foot.

The two things I'd question are in the timing:
1) So the passenger opens up while the car is passing by in reverse. How close to Kyle is he, exactly?--what's the width of this alleyway, and is the Bronco's wing mirror brushing Kyle's chest or Tyrone's? And, at that range, why is the passenger missing? That's something you, I think, need to justify in the text.

2) When Kyle returns fire, why is he shooting through the windshield? Shouldn't he still be able to get in through the open passenger-side window? Or did the car retreat that far down the alleyway before he fired? If so, why? I'm not a police officer by any means, but my understanding is that they're trained to shoot even before the criminal opens fire: if it looks like he's planning on violence, they'll drop him.

Other than that, I don't see a lot of problems with this. But then I'm a romance novelist. Who knows what I pick up on.

 

[PacoFear]

Bashful,

I liked this scene. It embodies the whole show-don't-tell thing we're all struggling for. I made some suggested tweaks, below. Okay too many tweaks, sorry.

I agree with CW, this read like you had a bit of a preoccupation with hands. I'll share something funny someone here said to me: "hands are the penises of action scenes." The same way you resist the urge to tell a reader exactly what your hero's cock is doing for every moment in a sex scene, you need to fend of the desire to go into painstaking detail about what his left pinky is doing while he's beating up your villain.

I was struck more by the oddness of the physics/dimensions of the alleyway. I don't picture your average alley as having enough space for a Bronco to knock a patrol car aside and then drive off. I tried to cook something up.

Other suggestions were for word choice, flow, adverb-shedding, etc.

Again, nifty scene. Looking forward to seeing this posted. Could you maybe not write this one so well? You're crowding out my story on the darn top list. Rat bastard.

-Paco

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


“Please don’t make me shoot you. Please don’t make me shoot you. Please oh please, motherfucker, just don’t do it…just don’t…”

Standing behind the driver’s side door of their patrol car, Officer Tyrone Jackson was oblivious to the way his partner behind the passenger door muttered under his breath. Both men already had their guns drawn. “Turn off the car and keep your hands visible!” ordered Tyrone over the patrol car’s loudspeaker.

The Bronco in front of them was boxed in. Its driver had turned into an vacant alleyway only to be blocked by a freight truck [still] parked up against a loading dock. Tyrone had pulled their patrol car up behind him. With less than six feet on either side, there would be nowhere to go.

His hands occupied with his gun and the car's microphone, Tyrone watched with envy as his younger partner, Kyle, blindly searched for, then pulled on, his hat against the perpetual drizzle. Rush hour had just started; all of downtown Seattle’s streets behind and beyond the scene were thickening with people just getting out of their offices. There were sirens in the distance, but it was anyone’s guess if that was their back-up or [just for another] some other call.

Both uniformed officers waited. The engine on the Bronco didn’t turn off. Instead, the reverse lights blinked on.

“Shit,” the partners both grunted over the squeal of tire wheels. [With that, there was a squeal of tire wheels, and] Both men flung themselves [away from their car] to the alley walls as the Bronco rushed backward. [into their patrol car.] Kyle pressed himself against the grimy brick just in time. The Bronco struck the patrol car off-angle with a shrieking thud and would have spun the aging Caprice were it not for the alley walls on either side. Instead, the car wedged itself against both walls, smearing blue paint on grey brick in what looked like a noble, last ditch effort at protecting the public welfare.

Noble but for naught. The Bronco's extra height won out. Its rear tires found purchase on the patrol car's front bumper and, incredibly, the truck's back-end picked up. Both policement were forced to look away as the Bronco rolled up onto their car's hood and across a portion of its windshield. There was a muffled pop and safety glass sprayed everywhere.

As if the glass wasn't enough, gunshots rang out too. The Bronco’s driver was busy driving, but the passenger next to him had nothing better to do. He opened up with his handgun, firing wildly at Tyrone against the wall closest to him while screaming something just as the Bronco cleared the police car and began to accelerate down the alley.

Training, instinct, rage, whatever, Kyle didn’t think twice. He rushed forward, straight towards the receding Bronco , firing his Glock in precise, three round groups. He put [two or] three bullets directly through the windshield into the armedpassenger and kept moving, [swiftly sidestepping his own vehicle] his feet crunching on broken windshield glass as he [rushed at] barrelled towards the Bronco.

The fight spilled out onto the street when the Bronco swerved out of the alleyway and rammed its already damaged rear end [violently] into an oncoming car.

Kyle didn’t stop. The heel of his left hand kissed the hood of the Bronco for the heartbeat it took him to fire his final three-round group.] Even at such [a] close range, there was plenty that could cause a man to miss.

He didn’t.

The Bronco was still in reverse, but the driver no longer had his foot down on the accelerator. He was slumped over to one side in a bloody mess. The engine idled. Cars around the vehicle ground to a halt while [the intelligent] pedestrians, huddled on the sidewalk, watched with open mouths.

“Kyle!” Tyrone shouted, rushing out of the alleyway. [He was only a couple of heartbeats slower, no more than that.] He'd had to scramble over the rear end of the patrol car. “Kyle, you alright?”

Kyle tried the passenger side door. It was locked, but the window was down. Kyle reached inside to get the door open, then hopped in over the bloody, expired occupants to throw the Bronco into park. He lingered just long enough to pull the keys out of the ignition.

Neither occupant moved, nor would they again. That much was painfully obvious.

Kyle slipped out to find his partner waiting for him. The sirens were getting closer.

“Hey, man,” Tyrone repeated calmly, “you alright?”

“I’m okay.” Kyle nodded. He [holstered his weapon] and stepped back from the vehicle. Third Street was already a mess of honking horns and shocked witnesses.

Tyrone paused to clap his hand on Kyle’s shoulder and searched his partner's face for a long moment. "That was some serious Wyett Earp shit you just threw down. I don't know how you do it. But, Kyle? Son? You can holster your gun now." With a last lingering look, he turned to take control of the immediate scene.

Kyle stowed his Gloc and turned his face up to the sky. The drizzle had picked up into a full rain. Not for the first time, his blue Seattle Police uniform -- itself barely two years old -- was covered in blood.

He turned twenty-nine that day.

 

[bashfullyshameless]

Thanks!

These were just the sorts of comments I was hoping for. Thank you.

Additionally -- Paco, thanks much for the edits/suggestions. I'm trying to keep this sequence brief (details like "Why are these dudes so crazy?" will be explained later), but you really fleshed things out. I may well use a bunch of what you have added. Thanks!

(And as far as the voting thing goes -- nobody's more shocked than I am! I still don't see how my votes tallies outweigh yours when you've got so *many* votes.)

 

[PacoFear]

Thanks, Bashful. It's easy to lob suggestions in from the safety of the peanut gallery. Keep of the good work.

-Paco