The Real Thief: The Afterward

“Did you get the money yet, James?” BQ barked out of the radio.

“Not yet, BQ, we are on our way to the place where it is.” James mentioned, as he reloaded his revolver.

He stood with Brandon on top of the hill, looking out into the distance. A moment from a few days ago flashed back for him. The cries. Bertha fainting, realizing that he was not Walter. James scratched his head, as he heard the fading noises of the police sirens from the road across from where they were standing. They were coming.

“Quick, Brandon, wake up,” James whispered, moving Brandon to-and-fro, “the cops are coming!”

They quickly dissembled their tent, and they sprinted into the woods.

“Where is the money? Tell me the location!” James yelled, as he puffed like a worn out tire.

“It is there!” Brandon replied pointing at an old warehouse in front of the endless forest.

Soon, the two of them heard loud voices and footsteps, along with dogs barking not too far behind. They raced as quick as they could, and finally, reached the end of the forest.

“We’re here!” Brandon gasped, almost out of breath, as he knelt down, and touched his kneecaps.

They entered the building, as for they could not hear the voices of the policemen anymore. Just then, they heard a rustling the corners, and suddenly, two FBI agents appeared into view a few feet in front of where they were standing. Soon, a few others came from all the other sides. James and Brandon were trapped.