There was a mini-helicopter on the tarmac.
“You fly with me,” Dubois said. He grabbed Tanya by the arm, and put a silver .38 to her temple.
“You don’t think I know you’re a cop. It’s written all over you, like spilled coffee and doughnuts.”
Gregson pulled his .44 Magnum and pointed it at the Frenchman.
“No. No. Or the game starts early,” he said.
They got into the chopper and achieved lift-off.
“You’re dead,” the motorcyclists said.
“Never gonna happen.” Brad slung his rocket launcher onto his back, and prepped his shotgun.
Gregson put the most powerful handgun in the world into his holster and slipped his K-Bar under his sock.
Then they marched off in different directions, following the homing beacon to their designated zones.
Gregson was in the swamp.
“I could go for that bug-repellant right now,” he said.
There was nobody around, and if it wasn’t for the island being infested with killers, it might’ve been a peaceful spot.
“I need to get to the high ground,” Gregson said.
But there was somebody already up there. “Brad—he’s the only one smart enough to go up hill.”
When Gregson got to the beach, he spied the feminists, wiping each other down with sunscreen.
They reached for their little guns.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the PI said. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you. Hands behind your backs.”
Gregson zip-tied them, and moved on.
When he reached the heart of the island, he found a bunker. It housed a nuclear reactor.
“This island is one big bomb.”
“Turn around slowly,” a voice said. Gregson saw the shotgun, and flipped his K-Bar into the man. It went off, and blew the other biker’s leg off.
“Put a torniquet around that,” Gregson ordered.
“I don’t have one!” The biker screamed.
“Your belt, stupid! Give me your hands!”
Gregson zip-tied them.
The chopper was right above him. “You’re supposed to kill, if you want the hundred mill!” Dubois shouted.
Gregson ignored him. When he left cover, the Frenchman took a pot-shot. “I’m just trying to keep it interesting!”