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The interesting thing about a taser, the projectile barbs have to be located in a specific spot for maximum impact. The best place for them to hit the target is the center of the body. Preferably the torso. At that point, the surging voltage would incapacitate the victim. But if the projectiles hit an appendage, like the arms or the legs, or the barbs are too close together, the currents bounce within that tight space. It hurts, but doesn't take the target out.
When Nashida fired the taser, the projectiles hit Jericho in the thigh. The first one dug inside, but the second caught the leather scabbard Tom Fiddler gave him, the voltage hit the silver dagger. It hurt like hell, but didn't have the effect Nashida wanted. Not that Jericho was going to fight. For a moment, he couldn't. But when his body hit the ground, he played into the bit a little, especially when it became apparent they had a ride into town.
After Nashida and the driver dropped Jericho into the trunk—not the first time that happened—he pulled the barbs out after the lid shut. His eyes wandered the space until he found the yellow release lever and waited for the opportunity to pull it. The pothole gave him the perfect opportunity. Jericho pulled the release and tumbled onto the pavement. It hurt, but the alternative would have been worse. Fucking Nashida.
From a crouched position, Jericho watched as the red Civic hit a second pothole and the trunk relatched. He kept walking until he flagged down a pickup truck that dropped him off at High Level Airport. He entered the small regional flight hub and approached the desk.
"Hi, I believe you have a ticket waiting for me," he said to the nice lady with the dark complexion and long black hair behind the counter.
"Name?"
"Jaime Escalante."
"Can I see some ID?"
"Absolutely."
Jericho opened the parka and reached for the hidden zipper inside the coat. He pulled the tab open and removed the blue pamphlet and the five hundred dollars cash stashed inside. Jericho stuffed his passport inside his coat before the trip north and made sure that it stayed with him during the entire ordeal. Extra cash was just smart. He slid the passport over to her, and she checked the photo against Jericho's visage. He looked a lot worse than in the picture. But that didn't stop him from smiling.
"Here you go," she said, handing him the tickets. One from there to Calgary, the other from Calgary to Chicago.
"Gate 4."
"Thank you," Jericho smiled and grabbed the passes.
The flight boarded in thirty minutes. Plenty of time to get something to drink.
Now the only real question left was, "Pardon me, ma'am. Does this place have a Starbucks?"