17-02-2020, 02:23 AM
Whatever Gets You through the Night Pt. 24
"You better...
make your face up in your favorite disguise,
with your button-down lips and your roller-blind eyes.
With your empty smile and your hungry heart,
feel the bile rising from your guilty part.
With your nerves in tatters as the cockleshell shatters.
When the hammers batter down your door,
you better run."
-Pink Floyd, "Run Like Hell"
*
The gate guard came up with a story where the driver had offered him substantially less money than he had to pass through his gate. The part where he recognized them from television and decided it was best to accept their bribe, let them through, then call it in; rather than try to be a hero, had been true in both the real and fictional versions of the tale.
La Policia's tip-lines had been ringing since Maria's broadcast. Officers on the street had been stretched thin responding to every credible report of a man, group of men, or vehicle matching the descriptions. Blonde, blue-eyed, white males in their late 20s were complaining of racial profiling by late afternoon.
When the guard said that the driver of the van had bribed him, that stood out as being very credible. With so much of San Finzione's economy dependent upon Service and Hospitality and their support businesses, white delivery vans were a common sight in the city, and too many reports had come in to follow up on each one. When he mentioned the red wig, a detail left out of the public broadcasts, the two facts made his call a priority. Once the officers in the first car saw the video, more cars and armored vans followed. Barricades were now being set up around the corner; out of view from the building the guard indicated.
While this was happening, inside the warehouse, Heinrich Dietz was looking over the building that In Charge had chosen for their final fallback point. From there, it was a short run to a dock where speedboats waited. The other men unloaded the guns and ammunition from the van. Apart from his laptop, nothing else might be needed now.
The sun was going down and Dietz had figured out that In Charge's plan was to wait until it got darker, then head out to a ship whose captain and crew were sympathetic to The Cause past the country's waters. He was keeping the time, coordinates, and name of the ship that would take them away from San Finzione to himself. From there, they'd presumably join the crew belowdecks and shovel coal or something until they got to the next port, then scatter. Dietz amended his previous plan of killing them all at the first opportunity. Having three other trails to follow once they escaped would be more beneficial to him.
There was also the client to consider. The chance to work for a real piece of history; a man who knew The Fuhrer personally, had been almost as much motivation as the money. It would never be safe to report his failure to Schell, but it had to be done and he couldn't open his laptop to do it until they were out of the country. Perhaps he'd understand. After all, he'd failed the Reich and somehow, the Fuhrer forgave him. Maybe he'd return the favor.
It wasn't worth betting his life on. He checked out the place that would be their hideout for however long they were to wait. Going down a hall from the main warehouse floor led to a smaller room containing what had once, judging by the large hinges, been a secured room before the door was cut away and removed. The presence of a bed chained to the wall inside indicated to Dietz that "cell" had been the correct word to describe the room. It made him curious about what had been kept in this place before it was abandoned.
An odd jumble of something by the bed caught his attention. Dietz hesitated for a moment with his torch before shining it onto the objects. In Charge said that the place had been abandoned for over a year. He'd been prepared to kill a homeless person or two squatting in the building but hadn't seen any. It smelled like dust, mold, and the nearby ocean rather than human habitation. The odds that his light would reveal some hobo's discarded alternative to toilet paper seemed minimal. Curiosity demanded attention and he shined the light on the assortment of odd shapes.
In a year's dust accumulation, they looked to him, at first, to be small first efforts to self-teach origami. Upon further inspection, they were discarded wads of something, but not paper. He stepped in for a closer look. He was standing over them when he recognized them for what they were: twelve wadded-up balls of duct tape and a pair of long-exhausted glowsticks. He pondered for a moment why these things were left in a room that was once obviously a cell. It wasn't a long moment.
Dietz quick-walked back into the main room. In Charge was checking his watch while the other two checked the room, discussing possible defenses if it came to it. Dietz shone the torch around the edges of the room, now interested in what sort of other trash might be around.
"In Charge," he asked, his eyes lighting on the moldy, torn-off cardboard lid of a pizza box. "How did you find out about this place?"
"Scott told me about it." He replied. "He said it had been abandoned for a long time."
Dietz walked over to the lid and saw that something had been drawn on it in black marker. Something written in an Asian language that he didn't understand. He walked toward In Charge.
"Did he tell you WHY it was abandoned for so long?" Dietz asked, stumbling in the darkness and dropping his torch.
"No." In Charge replied.
Dietz bent down to pick it up. In the light it cast upon the floor, he took note of brown dots and splotches on the floor. Seemingly a row of them in the middle of the room. He'd spilled enough blood to know that was what the dried brown splotches were.
"You better...
make your face up in your favorite disguise,
with your button-down lips and your roller-blind eyes.
With your empty smile and your hungry heart,
feel the bile rising from your guilty part.
With your nerves in tatters as the cockleshell shatters.
When the hammers batter down your door,
you better run."
-Pink Floyd, "Run Like Hell"
*
The gate guard came up with a story where the driver had offered him substantially less money than he had to pass through his gate. The part where he recognized them from television and decided it was best to accept their bribe, let them through, then call it in; rather than try to be a hero, had been true in both the real and fictional versions of the tale.
La Policia's tip-lines had been ringing since Maria's broadcast. Officers on the street had been stretched thin responding to every credible report of a man, group of men, or vehicle matching the descriptions. Blonde, blue-eyed, white males in their late 20s were complaining of racial profiling by late afternoon.
When the guard said that the driver of the van had bribed him, that stood out as being very credible. With so much of San Finzione's economy dependent upon Service and Hospitality and their support businesses, white delivery vans were a common sight in the city, and too many reports had come in to follow up on each one. When he mentioned the red wig, a detail left out of the public broadcasts, the two facts made his call a priority. Once the officers in the first car saw the video, more cars and armored vans followed. Barricades were now being set up around the corner; out of view from the building the guard indicated.
While this was happening, inside the warehouse, Heinrich Dietz was looking over the building that In Charge had chosen for their final fallback point. From there, it was a short run to a dock where speedboats waited. The other men unloaded the guns and ammunition from the van. Apart from his laptop, nothing else might be needed now.
The sun was going down and Dietz had figured out that In Charge's plan was to wait until it got darker, then head out to a ship whose captain and crew were sympathetic to The Cause past the country's waters. He was keeping the time, coordinates, and name of the ship that would take them away from San Finzione to himself. From there, they'd presumably join the crew belowdecks and shovel coal or something until they got to the next port, then scatter. Dietz amended his previous plan of killing them all at the first opportunity. Having three other trails to follow once they escaped would be more beneficial to him.
There was also the client to consider. The chance to work for a real piece of history; a man who knew The Fuhrer personally, had been almost as much motivation as the money. It would never be safe to report his failure to Schell, but it had to be done and he couldn't open his laptop to do it until they were out of the country. Perhaps he'd understand. After all, he'd failed the Reich and somehow, the Fuhrer forgave him. Maybe he'd return the favor.
It wasn't worth betting his life on. He checked out the place that would be their hideout for however long they were to wait. Going down a hall from the main warehouse floor led to a smaller room containing what had once, judging by the large hinges, been a secured room before the door was cut away and removed. The presence of a bed chained to the wall inside indicated to Dietz that "cell" had been the correct word to describe the room. It made him curious about what had been kept in this place before it was abandoned.
An odd jumble of something by the bed caught his attention. Dietz hesitated for a moment with his torch before shining it onto the objects. In Charge said that the place had been abandoned for over a year. He'd been prepared to kill a homeless person or two squatting in the building but hadn't seen any. It smelled like dust, mold, and the nearby ocean rather than human habitation. The odds that his light would reveal some hobo's discarded alternative to toilet paper seemed minimal. Curiosity demanded attention and he shined the light on the assortment of odd shapes.
In a year's dust accumulation, they looked to him, at first, to be small first efforts to self-teach origami. Upon further inspection, they were discarded wads of something, but not paper. He stepped in for a closer look. He was standing over them when he recognized them for what they were: twelve wadded-up balls of duct tape and a pair of long-exhausted glowsticks. He pondered for a moment why these things were left in a room that was once obviously a cell. It wasn't a long moment.
Dietz quick-walked back into the main room. In Charge was checking his watch while the other two checked the room, discussing possible defenses if it came to it. Dietz shone the torch around the edges of the room, now interested in what sort of other trash might be around.
"In Charge," he asked, his eyes lighting on the moldy, torn-off cardboard lid of a pizza box. "How did you find out about this place?"
"Scott told me about it." He replied. "He said it had been abandoned for a long time."
Dietz walked over to the lid and saw that something had been drawn on it in black marker. Something written in an Asian language that he didn't understand. He walked toward In Charge.
"Did he tell you WHY it was abandoned for so long?" Dietz asked, stumbling in the darkness and dropping his torch.
"No." In Charge replied.
Dietz bent down to pick it up. In the light it cast upon the floor, he took note of brown dots and splotches on the floor. Seemingly a row of them in the middle of the room. He'd spilled enough blood to know that was what the dried brown splotches were.
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