28-03-2019, 02:49 PM
A Little Night Music Ch. 01
Airbrakes hissed as the semi-truck pulled up to the harbor gate. The younger of the two guards in the gatehouse took a break from slapping the screen of the monitor that had gone out a minute before.
"It fine, Jacques," the older man grumbled in exasperation. "I make report in morning. Do your rounds."
"But I just go to piss and all these cameras..." The older guard cut him off, waving to the driver of the truck, who put the mighty vehicle in Park and rolled down the drivers' window.
"Is pigeons. You gonna work the docks a long time, New Kid. Cameras go out. Do the rounds, I got this."
The younger man started to grumble, but was too new to risk it. He checked his pistol and flashlight, hooked the heavy Detex Clock onto his belt, and was off. The older guard watched him walk off with bemusement, fiddling with the much newer and lighter digital version of the same device that he carried.
When the rookie was out of sight, he walked up to the driver's side window. In the darkness of the cab, his face was shaded by the brim of the trucker's cap he wore. The older guard didn't bother looking closer.
"My apologies," he said to the driver. "He is new. Too 'fresh-faced' to get how things work yet, eh?"
The driver wordlessly extended a thick envelope of cash out the window. The guard took it, thumbed through the bills, and stuck it in his pocket. He returned to the guardhouse and opened the gate to let the truck pass. Once it was around the corner ahead, he closed the gate, went behind the bank of monitors, bent down, and plugged it back in. He straightened up and turned to see the rookie's pistol pointing between his eyes.
* * *
Inside the warehouse that the truck was making its way toward, a Chinese man in a suit with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder raked a cattle prod across the bars of a jail cell door, making loud zapping sounds and causing blue sparks to fly from the bars.
"QUIET," he barked in his native language to the women in the cell, watching as they cowered away from the sparks. They hadn't been making any noise; he simply enjoyed doing the thing with the prod and did it again.
Another Chinese man with an assault rifle and a pack of several rolls of duct tape stepped into the larger room outside the cell.
"That's enough," he told the man with the cattle prod, tossing him the duct tape. "Truck's coming. Get them ready to move."
With a look of disgust for the women, he ran the prod over the bars one last time before telling them all to face the wall. The other man unshouldered his weapon and covered him as he opened the cell to bind the women's hands and mouths with the tape.
Out on the main floor, two men watched as the truck came to a stop outside the warehouse. The driver flashed the headlights twice, then got out and walked toward the door, his cap pulled down low over his face, obscured further by the shadows cast by the headlights. The driver stopped a few feet short of the door and raised both hands to show that he was unarmed. One of the men unlocked the door and let him in.
"You're late," one of the men barked at him in Cantonese.
"There was a complication," the driver said in the same language, stepping into the warehouse. One of the men noticed the curve of the driver's breasts from underneath the coveralls a moment too late as the cap came off, revealing short black hair with curly bangs. "Me. Now don't move or speak."
The two men froze perfectly still as Contessa Helena de San Finzione dropped the cap and took their weapons. She turned to one of them.
"How many more of you are there?"
"Twelve," he replied, wanting to shout an alarm or pull the trigger of his gun, but unable to move even slightly or say anything except the answer to her question.
"All know Cantonese?" He nodded and she continued. "Call them out here and away from the girls in a way that won't arouse suspicion," she said to him, taking a seat at a folding table and fiddling with the Mah Jong game they'd been playing before her arrival as the man shouted.
"Truck's here! Driver needs help again, everyone out here," he called out, betraying his comrades.
The fear filing him now was a special one. A fear that he realized he should have had back in Hong Kong when one of the superstitious elder brothers in his family learned where his work was carrying him and offered an old charm or blessing to him, assuring him that the stories of The Viper That Speaks All The Tongues of Man's ability to make men obey her commands were true. A fear that he should not have mocked on the journey to this land when one of his brothers would ask what to do if they encountered The Viper and he'd flick out his balisong quicker than their eyes could see, no matter how drunk he was and shout "I CUT OUT HER TONGUE! Before she speak ANY Tongue of Man" and laugh the question off.
It was a fear compounded by the fact that the three inches it rested in his pocket from his fingertips may as well have been the distance of leaving it in Hong Kong for his ability to compel his fingers to reach for it. Unable to do so until, as more of his brothers entered the room, she ordered them to put all their weapons in a pile, strip, and kneel in a row as if being arrested; and he complied along with them and tossed it onto the pile. It was the fear of all his bravado's uselessness being made manifest as he and the others obligingly disarmed the building's traps and disabled the alarms for her.
When everyone was returned to their arrest positions, Contessa Helena de San Finzione pulled the neckline of the t-shirt she wore forward, tilted her head, and spoke English down at her bra.
"All clear." She looked up and made certain the thugs were in a safe area. "Move in."
The garage door rolled open and Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez entered the building in full breaching gear, his MP5 at the ready. Four of the men and women of San Finzione's elite Squadra de Ultimados troops poured through the door behind him. Two other teams followed suit at the side exits. The Generalissimo confirmed La Contessa's assessment that the warehouse floor was secure and ordered the troops to secure the rest of the building and locate the prisoners. Helena gave him an expectant look. Ramirez sighed and nodded.
"Do it," he said into his headset. Lines dropped from the skylights, and four more Ultimados rappelled in from the roof.
Helen applauded and rose to her feet, preparing to drag her chair over to address the prisoners when one of the Ultimados came forward and carried the chair for her. She gave a graceful nod of thanks, and sat down in front of the group of men, producing a cigarette and lighting it before addressing them in Cantonese.
Airbrakes hissed as the semi-truck pulled up to the harbor gate. The younger of the two guards in the gatehouse took a break from slapping the screen of the monitor that had gone out a minute before.
"It fine, Jacques," the older man grumbled in exasperation. "I make report in morning. Do your rounds."
"But I just go to piss and all these cameras..." The older guard cut him off, waving to the driver of the truck, who put the mighty vehicle in Park and rolled down the drivers' window.
"Is pigeons. You gonna work the docks a long time, New Kid. Cameras go out. Do the rounds, I got this."
The younger man started to grumble, but was too new to risk it. He checked his pistol and flashlight, hooked the heavy Detex Clock onto his belt, and was off. The older guard watched him walk off with bemusement, fiddling with the much newer and lighter digital version of the same device that he carried.
When the rookie was out of sight, he walked up to the driver's side window. In the darkness of the cab, his face was shaded by the brim of the trucker's cap he wore. The older guard didn't bother looking closer.
"My apologies," he said to the driver. "He is new. Too 'fresh-faced' to get how things work yet, eh?"
The driver wordlessly extended a thick envelope of cash out the window. The guard took it, thumbed through the bills, and stuck it in his pocket. He returned to the guardhouse and opened the gate to let the truck pass. Once it was around the corner ahead, he closed the gate, went behind the bank of monitors, bent down, and plugged it back in. He straightened up and turned to see the rookie's pistol pointing between his eyes.
* * *
Inside the warehouse that the truck was making its way toward, a Chinese man in a suit with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder raked a cattle prod across the bars of a jail cell door, making loud zapping sounds and causing blue sparks to fly from the bars.
"QUIET," he barked in his native language to the women in the cell, watching as they cowered away from the sparks. They hadn't been making any noise; he simply enjoyed doing the thing with the prod and did it again.
Another Chinese man with an assault rifle and a pack of several rolls of duct tape stepped into the larger room outside the cell.
"That's enough," he told the man with the cattle prod, tossing him the duct tape. "Truck's coming. Get them ready to move."
With a look of disgust for the women, he ran the prod over the bars one last time before telling them all to face the wall. The other man unshouldered his weapon and covered him as he opened the cell to bind the women's hands and mouths with the tape.
Out on the main floor, two men watched as the truck came to a stop outside the warehouse. The driver flashed the headlights twice, then got out and walked toward the door, his cap pulled down low over his face, obscured further by the shadows cast by the headlights. The driver stopped a few feet short of the door and raised both hands to show that he was unarmed. One of the men unlocked the door and let him in.
"You're late," one of the men barked at him in Cantonese.
"There was a complication," the driver said in the same language, stepping into the warehouse. One of the men noticed the curve of the driver's breasts from underneath the coveralls a moment too late as the cap came off, revealing short black hair with curly bangs. "Me. Now don't move or speak."
The two men froze perfectly still as Contessa Helena de San Finzione dropped the cap and took their weapons. She turned to one of them.
"How many more of you are there?"
"Twelve," he replied, wanting to shout an alarm or pull the trigger of his gun, but unable to move even slightly or say anything except the answer to her question.
"All know Cantonese?" He nodded and she continued. "Call them out here and away from the girls in a way that won't arouse suspicion," she said to him, taking a seat at a folding table and fiddling with the Mah Jong game they'd been playing before her arrival as the man shouted.
"Truck's here! Driver needs help again, everyone out here," he called out, betraying his comrades.
The fear filing him now was a special one. A fear that he realized he should have had back in Hong Kong when one of the superstitious elder brothers in his family learned where his work was carrying him and offered an old charm or blessing to him, assuring him that the stories of The Viper That Speaks All The Tongues of Man's ability to make men obey her commands were true. A fear that he should not have mocked on the journey to this land when one of his brothers would ask what to do if they encountered The Viper and he'd flick out his balisong quicker than their eyes could see, no matter how drunk he was and shout "I CUT OUT HER TONGUE! Before she speak ANY Tongue of Man" and laugh the question off.
It was a fear compounded by the fact that the three inches it rested in his pocket from his fingertips may as well have been the distance of leaving it in Hong Kong for his ability to compel his fingers to reach for it. Unable to do so until, as more of his brothers entered the room, she ordered them to put all their weapons in a pile, strip, and kneel in a row as if being arrested; and he complied along with them and tossed it onto the pile. It was the fear of all his bravado's uselessness being made manifest as he and the others obligingly disarmed the building's traps and disabled the alarms for her.
When everyone was returned to their arrest positions, Contessa Helena de San Finzione pulled the neckline of the t-shirt she wore forward, tilted her head, and spoke English down at her bra.
"All clear." She looked up and made certain the thugs were in a safe area. "Move in."
The garage door rolled open and Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez entered the building in full breaching gear, his MP5 at the ready. Four of the men and women of San Finzione's elite Squadra de Ultimados troops poured through the door behind him. Two other teams followed suit at the side exits. The Generalissimo confirmed La Contessa's assessment that the warehouse floor was secure and ordered the troops to secure the rest of the building and locate the prisoners. Helena gave him an expectant look. Ramirez sighed and nodded.
"Do it," he said into his headset. Lines dropped from the skylights, and four more Ultimados rappelled in from the roof.
Helen applauded and rose to her feet, preparing to drag her chair over to address the prisoners when one of the Ultimados came forward and carried the chair for her. She gave a graceful nod of thanks, and sat down in front of the group of men, producing a cigarette and lighting it before addressing them in Cantonese.
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