#fridayflash: what the possum heard

If you want to read the rest of the series, here are the links to Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, and Part 21.

Pepper managed to get the worst kicks to land on her extremities. When the cell's door happened to open at the same time Doug kicked her in the shoulder, she took the opportunity to pretend he'd got her in the head. She faked a shuddering seizure and lay still, eyes closed, breathing shallowly. The breathing was the worst part, since at least two of her ribs were cracked.

She could hear scuffling while Doug shouted random swear words over the sounds of at least two men doing the same.

"What, the FUCK, do you two think you're doing?" The voice was easy to identify. Munroe must have been watching the A/V monitoring room on the seventh floor and come in to stop the proceedings.

"I can't stop him on my own," said Alex. The last Pepper had been able to observe him, he'd been sitting on the cell's bed-slab.

"And you," said Munroe, ignoring any response he didn't like as usual, "do you have any idea of the paperwork you're causing? A little roughed up, that we can write over. But beaten to death.... that'll take forever to explain upstairs. They'll want a fucking Crown enquiry."

Pain was radiating from so many points on and in her body that she couldn't count them all. She pictured the pain sensations as energy waves, causing interference patterns. She was back in school, doing a physics experiment with a water table and strategically-placed speakers, and the sound vibrations were travelling through the water, making predictable, yet chaotic, ripples. She was watching the wave table twitch to the beat of her own heart, and in the background she could hear men talking.

"Look what she did to my fucking fingers on the pier," said Doug's voice. "Fucking sociopath."

"Did you even glance at the dossier I gave you?" said Munroe. "Do you know how hard it is to get information like that without logging it? She's so far above you in hand-to-hand combat scores it's hard to believe you're the same species."

"Oh bullshit," said Doug. "You guys all think I was new when I started here. I had years of experience before."

"Plural indicating at least two?" said Alex.

More scuffling, as Pepper resisted gasping. Doug must have made a lunge at Alex, unsuccessful through some combination of Alex dodging and Munroe restraining.

"We can't just kill her," said Munroe. "Not in this building."

"We're supposed to kill her!" Doug shouted.

"Not here. Too much attention and too much paperwork."

"DeBussy didn't say no." Doug was sounding petulant again.

For Pepper, the room had started spinning clockwise, very gently. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut to help clear the vertigo, but she didn't dare move.

"DeBussy said it was our responsibility to keep things clean," said Munroe. Pepper recognised the tone of voice from when she'd questioned him on intel his team had given her.

"Why is this door open?" A woman's voice now, and the sound of high-heeled shoes entering just as Munroe said, "Now is a bad time." Then a screech.

"What the hell happened?" Pepper couldn't pinpoint this voice. Someone in the bureaucratic arm. Stacy. No, Veronica. No. She suppressed another gasp and half-recollected an argument about an expense report...

"Lana, this isn't your area. Just go back to your desk and let us finish this."

Lana, right. It would figure they would need someone on board from Finance to cover up this thing. Even through the pain Pepper remembered it had been way more than one disputed expense report.

"I can't," said Lana. "They've already taken that area. We have to get out of here."

"Who the hell is 'they'?" said Doug.

"They're in military uniform. Well, sort of military, sort of police... a SWAT team, maybe?"

"You came from the freaking Ministry of Defence and you don't know which uniform is which?" Munroe sounded like he was going to lose it.

"I didn't — " Lana started to say, and then shrieked.

"This way," a voice called from down the corridor. The heavy tread of many pairs of boots came towards the cell.

"Fucking dead-end floor plan," said Doug. Pepper heard metal snapping against metal. Probably he was checking his gun was loaded. "We'll just have to shoot our way out."

"You can't," said Alex. He sounded calmer than before. "When boots make that sound, it means the people wearing them have body armour and assault rifles. Geoffrey told me that," he added, with a little tint of wonder in his voice. "It's over."

The room lurched into a spin on a different axis at that point. Pepper had to exert all of her concentration towards not vomiting, and to keeping her breathing even and shallow. She desperately wanted to take a deep breath, but she knew her ribs wouldn't let her.

Air rushed over Pepper from the direction of the doorway. Everyone was talking at once, but she heard Lana shriek again and Doug say, "Oh thank God! We were tending to our colleague here, and we didn't know when backup would show up... what do you mean?!?"

Suddenly someone's body heat was very close, which made it that much harder not to throw up. A gloved hand pressed into the side of her neck, and a voice shouted, "Call for a stretcher! And tell them to hurry the hell up!"

Her eyes were closed, but she could tell from the changing of the light that the person with the gloved hands was leaning over her. She risked letting her eyelids open. It took more effort than she expected.

The new person was a blonde woman wearing fatigues. "Don't try to talk," the woman said. "We're going to get you some help. You're safe." As if to underscore the point, a man shouted — Munroe? Doug? hard to tell them apart without words — and the woman was knocked forward, probably by a random kick as whoever it was got dragged out the door.

"Sorry," said the woman, even though she'd managed not to knock into Pepper.

"7F," Pepper gasped. "Audio visual recording. For this room."

She got half a moment to wonder if she'd been intelligible enough, and then she really did pass out.

To be continued...

#fridayflash: clean

If you want to read the rest of the series, here are the links to Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, and Part 20.

The van was the sort of utility vehicle that was acceptable to the Rosedale neighbourhood: small, clean, white with a tasteful logo on the side, and a photograph showing sample wares. A more observant person might notice that it was odd for a vehicle owned by a carpet-cleaning service not to have a phone number or web site address written on it, but since the tag line under the logo was, "Discreet and professional!", it wasn't unreasonable to conclude this was by design, rather than oversight.

The driver directed the van up one of the side streets, hesitated in front of one of the older, smaller houses, then edged past a little, just enough to reverse into the drive. The garage door opened as the front wheels bumped over the kerb, revealing an almost-empty parking space and a weary-looking man in the prime of middle age.

The man looked rumpled and tired, although the clothes he was wearing were so fresh the ironing creases could still be seen in his t-shirt. He stepped out of the garage and stood to the side of the drive as the van backed in. The driver stopped when the van's cab was just sticking out of the garage — as was common in older houses in the neighbourhood, the garage was small and narrow, and not much more of the van could fit inside. If the driver had backed in as far as possible, he wouldn't have been able to open the cab doors to get out.

The man waited for the driver to exit the cab, then let him into the house via the front door.

A perceptive observer may have noticed how similar the men looked. Both were about the same age, relatively fit-looking, and carried themselves with a posture which hinted at a military past. But this was in Rosedale, and therefore all those details were insignificant. Lots of things get done through connections.

Todd surveyed the four bodies lying in the kitchen and living rooms. He leaned over to check the blood spatter pattern behind one of the dead goons and let out a low whistle. "Looks like you had a helluva party, Geoff," he said. "This is going to take more than just the afternoon to clean up."

Geoffrey winced. "That's why I said both favours on the phone. I'm sorry."

Todd sighed. "I owed you. Care to tell me what happened?"

Geoffrey briefly filled him in on the events of the last day and a half, emphasising that Pepper had been framed. "I hate to leave you with this," he finished, "but I have to get to her. She let herself be bait. I have to hold up my end." He bit his lip and let his gaze settle on Cinnamon's body. "Especially now."

Todd shook his head. "If this is half as big as you say, and has even just the internal tentacles you know about, you're not going to be able to finish it alone. Fortunately," he said, taking out his phone, "I decided to drop my boss a hint as to why I had to take off for the afternoon. You know your division's been on the chopping block for months, eh? We didn't think it was anything this bad, but except for a few individuals, the results tallies have been underwhelming. We were going to absorb you, Ellie, a few dozen others, burn the rest."

Geoffrey rubbed his face with his hands. "Three days ago I would have been pretty indignant about that."

"Shit happens," said Todd, giving Geoffrey's shoulder a commiserating shake. He jerked his head in the direction of the garage as he sent a short text message from his phone. "Come on. You can carry the plastic tubs, and I'll get the, uh —"

"Jars of acid," said Geoffrey in a heavy breath.

"Yeah." Todd sighed again. "The walls and carpets probably won't be cleaned up yet when you get back, but the, um, tubs will be gone." He turned sharply on his heel and headed down the hall. "Let's get a move on. You need to get out of here and get the rest of your job done."

#fridayflash: a break

If you want to read the rest of the series, here are the links to Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, and Part 19.

One of the goons gestured for Cinnamon to sit on the couch beside Geoffrey. She edged onto the seat, keeping her eyes focused on his gun.

"And you're not killing us now because..." said Geoffrey. Cinnamon noticed how calm his voice sounded. Like he was wondering why something wasn't included with an entrée on a restaurant menu. Like this wasn't life or death.  

DeBussy chuckled and settled himself into Geoffery's armchair. "I'd rather wait until we receive news the third member of your little party has been taken care of. This is a very nice neighbourhood — even with silencers people might notice the gunshots. But if we move, you have a better chance of escaping. And that, that would not suit me at all."    

"You left the work to the goons who'd been trailing us all night and already let us get away twice," said Geoffrey.

"I can't exactly walk in the front doors of your headquarters and demand to watch," said DeBussy. "Not yet, anyhow."

"How on earth did you recruit Alex?"

DeBussy shrugged again. Cinnamon wondered if it was an affectation or just a nervous twitch. "He is a weak and greedy man, and he hates Pepper." He raised his eyebrows. "Did you expect more?"

"Why the hell could anyone be bothered hating Pepper?" Cinnamon burst out. She instantly regretted it. Geoffrey had actually managed to connect, keep the subject talking. She might have just broken the rapport.

Another shrug. "She makes us look bad. In my case, every time she makes me look bad, it means I can't complete a job, and that means I'm losing money. I will agree with you that the people you work with are more... petty."

DeBussy rose from his chair. "As this is most definitely not a Hollywood spy film, you'll pardon me if I skip answering all your questions and try out Geoffrey's espresso machine instead." He stepped towards the kitchen.

Cinnamon checked the distances and angles, carefully wearing a bored expression on her face. Idiots, she thought. Always arrogant idiots. When DeBussy passed in front of the goon closest to the doorway, she sprang in a low dive for DeBussy's knees.

She never got to complete her tackle. The goon covering Geoffrey pivoted and shot her before she was within a metre of DeBussy.

"Fuck," Geoffrey and the goon who'd fired the shot both snarled in unison. Geoffrey was up and rushing him before the goon had a chance to react and pivot back. He forced the goon's hand to shoot in DeBussy's and the other henchman's direction, managing to wound the henchman in his gun arm.

Geoffrey slammed the goon into the wall and jerked the gun up, forcing another shot to be fired. The bullet went through the underside of the goon's chin and exited the top of his head. Finally able to grab the gun from the goon's hand, Geoffrey wheeled and shot the other goon in the head, just as he was shakily grasping at the gun with the hand attached to his uninjured arm.

Debussy had backed into the kitchen. Geoffrey stalked across the living room and found him standing by the espresso machine, fumbling to get the safety catch off his gun. DeBussy shrieked as he spotted Geoffrey in the doorway, pointing the gun at him.

"Don't," DeBussy stammered. "I can negotia—"

Geoffrey shot him neatly between the eyes. "You've got nothing to bargain with."

He stepped over DeBussy's body and picked up the kitchen phone, dialling a number from memory.

"Toronto Police," said a woman's voice.

Geoffrey asked for a phone extension. The woman simply said she'd transfer him.

A man answered the extension. "Code 34-7-51," said Geoffrey.

"Just a moment," said the man. Geoffrey heard him tapping at a computer. "At the address you're calling from?"

"Yes."

"Okay. We'll cancel all responses per procedure. Have a better one." The man hung up.

Geoffrey threw the phone on the kitchen counter and rushed to where Cinnamon was still lying on the carpet. He stretched out his hand to check her pulse, then withdrew it when he saw the extent of the damage to her head. Blood and brains were darkening the red of the Oriental carpet, and matting her bright copper hair.

He threw himself onto the couch. "Damn it, Sheila, what the hell did you think was going to happen?" He leaned back against the cushions, closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths.

Sitting upright again, he patted his pockets, swore under his breath, and then grabbed his mobile from the computer table. This time he had to look up a contact entry before dialling.

"Todd? It's Geoff. You know those two favours you owe me about the, uh, novelty coffee cups? I need to call them both in. Yeah. Now."

To be continued...

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#fridayflash: next round

If you want to read the rest of the series, here are the links to Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, and Part 18.

It's a truism that keeping track of time in a windowless room is difficult. Pepper discreetly groped at her armpit, trying to remember the last time she shaved. She'd only eaten two meals since she had got stuck in this mess — the pizza out in Mississauga and some tinned stuff from the underwater bunker. In the meantime there had been a lot of running around.

It couldn't have been that long, only a few hours. No-one had shown up to check on her since they'd shoved her into the room. Pepper wasn't worried, not yet, but she had to plan for if it were longer. Dehydration and lack of sleep could break a person down a lot faster than beatings. She knew that from training, and from experience. She'd watched people try to save their own urine on the same security cameras now watching her, not knowing that it was absolutely against policy to let a captured asset die from lack of water. She'd always wondered what they'd gone through before to just assume they were going to be treated that badly.

She reminded herself that right now it was ridiculous to worry about those things. It had been less than a day, and most likely they were going to have her worry through the night and then try to work her again the morning. Really she should be focused on the rescue attempt Geoffrey and Cinnamon would make.

But no matter what she did, she found herself thinking about how long they were going to keep her without giving her any water. She wasn't even thirsty.

Pepper sighed and leaned her head against the cement wall. So this is what it feels like.

She heard more footsteps outside, and expected them to go to 8B — there seemed to be a lot of activity in that room. She had barely enough time to hide her surprise when the door to her room opened. She  expected Doug, but it was Alex who slipped through and carefully closed the door behind him.

He looked around the room with the air of a real estate agent assessing how to pitch an undesirable property. "I'm sorry you had to be put in here. This isn't the nicest of rooms. I asked for 8D, but it's being used, and Munroe and Doug insist you're to be considered dangerous."

"That is part of my job description," said Pepper. Trust Alex to forget to even mumble a hello.

Alex gave a heavy sigh and sat at the end of the bed/slab. "I'm a bean counter. I don't usually dirty my hands with this stuff. Nothing against your own work," he quickly added. "I'm just much better with budgets and spreadsheets. Oh, speaking of which, who approved those modifications you made to your phone?"

"No-one. I paid for them out of my own pocket."

"But who installed them?"

"I did." Pepper decided that Alex was playing the role of the good cop.

"You shouldn't do things like that."

"It's my phone. So long as I get a model that's from the approved list, I can do what I like with it."

"No, no..." Alex was shaking his head, jowls wagging. With the heavy bags under his eyes, he looked like a cartoon bloodhound. "That may be the letter of the policy, but it's not the spirit of it. You're an asset, not a department head."

"Is that what you call what Doug did to me earlier, following the spirit of the policy? 'Cos it sure as hell didn't follow the letter of it."

Alex's face turned red. "That's your problem. You've always got the policy memorised and throw it in everyone's faces, but it never applies to you."

"This is beyond extreme for just a policy reprimand." Pepper risked leaning towards Alex. "I'm not here because of data, or because Doug botched up the USB key handover. So what is it?"

Alex stood up and crossed quickly to the door. He pounded on it in a quick sequence Pepper made a note of, and someone outside opened it for him. He started to leave, then paused and turned his head to look at Pepper.

"You forgot you were disposable," he said. "You'll be forced to remember it before the end." He walked out, slamming the metal door behind him.

Important note: I love comments! But right now my web host has a bug with comment logins. Please feel free to leave a comment using the Guest option. You'll be able to ID yourself, mention your web site if you like, and say what you want to say!

Travel alert:  when the Friday Flash report gets posted for the week, I'll be floating around the North Atlantic in an Icelandic whale-watching boat. I'll be catching up on my blog-reading when I return home early next week.

#fridayflash: glitch

If you want to read the rest of the series, here are the links to Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, and Part 17.

Cinnamon fingered the gun in her right hip holster. "This is an awfully nice place for a guy on your pay grade."

Geoffrey allowed a quick, sharp glance in her direction before continuing to type furiously on his laptop. "Family money. And I don't really want to chit-chat. I need to get this phone recording saved in a format that's easy to pass around at the office."

"Is that Santa Claus?" said Cinnamon, studying a photograph of a man with a long white beard standing next to a little boy with a crew cut.

"It's Robertson Davies. All the men in the family have always gone to Upper Canada College, okay? Can we focus now?"

Cinnamon raised an eyebrow. "Shit. Would never have pegged you for a private school kid. Shouldn't you be running a giant mining corporation or something?"

"If you want to go back to the office and try to get Ellie out without my help, go ahead," Geoffrey snapped. "Otherwise you're picking a really stupid time to be a class warrior." He hit the computer's Enter key with three fingers. "That should do it." His hand found the mouse, and he gave the left button a solid click.

"Vera from research, we had coffee together, right?" Doug's voice said. "And she mentioned the hotel — the location for the pick-up. And I just thought instead of waiting all night, I could just meet Ellie there, right?"

"At the pick-up." Geoffrey's voice came from the computer speakers.

"Nice sound quality," said Cinnamon. "Unambiguous."

"They'll check it for doctoring anyhow, of course," said Geoffrey. "I did send a memo about Doug screwing up when it happened. Or at least I thought he was screwing up at the time"

Cinnamon snorted. "And who's going to read the memo? Could be someone working with Doug for all we know."

"Well, call's recorded to a couple different media now." Geoffrey stood. "We should go."

"We should have just come here," said Cinnamon. "All three of us. Skip the part about handing over Ellie."

Geoffrey shook his head as he put on his coat. "We do that, they have to give up Doug and maybe a few other people, but most of those involved could just pretend to be loyal and act as moles another day. Having Ellie on the inside gives them a sense of security, lets them show their true colours."

"I'm still not sure it was the right choice," said Cinnamon.

"Ah, but choices are made in context and carry consequences," said a voice from the doorway.

Cinnamon and Geoffrey wheeled around, Cinnamon reaching for her hip holster again. Anton DeBussy pointed his gun at Cinnamon first. "Ah no," he said. "You cannot draw faster than I can pull the trigger. That only works in Westerns. Do please divest yourself of your weapons."

"I'm surprised to see you holding a gun yourself," said Geoffrey. "Don't you have people for that?"

DeBussy shrugged the shoulder opposite his gun arm. "I've had some redundancies lately. My staff neglected to take care of... what do you call her, Pepper? Ellie? at the hotel as they were instructed. Apparently they thought she really was the cleaning lady." He gave a lopsided shrug again. "I'm sorry I didn't wait until five PM today to close the deal as we agreed, but sometimes one has to do things oneself, when the correct time arises. Clear!"

Two men in black turtlenecks appeared, pointing guns at Cinnamon and Geoffrey. DeBussy lowered his own gun and set the safety on.

"You two should both sit down," he said to Cinnamon and Geoffrey. "You're going to be waiting a while."

Important note: I love comments! But right now my web host has a bug with comment logins. Please feel free to leave a comment using the Guest option. You'll be able to ID yourself, mention your web site if you like, and say what you want to say!