A/N: Wrote an English essay, wrote a World History essay; hell, NOTHING is
stopping me from writing this! :D
Don't judge a thing
Until you know what's inside it
Don't push me
I'll fight it
You can't take me
I'm free.
~Bryan Adams
* * * * * * * * * *
"Hey, Percy... The strangest thing... I made reservations for a dinner tonight with my wife, and remembered that she absolutely HATES the restaurant! She dislikes going out in public, anyway, so I was wondering... What am I going to do with that reservation for the finest place in town? Then I thought of you and that lady, and, well... Would you like them?"
Percy peered suspiciously up into the warm-smiling, slightly nervous face of Paul.
"What are you playing at?" Percy asked, lowly.
"Playing? It's no joke. I need someone to go in our place, and who better than you and that girl that's always around?" Paul persisted.
"Why don't you give the reservation to DEAN?" Percy retorted, glancing back into the mirror to comb back a couple loose strands of hair. "He's got a girl, you know."
"Yeah, well I thought... since you were leaving soon to a new job anyway, your absence wouldn't mean as much as an absence of Dean's," the boss explained.
Percy stopped his primping to glare at Paul, who was more nervous than ever; thank God the short, non-perceptive guard didn't notice. "Tonight?"
"Tonight," Paul repeated, relaxing greatly. "Hope you enjoy. It's at Borticelli's; the only one in town, you can't mistake it, really. I put it under the name Edgecombe, if you're wondering. It's scheduled at eight; earliest time they had! Have a good time."
Percy watched Paul turn and head back down the mile towards his office.
"I did it," Paul said under his breath to the other guards, who were gathered in his private, little room. "He accepted the dinner."
"GOOD thinking!" Harry sighed. "Lucky there were a few reservations left at that place."
"Lucky Percy's stupid enough to go along with that dinner idea without becoming suspicious," Brutal muttered.
"Lucky," Paul agreed, nodding once. "Now that we'll have Percy out of the way, there's only Wild Bill left. We can think of something to do with him, of course. Just as long as we get John out of here tonight, and without getting caught. Remember; Harry and Brutal with me, Dean; you stay and keep watch while we take John. If anyone comes by, you know what to say."
"Right," Dean said.
"I hope you know what we're doing, Paul," Brutal grinned.
"I hope so, too," Paul answered.
* * * * * * * * * *
Monica was bored in her little hotel room; running low on money and food and having a generally bad time. Not just that, but the light had flickered and died only minutes earlier, of all things, and she was sitting, not only broke and hungry, but in darkness as well.
"If only I had enough money for a light bulb," Monica muttered to herself. "Or maybe a slice of toast; then I might be able to go to sleep." She was on the cheap, hard bed, staring at what she imagined was the ceiling when the phone rang, making her jump.
"The phone works! My God, and I thought everything was broken around here!" Monica shouted sarcastically, reaching for the phone in the table next to her bed. In her blindness, she knocked over a clock before fumbling with the phone receiver, picking it up with a clear "Dammit!" as she stepped on a corner of the fallen clock.
"Hello?" the other voice asked, not sure whether or not to believe this was Monica he was listening to.
"Oh, Percy!" Monica cried, utterly delighted to hear his voice in her bad mood, deciding it would be safest to sit on the bed while she talked. "What sends you calling?"
"I was wondering about tonight," Percy said. "I got reservations to this restaurant in town; want to have dinner with me?"
"Would I EVER!" Monica half ranted, half shouted. "I've been having one HELL of a time here! I mean..." she took a deep breath and continued, sweetly, "Yes, dinner sounds lovely! I'm staying at a Renson Hotel here in God-knows-which place - I mean... Renson Hotel on 11th street on the corner, door number seventy-one!"
"Great," Percy replied, "I'll be there at 7:30."
"Wait," Monica said quickly, "What time is it now? The power went out in my room. I can't see the clock."
"It's six right now," Percy said. "Will you be ready by then?"
"You bet," Monica chirped happily. "I just need to get dressed up! Bye, then."
"Good-bye," he said before the dial tone sounded on the other line. He put down the phone and turned the lights off in his house before closing and locking the door behind him. Percy had been preparing to go to dinner for an hour now; spicing himself up and changing out of those stupid work clothes.
"I have an hour to find the Renson Hotel on 11th," Percy recited from Monica's directions, grabbing his car keys from out of his pocket.
And for an hour he drove... getting lost and driving down dead-end roads, and the like. When Percy finally saw a sign that read "Renson" in front of a large building, he gave a sigh of content and pulled into the parking lot. Upon entering the hotel, Percy was noticed by an irritable-looking man from behind the front desk.
"May I help you?" the irritable-looking man asked impolitely, as if Percy were the billionth person he'd seen walk through the doors that night.
"Where's room seventy-one?" Percy asked.
"Why do you want to KNOW?" the man behind the counter responded slyly, twirling his black, curled mustache between his fingers, which looked much unlike his head - bald.
"I'm here to pick someone up, is that any of YOUR concern?" Percy retorted, catching his reflection in the man's forehead, noting that the guy was shorter than he was.
"Why, it IS!" the man puffed, banging his fists on the counter-top. "That room number, and whoever is BEYOND that number is confidential information!"
"I already KNOW who's 'beyond that number'," Percy said sarcastically.
"WISE GUY, are yeh?" the short man puffed even more.
"I can find it myself," Percy grumbled, checking the clock and heading down the hall of his choice.
"Oh, no you don't," the irritable-looking man behind the counter objected, hurrying to block Percy from making his way down the hall, but became distracted when his mustache fell off. "Crap..."
Percy left the man to search for his fake mustache while he hurried away to find room number seventy-one. He began to wonder if he had taken the wrong hall, when he turned a corner and came face to face with the door he was looking for. Straightening his jacket, he knocked twice.
There was a crash from inside the room, and a muffled voice. Until Monica opened the door, he heard strange fumbling noises.
Percy looked at Monica with a smile on his face; aside from looking a little ruffled, she looked more beautiful than ever in her soft-colored dinner dress and matching, pointed high heels, which, he thought, both looked great against her dark hair.
"I'm ready," Monica grinned, grabbing a small purse and closing her door, quickly behind her.
"Let's go this way," Percy uttered, pointing towards a back door. "That guy at the front desk doesn't seem very stable."
"Don't mind him," Monica grumbled, rolling her eyes. "He's just a dunce."
They made their way back towards the main desk, where the guy was still busily looking for his mustache, which happened to be stuck to the sole of his shoe.
Everything was going perfectly, until about fifteen minutes into the drive when Percy remembered he had forgotten the name of the restaurant, and had written it down at the prison.
"I just need to run back to E block," he said hurriedly.
"You can remember the place," Monica suggested, urgently. "We may be late if we go back now!"
But, no matter; Percy couldn't remember what it was called. So they turned into Cold Mountain Penitentiary, with Monica unhappily feeling starved the whole while.
"You can stay in the car if you'd like, I'll only be a moment," Percy assured her as he parked right in front of the softly-lit block which Dean was supposed to be watching over. Later, it was discovered that he had gone to take a short trip to the main building's toilet because the one on E block was feared to overflow soon.
"No, it's all right," Monica sighed. "I'll come with you. Help you find it quicker." She got out on the other side of the car and stepped to the pavement, running around the car to the door that was left open for her, as Percy had already made his way in.
"Strange," Percy mumbled. "Nobody's here."
"Hey. Hey, where's that John Coffey?" Monica asked, peering into the empty cell.
"How'd you know that prisoner's name was..." he trailed off, following to where Monica's eyes had directed him. "Where did HE go?"
Monica shrugged slightly, gazing around the dimly-lit room some more. "When you gotta go, you gotta go..."
"Nevermind," Percy said quickly, heading down the mile towards Paul's office. "We can figure that out later. We have a dinner to get to."
"Wait up," Monica called after him, clicking down the mile in her high heels. When she made it to the office, Percy was already searching through drawers and papers. "Find it?"
"Uh... - huh," Percy answered for a yes, picking up a little slip of paper. "Borticelli's," he muttered. "Whoops."
"Good, now let's go," Monica urged, turning smoothly and making her way back down the green mile. Percy turned off the lights and closed the door to Paul's office, following the girl.
He knew he could have told her to step carefully; maybe a little closer to the middle of the mile. But as a habit of his own, and the fact that the two of them were rushing, the rule didn't seem to apply at the time. The problem is, prisoners don't notice what time of day they strike at, as long as they think they'll have a chance of winning. And the odds were not against Wild Bill.
With shocking speed for an almost completely doped man, Bill shot his hands through the bars of his cell, reaching for the person he mistook for a guard.
Monica gave a shout of surprise as two dirt-caked, sweaty hands grabbed her roughly and yanked her against the bars of the cell. She was caught in a stone grip; insecure, but deadly all the same...
A/N: LONG chapter? BAD chapter? LIKE it? Want more? Is this called a cliffy? Hmmm... :D :D :D :D
Don't judge a thing
Until you know what's inside it
Don't push me
I'll fight it
You can't take me
I'm free.
~Bryan Adams
* * * * * * * * * *
"Hey, Percy... The strangest thing... I made reservations for a dinner tonight with my wife, and remembered that she absolutely HATES the restaurant! She dislikes going out in public, anyway, so I was wondering... What am I going to do with that reservation for the finest place in town? Then I thought of you and that lady, and, well... Would you like them?"
Percy peered suspiciously up into the warm-smiling, slightly nervous face of Paul.
"What are you playing at?" Percy asked, lowly.
"Playing? It's no joke. I need someone to go in our place, and who better than you and that girl that's always around?" Paul persisted.
"Why don't you give the reservation to DEAN?" Percy retorted, glancing back into the mirror to comb back a couple loose strands of hair. "He's got a girl, you know."
"Yeah, well I thought... since you were leaving soon to a new job anyway, your absence wouldn't mean as much as an absence of Dean's," the boss explained.
Percy stopped his primping to glare at Paul, who was more nervous than ever; thank God the short, non-perceptive guard didn't notice. "Tonight?"
"Tonight," Paul repeated, relaxing greatly. "Hope you enjoy. It's at Borticelli's; the only one in town, you can't mistake it, really. I put it under the name Edgecombe, if you're wondering. It's scheduled at eight; earliest time they had! Have a good time."
Percy watched Paul turn and head back down the mile towards his office.
"I did it," Paul said under his breath to the other guards, who were gathered in his private, little room. "He accepted the dinner."
"GOOD thinking!" Harry sighed. "Lucky there were a few reservations left at that place."
"Lucky Percy's stupid enough to go along with that dinner idea without becoming suspicious," Brutal muttered.
"Lucky," Paul agreed, nodding once. "Now that we'll have Percy out of the way, there's only Wild Bill left. We can think of something to do with him, of course. Just as long as we get John out of here tonight, and without getting caught. Remember; Harry and Brutal with me, Dean; you stay and keep watch while we take John. If anyone comes by, you know what to say."
"Right," Dean said.
"I hope you know what we're doing, Paul," Brutal grinned.
"I hope so, too," Paul answered.
* * * * * * * * * *
Monica was bored in her little hotel room; running low on money and food and having a generally bad time. Not just that, but the light had flickered and died only minutes earlier, of all things, and she was sitting, not only broke and hungry, but in darkness as well.
"If only I had enough money for a light bulb," Monica muttered to herself. "Or maybe a slice of toast; then I might be able to go to sleep." She was on the cheap, hard bed, staring at what she imagined was the ceiling when the phone rang, making her jump.
"The phone works! My God, and I thought everything was broken around here!" Monica shouted sarcastically, reaching for the phone in the table next to her bed. In her blindness, she knocked over a clock before fumbling with the phone receiver, picking it up with a clear "Dammit!" as she stepped on a corner of the fallen clock.
"Hello?" the other voice asked, not sure whether or not to believe this was Monica he was listening to.
"Oh, Percy!" Monica cried, utterly delighted to hear his voice in her bad mood, deciding it would be safest to sit on the bed while she talked. "What sends you calling?"
"I was wondering about tonight," Percy said. "I got reservations to this restaurant in town; want to have dinner with me?"
"Would I EVER!" Monica half ranted, half shouted. "I've been having one HELL of a time here! I mean..." she took a deep breath and continued, sweetly, "Yes, dinner sounds lovely! I'm staying at a Renson Hotel here in God-knows-which place - I mean... Renson Hotel on 11th street on the corner, door number seventy-one!"
"Great," Percy replied, "I'll be there at 7:30."
"Wait," Monica said quickly, "What time is it now? The power went out in my room. I can't see the clock."
"It's six right now," Percy said. "Will you be ready by then?"
"You bet," Monica chirped happily. "I just need to get dressed up! Bye, then."
"Good-bye," he said before the dial tone sounded on the other line. He put down the phone and turned the lights off in his house before closing and locking the door behind him. Percy had been preparing to go to dinner for an hour now; spicing himself up and changing out of those stupid work clothes.
"I have an hour to find the Renson Hotel on 11th," Percy recited from Monica's directions, grabbing his car keys from out of his pocket.
And for an hour he drove... getting lost and driving down dead-end roads, and the like. When Percy finally saw a sign that read "Renson" in front of a large building, he gave a sigh of content and pulled into the parking lot. Upon entering the hotel, Percy was noticed by an irritable-looking man from behind the front desk.
"May I help you?" the irritable-looking man asked impolitely, as if Percy were the billionth person he'd seen walk through the doors that night.
"Where's room seventy-one?" Percy asked.
"Why do you want to KNOW?" the man behind the counter responded slyly, twirling his black, curled mustache between his fingers, which looked much unlike his head - bald.
"I'm here to pick someone up, is that any of YOUR concern?" Percy retorted, catching his reflection in the man's forehead, noting that the guy was shorter than he was.
"Why, it IS!" the man puffed, banging his fists on the counter-top. "That room number, and whoever is BEYOND that number is confidential information!"
"I already KNOW who's 'beyond that number'," Percy said sarcastically.
"WISE GUY, are yeh?" the short man puffed even more.
"I can find it myself," Percy grumbled, checking the clock and heading down the hall of his choice.
"Oh, no you don't," the irritable-looking man behind the counter objected, hurrying to block Percy from making his way down the hall, but became distracted when his mustache fell off. "Crap..."
Percy left the man to search for his fake mustache while he hurried away to find room number seventy-one. He began to wonder if he had taken the wrong hall, when he turned a corner and came face to face with the door he was looking for. Straightening his jacket, he knocked twice.
There was a crash from inside the room, and a muffled voice. Until Monica opened the door, he heard strange fumbling noises.
Percy looked at Monica with a smile on his face; aside from looking a little ruffled, she looked more beautiful than ever in her soft-colored dinner dress and matching, pointed high heels, which, he thought, both looked great against her dark hair.
"I'm ready," Monica grinned, grabbing a small purse and closing her door, quickly behind her.
"Let's go this way," Percy uttered, pointing towards a back door. "That guy at the front desk doesn't seem very stable."
"Don't mind him," Monica grumbled, rolling her eyes. "He's just a dunce."
They made their way back towards the main desk, where the guy was still busily looking for his mustache, which happened to be stuck to the sole of his shoe.
Everything was going perfectly, until about fifteen minutes into the drive when Percy remembered he had forgotten the name of the restaurant, and had written it down at the prison.
"I just need to run back to E block," he said hurriedly.
"You can remember the place," Monica suggested, urgently. "We may be late if we go back now!"
But, no matter; Percy couldn't remember what it was called. So they turned into Cold Mountain Penitentiary, with Monica unhappily feeling starved the whole while.
"You can stay in the car if you'd like, I'll only be a moment," Percy assured her as he parked right in front of the softly-lit block which Dean was supposed to be watching over. Later, it was discovered that he had gone to take a short trip to the main building's toilet because the one on E block was feared to overflow soon.
"No, it's all right," Monica sighed. "I'll come with you. Help you find it quicker." She got out on the other side of the car and stepped to the pavement, running around the car to the door that was left open for her, as Percy had already made his way in.
"Strange," Percy mumbled. "Nobody's here."
"Hey. Hey, where's that John Coffey?" Monica asked, peering into the empty cell.
"How'd you know that prisoner's name was..." he trailed off, following to where Monica's eyes had directed him. "Where did HE go?"
Monica shrugged slightly, gazing around the dimly-lit room some more. "When you gotta go, you gotta go..."
"Nevermind," Percy said quickly, heading down the mile towards Paul's office. "We can figure that out later. We have a dinner to get to."
"Wait up," Monica called after him, clicking down the mile in her high heels. When she made it to the office, Percy was already searching through drawers and papers. "Find it?"
"Uh... - huh," Percy answered for a yes, picking up a little slip of paper. "Borticelli's," he muttered. "Whoops."
"Good, now let's go," Monica urged, turning smoothly and making her way back down the green mile. Percy turned off the lights and closed the door to Paul's office, following the girl.
He knew he could have told her to step carefully; maybe a little closer to the middle of the mile. But as a habit of his own, and the fact that the two of them were rushing, the rule didn't seem to apply at the time. The problem is, prisoners don't notice what time of day they strike at, as long as they think they'll have a chance of winning. And the odds were not against Wild Bill.
With shocking speed for an almost completely doped man, Bill shot his hands through the bars of his cell, reaching for the person he mistook for a guard.
Monica gave a shout of surprise as two dirt-caked, sweaty hands grabbed her roughly and yanked her against the bars of the cell. She was caught in a stone grip; insecure, but deadly all the same...
A/N: LONG chapter? BAD chapter? LIKE it? Want more? Is this called a cliffy? Hmmm... :D :D :D :D