If you think I actually own any of this, you're wrong. It's the brain child of Angela Robinson and the property of Sony Pictures.
Chapter 10:
The alarm on the vault went off right on time; practically to the minute at 8:46 AM the next morning. So far, so good.
Gotta hand it to Tippmann, too. They respond quickly; especially to US customs. I once had to change my phone number, and that took me weeks to arrange. Tippmann was changing the vault's combination within hours.
We watched the vault technician arrive and leave. We couldn't watch what actually happened in the vault room, but the protocol was pretty well established. Tippmann would reset the system, set a new access code, just in case the old one had been compromised, then pass it, written on a slip of paper, to the customs official authorized to open the vault. He would then shred it in the presence of the technician.
In other words, the only written record of would be destroyed within thirty seconds of it being set.
So we needed to get our hands on those shreds.
Scud had the somewhat unenviable task of going through all the documents the customs official had shredded in the last week and piecing together that one document which would let us into the vault. But he said he could do it, and he's never failed me before.
My left cheek was a rather pretty hue of purple the next morning. The swelling was substantial, but it was a lot less noticeable once Amy helped me cake it with a nice thick layer of makeup. As long as nobody looked too closely, I would be okay.
It was hard to look her in the eyes as she worked to conceal my injuries; partly because she wasn't exactly being her talkative self, mostly because I was feeling a little guilty. I accepted long ago that sometimes you have to lie to live. I just didn't expect that I'd have to lie to her. On that note, can I just add that I love Amy to pieces, but she does have this ice queen routine that is frankly scary. Normally, she's one of the warmest, most loving human beings I know. But if you push her, you end up with freezer burn. Not fun.
Chills notwithstanding, I managed to get all the necessary injuries concealed, and changed into a uniform for Howlet Confidentials paper disposal company.
I didn't care much for Howlet's uniform. I guess that could be related to the fact I happen to be a big fan of the female form, and their uniform seemed designed to smother it; make it into an unrecognizable, shapeless, genderless, walking heap of cloth. Normally, I'm not one to sing the DEBS praises, but I put credit where credit's due: they've got a decent dress code.
Amy had asked me once why her. Why'd I go after an ostensibly-straight super-duper crime fighter woman who happened to be trying to arrest me at the time? My answer was "two words: plaid skirt." I'd always wondered if she ever realized that I was only half-joking.
Oh, stop looking at me that way. It's not like it's the only reason we got together, but cutting the crap for a second: she was wearing a plaid miniskirt that showed off an awful lot of leg; she was wearing a partly-unbuttoned (and untucked) white shirt that hugged her figure quite well; and she was holding me at gunpoint. You'd think that last one would've cold-showered her sex appeal a little. And you'd be wrong.
It didn't take me long to decide that I much preferred walking in through the front door to tying myself to the bottom of the elevator. For one thing, I was significantly less likely to take a six-story fall this way. The guard at the front desk barely even looked at me before he waved me up to the sixth floor. Guess he figured that a robbery in broad daylight when there were cameras on every floor, and the building was bustling with activity was pretty unlikely. To be fair, he was right. I handed him my ID (one of Scud's better fakes, I've got to say; and he's done some good ones for me in the past), he quickly glanced up at my face to make sure it matched the picture on the ID, then quickly waved it under a UV light to verify its authenticity. I wasn't really worried. Scud's the best.
But why he gave me the name "Suzy Topaz" is just beyond me. It sounds like a cross between a blonde valley girl and a stripper. The guard didn't seem to notice. Maybe he spent a lot of time at strip clubs; I don't know.
Also, let me point out that riding up inside the elevator car was much preferable to dangling on the outside. They were rigged with cameras, so I kept my head tilted downwards so that my bangs hung down to conceal most of my face. Provided nobody looked too closely at the footage in the next two weeks, we'd probably get in and out clean.
The secret to being somewhere you don't belong is not to look like you don't belong. I was one of thousands of people that would appear on the security footage during the day. As long as I didn't do anything overly suspicious, I probably wouldn't even be noticed. I had a couple of things working to my advantage, namely the fact that nobody ever takes a good look at their garbage man — person. So walking back into the office I'd broken into less than twelve hours before was remarkably easy.
I stepped in through the glass door. It was unlocked now, and with a little luck, nobody would think to print it in the next two weeks either. So far, nobody had any reason to suspect that we'd broken in.
I took a quick note of the make and model of the shredder sitting on the office floor. I didn't know for sure if Scud needed that to make his magic work, but I wasn't gonna break back into the office for it; plus I made sure that I got all the scraps out of the garbage pail under the shredder. Didn't want to miss something that Scud could find vital.
The customs official seated at the desk didn't speak to me. He barely even seemed to notice that I was there; which, fortunately, was exactly what I was hoping for.
I ducked into the washroom and carefully stuffed one white garbage bag, the one which held the shreds from the vault room, into my shirt. Considering that I had enough spare room in there to fit three of me, that was actually a pretty easy task.
Leaving the building was almost as much of a non-event as entering was.
Getting outside, on the other hand, was a bit of an experience.
It was the flash of blue plaid I saw out of the corner of my eye that first made my eyes dart to the left. Okay, I thought, there's Max. Where's the lackey?
He had to be around here somewhere; there's no way that Ronnie would've let me out on something like this without surveillance, but I couldn't see him anywhere. There was no signature black Buick parked on the street, and there were dozens of people walking past, talking on cellphones, if he was out there, he'd picked the perfect place to hide.
But he'd probably spotted Max, so he wasn't about to do anything overt to draw attention to himself. The last thing he wanted to do was bring the DEBS down on his head. So if I bolted, wherever he was, he was probably going to stay put. Max, on the other hand, was probably going to give chase, and that chick was fast.
So I glanced over at her quickly, then immediately ran in the opposite direction. I felt, rather than really saw or heard, Max break into a sprint behind me. She runs fast, so I was pretty sure she'd overtake me in a straight-out footrace, so I ducked into the first alleyway I could find. As I darted around another corner, the butt of a pistol lashed out, smacking me just over my right eyebrow. The force of the blow, combined with my own forward momentum, snapped my head backwards and I landed flat on my back on the cold concrete. As I lifted myself up to a half-seated position, I looked up to see Max training a gun on me. Guess she'd decided to cut around and head me off. I had to remind myself that she was a squad leader. Strategy? Not exactly a weak point for her. I lifted my fingers to my eyebrow, rubbing it gingerly. My face had had far better weeks.
"I owed you that one," she said through gritted teeth.
Okay, to be fair, she was right on that one.
My gaze drifted slightly over to her right as I saw something move. I stood, leaning heavily on the brick wall next to me as the world seemed to spin out of control. "Well, whaddaya know?" I commented. My speech was a little slurry. "The whole gang's here." Janet stood just behind max and to the left, a Beretta in her hands trained on me. Behind her was the other one. Frenchie. I can never remember her name; Dom-something. She was armed with what looked like a MAC-10 autopistol, and had her trademark cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth. I tell you, that girl's gonna die of lung cancer at thirty. I turned back towards Janet. "Hi Janet," I said.
"Is Amy okay?" She asked immediately.
I nodded, "yeah, as long as I play nice."
"What does he want from you?" Max asked.
I shook my head, "it won't come to that," I insisted. "How'd you know where I'd be?"
"We got an anonymous call this morning," Max replied. "Told us you'd be here."
"You specifically?" I asked. "It didn't come down from one of your higher-ups?"
Max shook her head, "we got the call directly."
That was Scud's doing. So far, so good.
"I need a favor," I told Max.
-x-
"You got the combination?" Ronnie demanded as soon as I walked into the room.
I produced a small black garbage bag and dropped it on the table, "it's in there somewhere," I told him. "Scud can piece it back together."
Amy's eyes widened as she looked at the large bruise over my right eyebrow. I'd have quite the black eye the next morning; which didn't really matter because I didn't need to be seen in public for almost two weeks. "Jesus, what happened?"
"You should see the other guy," I muttered.
"Who was it?" Ronnie demanded.
"Like you don't know," I countered. I turned to Amy, "your ex-coworkers decided to pay me a visit."
"What did you talk about?" Ronnie asked.
Okay, this was going to be a gamble. Either he knew what we'd talked about, and was playing with me, or he didn't know, and wanted to find out. I gestured at the bruise on my face, "does it look like we spent much time talking?" I demanded.
Ronnie produced a small micro cassette recorder. He pressed the play button, and laid it on the table in front of me.
"I need a favor," my voice spoke from the tiny speaker.
Shit.
"What do you need?" Max's voice responded.
I'd already considered the possibility that maybe he'd bugged me. One of the buttons in my shirt, probably. Another one probably had a GPS locator. Fortunately, what was being said wasn't critical, and judging by the way he was playing things, he hadn't rigged me with a camera.
"We're in the old Whistler Steel factory just north of the city. I'll worry about keeping Amy safe; I need you to come in and come in hard," my voice replied.
"You realize that we can't let you go," Max replied. "We will take you in."
"I don't care about that," I heard myself say, "can you do it?"
Ronnie stopped the recording. "For the record, whoever it was who called them anonymously, it wasn't me."
No shit. I thought sarcastically.
"Now, my dear Lucinda," he shook his head disappointedly, "what shall I ever do with you?"
I closed my eyes tightly. This was really gonna hurt.
-x-
When the gray cloud in front of my eyes cleared, Amy was again sitting next to me. Just about everything hurt now. Nothing felt broken, but most of it felt bruised in some way. I guess he wanted me to be recovered enough to finish phase two in two weeks. I was pretty sure that he wasn't going to kill me. He still needed me; but I was equally certain that this last stunt wasn't going to make it likely that he would just let me to when it was all over.
"How do I look?" I croaked.
"You look fine," Amy replied.
"For a perfect liar," I replied, "that was a pretty crappy one."
Amy winced, "sorry."
"Where are we?" I asked.
"A wine cellar of some kind," Amy replied. "Or at least one room of a wine cellar. I saw at least six rooms this size down here."
I nodded, "Ronnie keeps a few of them. He does like his wine." I tried to shake the cobwebs out of my head. "Take it we're locked in?"
Amy nodded sadly, "and the bastard didn't even give us a cot this time. Just a blanket and a couple of pillows."
I nodded. He would've vacated that factory right quick; probably to go somewhere relatively close to the target, if he stuck with his usual pattern.
Funny how my attempts to direct attention away from what I'm actually doing usually end up with me getting beaten up. Maybe I need to rethink my decision-making paradigm.
"Scud's got the combination?" I asked.
"He's working on it," Amy said, "he thinks it'll take a while because the shredder was one of those ones that cuts strips, and crosscuts as well."
"Any idea where Ronnie put the blueprints, plans, all that stuff?" I asked.
"There's a safe in another room like this one. I think that's where he put your guns too," she said.
"Well, at least they're all in the same place," I replied.
"Somehow, I don't think we're going to be able to get to that safe, much less crack it," Amy replied.
"Then we'll have to be a little smarter," I replied idly. "You okay?"
"I'm not the one who's been beaten up three times in the last two days," Amy replied with a slight smirk.
"Yeah," I lay back on the pillow, closing my eyes for a moment, "makes me want to rethink my image as a people-person."
"You feeling okay?" She asked.
"Well…" I drawled, "I could use someone to snuggle up with."
"I have no idea where Scud is," Amy smiled thinly.
I started to laugh, but winced in pain, grabbing my ribs, "ooh, don't make me do that."
"Sorry," she whispered, sliding under the blanket next to me. I snuggled up next to her, letting my head rest against her chest where I could feel her breathing, and hear the soothing throb of her heartbeat.
It was going to be two weeks before we could go for the diamond. I'd be spending most of that time recovering, and I knew that Amy would spend all that time right next to me. As I finally drifted off to sleep, it occurred to me that there were worse places to recover.