Still Waters 2: Another Turn, Chapter 19
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There's fire on the mountain, lightning in the air
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Jacob Donner was fleeing. Everything was coming down around him, and there was little he could do about it. Even his own home had been attacked, probably destroyed. The Yukihiro Group's inspectors had discovered some of his accountant's fraudulent methods of bookkeeping, and, to top it all off, he had accidentally burned the wrong papers before fleeing his estate. He gripped the steering wheel tightly as he sped through the mountain roads on his way south.
It would probably be just another hour or so before he reached his other estate outside of Tokyo, if he kept this pace up. "Dammit! Dammit dammit dammit!!" he screamed in a petty bout of rage, pounding the steering wheel. He forced himself to calm down. There was no point in dwelling on past failures.
And they were definitely failures. Already, phone calls had confirmed that every single girl had been rescued, all his hired guns had failed. All the money spent to prepare the research sites in anticipation of revealing the secrets of magic was wasted, the slave traders would not get their prizes, and he would have to dispose of those who were expecting returns on their investments, since he could no longer pay them with the slave traders' money. Not to mention the losses due to property damage, hospital bills for the injured, bribes to the police and other authorities…bribes which may not even work; Donner was very aware that many of the police here in Japan simply seemed immune to bribery. This was insane!
Realizing he was starting to overreact again, Donner made himself pull over at a rest stop so he could get out and walk around for a moment to clear his head. He had just gotten one of those weird Japanese drinks from a machine when he noticed some punks gathering around his car. "Hey! Hey you kids, get away from that!"
One young man lowered his sunglasses—'Why is he wearing sunglasses at night?' Donner wondered absently—and gave him that odd, semi-constipated look that street punks in Japan seemed to think was frightening. Donner was not impressed.
"Eeeeeh? What's your problem, old man? Is something wrong? Do you not like me looking at this fine piece of automotive history? Huh?" The others strutted around Donner until he was surrounded by six street punks.
Warily, Donner reached into his pocket, but something struck him a hard blow on the back of the head before he could draw his gun, and he fell to his hands and knees. The punks closed in, then, and beat him viciously until he was left little more than a bloody, quivering mess on the pavement.
"Hey man, check this out! He left the keys in the ignition!"
"Hah! Awesome, let's go!"
"Yeah! Hey old man, thanks for the car," one of them said, dumping the remains of his drink on Donner as he lay there, then gave him one final kick for good measure.
Donner could hear them running their mouths as they squeezed into the car and had a vicious urge to wring their necks with his bare hands. He twisted his head painfully and tried to get one last glimpse of his beloved Ferrari 250 Spyder, but it was already gone, the engine roaring as the punks drove it away. And then there was nothing but the chirping of crickets and his own wheezing breath, so he dragged himself upright and made his way to a payphone. Damn those kids…! Damn all of them!
Once he was back on his feet again and set up in the Ukraine or Argentina, then he could go about getting his revenge. A Ferrari such as his beloved 250 was very rare; it wouldn't be hard to locate it again. From there, each of those punks would receive a visit from one of Donner's…'friends', who would be sure to clean up after himself. Those punks would rue the day they fucked with Jacob Donner…! Yes, he would first kill their pets and families, and dispose of the bodies in the acid baths they usually used to dispose of such things, then slowly lower each punk alive into the same acid bath that had just dissolved his own family members, yes, yes. Donner cackled laughter. "Yes, and you'll be the last, you fucking punk!" he screamed into the night, referring to the one with sunglasses. A dog started barking in the distance, and Donner came back to reality. He picked up a stick to use as a crutch, and made his way up to the road, where he flagged down a car, whose owner he shot and rolled down the embankment. He got in and started driving, making sure to cement in his mind the face of each of his attackers.
He eventually managed to calm down as he drove, and turned on the radio.
"—authorities are still not sure as to the details of Mr. Donner's illegal operations, but—"
He quickly turned it off.
So, someone had spilled their guts to the police, and from there to the media. He would likely have to change his name again. What a pain. He continued driving.
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Donner arrived at his other estate just under two hours later, and had to flash his ID to the guard on duty, who insisted on taking him to a hospital. Donner waved the man off and parked the stolen car in the garage, between the Countach and the '36 Talbot. Honestly, the Civic looked pitiful sitting between them. He snorted in disgust and made his way through the house to his private bathroom, where he cleaned his face up and took a good long soak in the bath.
Already his face was badly swollen…it was no wonder the guard on duty had forced him to show ID. He was still angry, but it was sort of understandable, given what he looked like now.
…that thought gave him an idea. Donner climbed out of the bath and wiped the mist from the mirror so he could see his reflection. It was true, he didn't look anything like himself. He opened the medicine cabinet and took out his razor and a can of shaving gel, and got to work. He had to be careful around the tender areas, but after about ten minutes, took a good long look in the mirror, and grinned painfully.
Without his goatee and his swollen face, he might as well be a stranger. His face still hurt like hell, though. Not to mention the rest of his body.
His musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Phone, boss."
Donner opened the door and took the phone, shooing the man away. "Donner here."
'Donner you sly bastard, what are you trying to pull?' the man on the other line demanded.
Donner was taken aback, naturally. "Who is this?"
'Captain Slater. What are you trying to pull, Donner?'
"Captain Slater…from the mercenary group, correct?"
'Private Military Company. We're not mercenaries.'
"I see. Now, what is this about?" Donner asked, considerably aggravated.
'The transfer you promised never went through, Donner. You owe us a lot of money, and we intend to get it.'
"…I approved that transfer days ago." That gave Donner pause. His transfer had to have been blocked somehow. But…oh no. "I'll call you back, Slater. I think the police may be investigating the both of us," Donner said. Slater swore a blue streak in several languages and Donner hung up the phone, wrapped a towel around his waist, and went to his computer room, to his 'safe' computer.
A quick check of his bank accounts showed they were all overdrawn by many thousands of dollars. "What on Earth…?"
"Boss! Boss, hurry! Get yourself dressed, we're under attack!" One of the guards shouted as he ran into the room with his gun drawn.
"What?!"
The guard ran around the room, checking anywhere a person might have hidden, even as a distant boom that might have been fireworks sounded in the night. "Hurry, we have to go!" the guard said, frantically. Several more dull booms sounded, and the guard led Donner to his room at a run.
"Stay away from the windows, please," the guard said as Donner grabbed some clothing from the dresser and closet. "We have to hurry, sir."
Donner gave the man an irritated look as he buttoned up his shirt and grabbed a tie.
Another, much closer explosion rattled the house, and Donner's eyes widened. That had been close. And big. He was slipping on his shoes when a ridiculously bright searchlight shined through his windows, forcing him to shield his eyes.
"What the fuck?!"
"Sir, get down!" the guard said, forcing him to the ground.
They heard the whine of a speaker, followed by a bumping sound, as if someone were tapping a microphone to make sure it worked. Then what sounded like a teenage girl began speaking. "Jacob Donner, we know you're in there. We have the place surrounded, come out with your hands up!"
"What, does she think this is a movie?" the guard asked incredulously. Donner concurred. What the hell was going on, here?!
"Jacob Donner, I know what you did last summer!"
"Why haven't you people killed her yet?" Donner asked irritably.
"I don't know. She's got something with her, it's got to be a tank or something. Nobody saw what was happening but Jack, out at the guard shack, but he's not responding to calls. Whatever it is, it's capable of firing some major artillery."
"Let's get out of here. There is a hidden passage in the closet," Donner said, leading the way as he crawled across the floor.
"Hey you, don't move!" the girl outside yelled. Her voice was almost immediately followed by a huge blast that rattled the house and shook plaster from the ceiling. "I warned you." This was followed by the unmistakable sound of a gatling gun starting to spin, which blasted a row of holes through the wall roughly twelve inches above Donner and the frightened guard's heads.
"Fuck fuck fuck!" the guard screamed as he covered his head and curled up on the floor.
Donner looked at the man in disgust and scrambled for the trap door. He opened it and lowered himself into the passage, and pulled it shut after him, cutting off most of the sounds. If that coward of a guard couldn't handle something like that, he wasn't worthy of being a guard anyway.
"My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father, prepare to die!" the girl chirped through the speaker, followed by more explosions and the screams of the wounded. The sound was muffled here underground, but he could still hear it just fine as he ran through the passageway. Wondering randomly about the girl's sanity, he climbed the ladder at the end and opened the trapdoor above him. When he climbed out into the garage, he simply stared in shock and horror.
His cars, his beloved cars…all of them were shot full of holes. The DB4, the Cobra, the Mercedes, even the '29 Bentley! All of them, ruined!
Donner collapsed to the floor. "My…my cars…"
Massive explosions suddenly rocked the house behind him, bits of debris knocking him flat as the roof started to collapse above him.
Donner scrambled for the side door and burst through it, almost ripping it from its hinges as his survival instincts kicked in.
"Freeze right there!" the girl with the microphone shouted as those impossibly bright spotlights shined directly in his face.
Donner lost his balance and fell unceremoniously on his butt in the mud, then started to scramble backward toward the collapsing garage.
"Fire!"
Several small rockets flashed by over Donner's head, and the garage erupted in a massive explosion of flying debris. Donner was blasted across the yard and rolled several feet before coming to rest near the hedgerow, whimpering. A burning tire rolled up and bounced off his stomach.
"It looks like you've had a bad day. How does it feel?" the girl asked, and Donner realized he was hearing her actual voice, rather than a speaker system.
He tried to look at her, but all he could see was a vague silhouette, all features lost due to the bright lights shining behind her.
"Who are you?" he asked, breathless from the pain and loss he had suffered.
"A concerned citizen. How does it feel, Mr. Donner? You kidnapped my friends, attacked my home, caused the deaths of several people…how does it feel?"
"What…?"
"You will no doubt be pleased to know that your accounts have all been overdrawn and frozen. Your funds, such as they were, will be put to good use," the girl said.
"What are you talking about?!"
"Various hospitals and retirement homes will be glad to receive the kind, anonymous donations of supplies and money, and several automotive museums around the world will be glad to receive the anonymous donations of important pieces of automotive history. Also, the contents of your hard drives have all been forwarded to the proper authorities," she continued. "And the group of mercenaries you hired to do your dirty work? I believe they will be quite angry when they discover your plans to dispose of them in a tragic plane crash at sea."
Donner started shaking his head. "No…no!"
"The yakuza you manipulated…will also be displeased. As will the port authorities, the arms suppliers, that South American dictator, the oil sheiks, the man in the Ukraine, the black market slave dealers in the Balkans…Mister Gaze as well, I believe. Need I go on? I can, you know…for almost an hour."
Donner was shaking now, clutching his hair and whipping his head back and forth. "No! No! You can't do this!"
"I already have. Just remember, Mr. Donner…this is what happens when you mess with my friends," the girl said.
After a moment Donner stopped his frenzied, shaking movements and his mind became oddly clear. He saw the girl's silhouette as she turned to say something to whoever was standing behind her. He felt a familiar weight in his pants pocket, and slipped his hand inside to grab his gun, a little semi-automatic .22. Sure, it wasn't a .45 or a .357, but it had been directly responsible for more than one death…he'd show her. He'd show this girl what happened when you fucked with Jacob Donner! He'd show her…!
"Rally, Go ahead."
"Yes, Hakase."
Four gunshots rang out and Donner screamed as the humerus in both arms were shattered by high caliber bullets, quickly followed by both femurs.
Needless to say, he dropped the pistol.
"Let's go home, Rally. We'll let the authorities take care of him."
"Y-yes," she said, looking back. "Will he be ok?"
"You didn't hit any major veins, did you?"
"No…"
"He'll be fine," Hakase said as sirens from police cars, ambulances, and firetrucks blared. The vehicles were roaring toward the burning and half destroyed manor house now.
At the top of a small hill, Hakase turned back for one last look, a faint smile as of a job well done graced her features, and then she climbed into the waiting helicopter with her companion. "Let's go, I'm tired…" she said to the pilot.
"Got it. We'll be there in thirty minutes."
"Thank you."
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The helicopter circled overhead once, twice, and Donner screamed his lungs out at it, not even bothering to use actual words anymore; he was too far gone for that. He tried to shake his fists at it, but only succeeded in causing himself untold agony as he flailed around, arms and legs flopping bonelessly.
He screamed and screamed and screamed, even as the paramedics sedated him and strapped him into the stretcher, he screamed. Endless, wordless sounds, meaningless to everyone but himself.
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Author's Note: Aaaand…Hakase's pretty scary.