by Z. M. Wilmot
Chapter Twelve
Professor Siegfried Reinhouer drove through the streets like a man struck with mania, his mind racing with terrible possibilities. He flew through the doors of the police station like a hurricane, earning him many a gaze of astonishment. The professor walked up to the front desk of the office, slammed his hand on the table, and demanded to know what the bail for Henry Devalier was. The officer on duty responded that the bail was equal to the sum of one thousand dollars. Reinhouer slowly and carefully removed a wad of newly-acquired bills from his coat pocket, and counted out one thousand dollars from them exactly. The officer looked surprised, but said not a word, and after a few signatures, Henry Devalier was brought out to the front, given an explanation of his release, and then finally escorted out of the station by the professor.
As soon as the pair was out of the door and the sight of those inside, Reinhouer stole away to the left, dragging the boy after him. Sneaking away around a corner, the two turned to face each other. “What did I say about getting caught?” Reinhouer demanded angrily.
“I didn’t mean to!” whispered Henry. “The officer was hiding in the bushes! There was no way I could have seen him!”
Reinhouer took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and then shook his head. “No matter… we can still do this. We’ll just have to try again.”
“Are you mad?” Henry asked. “They’ll be watching me like hawks now, and no one else is going to come near me if they have any wyrdroot!”
“We have to try,” Reinhouer stated calmly, struggling to keep his voice level. “This is not a game. This is your life we’re talking about.” And quite possibly mine, Siegfried thought.
Henry leaned against the wall and slid to the ground. “It’s useless – I can try to get more, but it won’t work... the dealers will avoid me like the plague. I can’t possibly get enough of the stuff.”
Reinhouer furrowed his brow as he thought. Slowly, an idea came to him. “Henry… did you see where they put the root they confiscated?”
The student looked up. “They probably distributed it among them-”
“No jokes!” interrupted the professor. “Do you know where they put it?”
“There’s a safe in the back of the station where they put everything they confiscate.” Devalier looked up at the light growing in Reinhouer’s eyes. “Surely you can’t be… it’s guarded, you know. There’s no way we’d make it in there.”
“Says you,” muttered the professor, hoisting young Devalier to his feet. “Come on… let’s hope they have it in there.”
Henry reluctantly let himself be led around the side of the building, the pair of them crawling under windows and hiding in the bushes near the side of the building. Devalier thought that this whole idea was utterly ridiculous, and muttered thus to himself the whole time, hoping meanwhile that those who dwelt in the neighboring homes would not chance to look at the station and see the two sneaking figures.
As far as either could tell, they made it safely to the back of the station. Peering in through each window along the back wall, the pair made their way across said wall, until Devalier said that they had reached the place. Fortunately, no officers had been looking out any of the rear windows, and it was the same with the window opening into the saferoom. Devalier gestured to the guard inside, whose blue-clad back was facing away from them, and told the professor that the box he stood in front of was the safe, which was anchored to the floor and could not be moved.
“All right then,” whispered Reinhouer. “Stay here, Henry.” The old man rubbed his hands together. Henry gasped as the professor stood up and began dancing and flailing wildly, banging on the glass. The officer on duty turned and ran to the window, handgun raised, as well as eyebrow.
After a few moments, he used his free hand to undo the window latch and lift the window. “Sir, what seems-” The officer staggered back as Reinhouer’s fist connected with his skull, and the professor’s left hand snaked out and grabbed the firearm from the wounded officer. With a strength and agility that belied his old age, Reinhouer flowed in through the window, gun aimed at the officer, who clutched at his nose and stared at the professor with terror in his eyes. From the other side of the large safe – it stretched two-thirds of the way to the ceiling – came the sound of footsteps. A second police officer rounded the corner and came into sight, then froze at the sight of Reinhouer leveling the pistol at his companion’s head.
“Now, you’ll do as I say,” Siegfried Reinhouer intoned quietly. “Open that safe.” The officer in back hesitated, and began to inch towards the room's exit. “Do you think I’m bluffing?” Reinhouer asked, smiling maniacally as he did so. “I can assure you, I’m not.” He switched the pistol’s aim to the other officer, and the one in front of him took the chance to leap forward. Reinhouer sidestepped neatly and brought the butt of the pistol down upon the man’s head, knocking him out cold. An instant later the gun’s barrel was again pointed at the further policeman. “Do it. Now. And while we’re at it, drop the gun.”
The slightly overweight officer dropped the gun onto the floor with a loud clatter, and slowly sidled over to the safe. Reinhouer walked forward, his gun trained on the policeman, and locked the windowless door to the rest of the station. The policeman opened the safe a few moments later, and held open the door. Reinhouer looked at its contents and smiled. “Good, good. Now, I have a question for you… do you know who I am?”
The man gulped. “N-no sir, I’m sor-”
“Oh good.” Reinhouer took three steps forward and sent the young officer sprawling onto the floor, blood coming down from the top of his skull. That done, Reinhouer returned to the window and whispered for Henry to come in. The young man did so, and the two walked around to the front of the safe.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” Henry said in awe.
“One does what one must when lives are on the line,” the professor said, his face set grimly. “They’ll be fine. In pain, but fine. I just hope that the man by the window didn’t know who I was. Hopefully the blows I gave them will befuddle their minds enough that they won’t be able to accurately describe me. Now, look inside – is that the wyrdroot?”
Devalier turned his attention to the contents of the safe and his jaw dropped. “I would say so… and far more than they took from me.”
Reinhouer grinned. “Then all is as it should be… and I see our sycamore leaves are in there as well.” The professor began stuffing the plant matter into the voluminous pockets of his pants and coat. “Come on, we need to get all of this back home!” Sighing resignedly, Devalier began to help him, until all of the illicit matter – in addition to a healthy supply of sycamore leaves – were either stowed away in various pockets or being grasped firmly in the men’s hands.
“And now, out we go!” The professor had attained an almost childish demeanour, and it unnerved young Henry a fair bit. The two crawled out of the window, stepping over the sprawled-out officer, and ran into the woods behind the station, closing the window behind them.
“Now how do we get to the car?” Henry asked. “We can’t just saunter out in front of the police station with this contraband.”
“Your sarcasm is not helping, young man,” Reinhouer said, finally beginning to calm down. “I suppose we’ll have to sneak around… I parked relatively near to the forest’s edge, so if we continue to the left and go around, we should be able to steal across the lot to my automobile.” Henry sighed, but did not have a better idea, so the pair of them scurried through the undergrowth, taking about five minutes to reach the forest’s edge near the lot. The pair quickly spied Reinhouer’s vehicle, and after a quick scan of the nearby windows of the station, raced across to the car when no one was looking. Reinhouer opened the driver’s door quickly, and Henry dove inside, sidling over to the passenger’s seat. Reinhouer closed the door as he climbed behind the wheel and started the vehicle. “Now, we drive slowly…”
And slowly the professor did drive – almost lethargic
ally so, so that Henry had to point out that driving too slowly was almost as suspicious as driving too quickly, and Reinhouer picked up the pace.
The pair made it eventually back to their home, and discreetly entered the house, dumping their payload on the floor of the living room. “This will do nicely…” the professor said, going over the recipe in his head.
“I hope so,” muttered Henry.