“No,” said Chris. He saw the error over Frank's shoulder. Chris's mind jumped back in time through the day's events. It could have been damaged when he crushed it, but when he was working on it there weren't any physical signs of it. Back further in time, he replayed the visit to Erik's office. He pulled out the drive when it was copying to the laptop without performing a safe removal. That was it. It was his fault.
Frank stomped around looking for something to kick or help alleviate the massive frustration clinging to every inch of his skin. Chris stood motionless. He couldn't feel his skin. They had nothing but time ticking away until Erik showed up.
“Wait. We’re in the server room,” said Chris. The words came out, but they didn't feel like they were his own. His mouth kept going, though. “You can remotely enter Alex’s computer from here. I know the labs used X-Tech as their outside link. It’s practically what we were doing originally. Just pull the video from his desktop and then re-launch it from the laptop here to play over everyone’s devices.” Chris stopped and looked at Frank in wonderment. The idea and expelling of it still felt alien to Chris but it sounded like a good one. Frank agreed.
“That’s going to take longer but I can locate his ISP and...” Frank stopped talking and put it to action.
Chris was still in a daze over the help or whatever it was he received before his eyes focused on the room around them. “Where's Johnykin?” Frank didn't have time to answer. Chris grabbed his phone and already put himself at the stairs leading out of the basement in search of their security guard.
Chris could barely make out the shapes of employees gathered in a small patch of grass and trees, reserved as a mini-park for the downtown crowd, across the street. Even with the obscured view through the glass doors, Chris saw what he expected; heads tilted down to look at smartphones. He moved away from the entrance and bobbed and weaved around the cubicles until he thought better of everything. He remembered Frank telling him about the second floor storage. It would have to be accessed from the back of the building.
There wasn’t any point in wasting more time. Even without signs of Erik yet, those phones outside were sure to spread this latest drama, so Chris sprinted for the back and the already open door. He didn’t know what Johnykin might find up there that was useful, but he needed her to set up their ensuing escape.
Chris’s fast pace up the stairs echoed everywhere making it impossible for him to call out Johnykin’s name or hear a response. But in a few seconds he was at the top of the landing and staring straight into the wide opening of a musket. Chris’s legs buckled beneath him from fear and also as an escape from getting his face blown off.
“Holy shit, you scared me,” said Johnykin, lowering the gun.
“Where did you find that?” asked Chris from the floor.
Johnykin helped him to his feet. “It’s a prop. At least I think it is. There are boxes full of old looking guns, blunt swords, and clothes from every time period before, I think, the 50s.”
“Show me,” said Chris. He was already walking but Johnykin guided him past the accumulation of X-Tech’s contribution of waste to rows of boxes in different states of decay. Chris pulled at a cardboard flap and half of it tore off. The aged flap disintegrated in his hand.
Inside the box, Chris dug up a pair of matching shirts with large lace collars and worn out tights to go with them.
“Must’ve been an old theater,” said Johnykin. She went through a box next to Chris and pulled out a Victorian era dress.
“Uh-huh,” said Chris. He scanned the costumes trying to find some worth in them for his plan when his phone buzzed. It was Frank. “Did you find it?”
“No. Did you hear that noise?” said Frank. Chris could hear Frank still typing through the phone.
“What noise? What did it sound like?”
“There it is again. Where the hell are you?”
“Second floor. We’ll check it out.” Chris hung up and motioned to Johnykin to follow. They went down the stairs slowly, listening for whatever Frank had heard. At the bottom of the stairs, the noise came in loud and clear.
Erik’s overtly masculine voice amplified by a megaphone broke into the first floor of the X-Tech headquarters. “…open the doors to assist you. We understand the terrorist threat has escalated above your means. We’re here to help you.”
Chris stopped himself and Johnykin from going any further than the door. He called up Frank, “It’s Erik. He’s outside on a speaker calling to let him in. He’s going along with the bomb threat. Are you done?”
“Shit. No! There are thousands of lines of data to get through. I found the labs, but I have to go through each computer’s data reads before I can identify Alex’s.”
“Just remotely access each one. You’ll see their desktop. Alex had that full moon picture on his,” said Chris.
“Fuck you. Why didn’t you say that earlier? Alright, ten minutes max. You better have a good escape plan.” Frank hung up.
Chris looked at Johnykin, “Where are those guns and swords?”
She turned up the stairs at a run with Chris on her heels. Johnykin took him directly to a series of boxes stacked on one another to about four feet high. The top boxes were open from Johnykin’s earlier rummaging. Chris tore into the boxes. Some of them were clothes like the earlier ones, but he found another gun; a small pistol. It was metal and felt and looked real but there was nothing in the cylinder.
They went through all the boxes: shields, boas, a wooden Tommy gun, blunt swords, top hats, helmets, pieces of armor, a spear. Chris’s mind ran through the possibilities of each prop and the relative success each or all would bring to their escape/survival.
Johnykin picked up the pistol and wooden Tommy gun. “Come on, Chris. We can bluff our way out. Erik doesn’t want a shootout.”
Chris imagined them with the guns pointed at Erik. Erik laughed at the gesture and shot them down without hesitation. “No. That’ll just get us killed. Here.” Chris grabbed a gold helmet and handed it to Johnykin.
“This isn’t going to give any protection.” Chris ran his hands through the pile and pushed her a matching breastplate and girdle. He then topped it off with a sword covered in chipped gold paint. “A Greek soldier?”
“It’s all about the first impression, or second…” said Chris, and dove back in to gather a set of armor for Frank and himself.
They didn’t completely match, but in Chris’s mind that authenticated the look more. He picked up the shield and then went for the spear. As he pulled, the spear caught on a thick cloth tarp. Chris yanked the spear and tarp free with a billow of dust to reveal a cannon.
“We can use that,” said Johnykin. She wiped some dust from the barrel. A bronze gleam came through.
From the muzzle to the wheel base, the entire thing was less than four feet long, but Chris thought it fit the image he was going for. He searched around for more. “We could definitely use it if it fires.”
“I doubt there’s a cannonball sitting around up here.”
“We don’t need that, just gunpowder to buy some time.”
“There's nothing here. We have to go. Erik won't wait forever for us to open the doors.”
“Help me push it down the stairs,” said Chris.
The wheels groaned under the weight but still propelled the cannon forward with the help of Johnykin and Chris behind it. They stopped at the top of the stairs to gain a better vantage point of the effect of pushing such an old, heavy object down a series of steps would entail.
“I’ll get in front, you push the back,” said Chris, and did just that.
All of it was awkward, from wearing the stiff, fake armor to providing a stable balance of pushing from the front and back. Yet they made it to the bottom and continued to roll across the first floor past the cubicles to the front entrance.
Chris stopped them right behind the last cubicle before they became visible through the glass doors. They hadn’t heard any more megaphone announcements from Erik. Chris
knew they were running out of time.
“Stay with the cannon. I have to check on Frank,” said Chris and ran with his head down below the cubicles to the entrance of the basement holding the extra set of armor and spear.
Inside the basement, Chris sprinted over to a still furiously typing Frank that was now sweating amidst the air conditioned climate.
“No! I’m still looking,” said Frank.
“I don’t know when, but I know soon Erik’s coming through the front door and there are no witnesses down here or inside the building to see what he does when he finds us,” said Chris. “We’re leaving the next time I come down here, with the release of the video or not.”
Frank never looked at Chris. Chris dumped the armor and spear with a clang. Frank turned to see the noise and his friend’s garish outfit. “The hell?” said Frank.
“You don’t have to dye any grey hairs, but have that on before I come back,” said Chris. Then he grabbed the tools and stuffed them into the black bag before rushing back out of the basement.
On the first floor again, Chris raced back still consciously keeping his head down. Then Erik’s voice rang out once more, “We’re moving in to help. Do not be alarmed.”
Chris bowled over Johnykin as he skidded to a stop. He flung the black bag from the basement down to dig through the contents.
“What are we going to do, Chris?” asked Johnykin. Her headpiece slipped down slightly and she struggled to adjust it.
Chris thought it all seemed less likely to work at this point, but he couldn’t come up with anything else. “Trust me,” said Chris. He had the soldering iron in his hand. He ducked into the cubicle next to them and pulled a power strip to its full length and plugged in the iron. The plug reached just far enough to drop the iron in the vent of the cannon.
A thunderous crash of broken glass frightened Chris and Johnykin into each other’s arms for protection. Once Chris realized what the sound must mean, he leaned around the corner of the cubicle to confirm it.
Erik stepped across the threshold of the X-Tech headquarters. The pieces of glass crunched under his feet as he took as wide a stance as his short legs could comfortably make in the center of the lobby. Four other men walked in right behind him. Erik’s shoulder was bandaged up, but he wore it with pride and Chris couldn’t see a gun in Erik’s hand or on his hip unlike the rest of his posse. Each of the four men kept a hand close to the holster’s on their hips, ready for any sudden movement or need to defend the boss.
Erik spun on the broken glass beneath his feet and gave an exaggerated wave to the outside. The crowds were still there to take in the drama. Then Erik came back around. Chris had to take action now.
“Fair warning, Erik!” said Chris from behind the cubicle. He had his hand ready to drop the soldering iron to hopefully ignite a cannon that had been sitting dormant for who knows how many years with or without gunpowder packed in it. “There really is a bomb in here.”
Erik bellowed out a laugh and then said, “Don’t give me that bullshit bluff. You don’t have a bomb, but I do. You three little fucks are going to be stuck in here with my real bomb to suffer a noble or traitorous death. I’m not sure yet how I want it spun in the media.”
Chris stood up to peek over the cubicle wall. They were separated by close to twenty yards, but Erik quickly caught sight of the fading gold helmet on top of Chris’s head.
“Is that you? What the hell are you wearing?” asked Erik genuinely amused. Johnykin stood up too and Erik let out another laugh. “My God, those can’t be comfortable.”
“Trust us or not, Erik,” said Chris, “But we’re not going to stick around to let you blow us up.” Johnykin grasped Chris’s hand.
“Then we’ll just shoot you in the head, I’ll pry the bullets out of your skulls, and then I’ll fucking blow you up,” said Erik. “It still works out so nicely.”
Johnykin had Chris’s shield and began slipping it on his back as added protection. Chris went along but was careful to switch hands with the iron so he could drop it when ready. Erik walked slowly towards the cubicle with his four men behind still keeping their hands close to their hips. Then Erik moved his good arm to one of the men. The man pulled a sling over his head that was attached to a black bag identical to the one Chris had on the floor beside them. Erik took hold of the strap and stopped walking, while his men moved forward and took their guns from their holsters.
Chris looked into Johnykin’s eyes. She looked back only for a moment then plucked their black bag from the ground and heaved it at the four approaching men. The sight of the black bag soaring and hitting the floor in front of the men was like a grenade. They all jumped or stumbled for cover and threw their arms around their heads.
Erik was the only one not to react. He walked the couple feet to the bag and gave it a hard look before kicking it open. The tools scattered across the floor and the four men scrambled to their feet trying to hide their embarrassment by heading into a run for Chris and Johnykin’s hideout.
Johnykin flung her prop sword in the direction of Erik’s henchman. The heavy sword hit one squarely in the head sending him toppling over like a prop tree. Chris finally dropped the hot iron into the cannon’s vent and Johnykin took the lead for their escape to the second floor stairwell.
There was no successful sound of explosion. Chris turned his head to peer back while still running. The cannon sat where they left it undisturbed, but the now three men with guns came up to it. They hesitated and stepped around it slowly but didn’t want to face the same shame for falling for a trick twice and hurried on.
A gunshot rang out and Chris, looking ahead to the stairwell again, saw a chunk of drywall burst in front of him. Another shot made a loud clanging noise and pushed the shield into his back. The shield actually worked.
Next came the most surprising sound. An explosion that made the whole floor vibrate. Chris and Johnykin threw their arms over their heads and stopped to see. The cannon fired and without a brake holding it in place it had surged backwards into one of the gunmen. He lied in a crumpled mess, clutching a severely broken leg trapped under one of the wheels. The two remaining stared back at their fallen comrade in shock until Erik finally made his way up to the scene.
Erik walked over to the cannon's new resting place and looked down almost sympathetically at his employee writhing in pain. The man cried as Erik slunk down next to him, but Erik moved his attention a few inches over to the gun the man dropped on the floor. Erik picked it up and quickly rose to take aim at Chris.
Johnykin and Chris swiveled back into their run for the second floor. Chris felt relieved when another push on his back and clanging of metal told him the shield was holding up still. More gunshots from the two men following Erik's lead echoed in the first floor but Chris and Johnykin were now only steps away from the door.
They were going to make it, thought Chris until he remembered Frank was still in the basement. Johnykin slipped through the door and ran up the stairs but Chris stopped just inside the door. He watched their pursuers, Erik walking and not even bothering to shoot anymore while his two men jogged in front with their guns firing randomly into the metal door.
Out of the corner of Chris's eye he saw what he had hoped for. Frank burst through the basement door as a poor man's Achilles. His armor was the worse for wear but he wore it with tall pride along with a spear that could only look menacing in his hand. With a quick decisive conclusion, Frank reared back his arm and launched the spear in the direction of Erik's hired guns.
The spear wobbled horribly in the air but struck into the outstretched arm of one of the men. A splintering of wood and bone sent the gunman toppling over himself. The point of the spear did nothing just like Johnykin's sword, but the force of the throw dropped Erik's team to two.
Even after the shock of losing another member so quickly, they had guns and were still aiming to kill. Chris pulled the shield from his back and took it in hand while sprinting to Frank's position. Frank began his own run
for safety after throwing the spear. They met halfway and Chris skidded to a stop in order to turn back to the second floor access. Frank ran to the inside of Chris, who held the shield facing the new barrage of bullets.
“Shoot around the fucking shield!” said Erik, but Chris and Frank already jumped inside the relative safety of the stair well and swung the door behind them.
Chris heard Johnykin’s footsteps pound above him. He and Frank took the stairs in twos to catch up. On the second floor they stopped. Johnykin was nowhere in sight and they couldn’t hear her running anymore. The space was only lit by a few grimy windows, which left plenty of spots in the dark.
They couldn’t stand around looking. “Johnykin!” said Chris and Frank together.
“Up here!” said Johnykin. She was in one of those dark spots. With a second sharpened glance, Chris saw her standing five rungs up on a ladder connected to the wall fidgeting with something on the ceiling.
The door to the stairwell banged open signifying Erik’s arrival. Chris immediately threw his shield to the ground and picked up one of the hundreds of computer monitors and tossed it down the stairs. Frank followed it with a pair of towers. The two continued with every piece nearby they could grab. Curses and shouting from the bottom of the stairs spurred them to throw more of the computers and parts to build up the blockade. Eventually Johnykin joined in until there were only the mouses left behind. A small sense of satisfaction spread over the sweaty faces of the three Greek clad warriors. They had bought at least some time to plan out their next steps.
“I can’t get the hatch open,” said Johnykin, “To the roof. I figured that was safer than here but —”
“Come on,” said Chris. His breathing still came out in tired gasps, but he picked up the shield and jogged over confidently to the ladder Johnykin stood on moments ago.
With a sense of modest security that Erik and his henchman would need a few minutes to break through the mess of computer parts, Johnykin and Frank walked over to Chris to watch his performance. At the top of the ladder, Chris eyed the handle to release the hatch for the roof. The lock looked older than the one hanging broken on the stairwell door behind them. Chris looked down at the shield that had surprisingly stood up to so much already, but on closer examination it might have been more about luck.
Just Another Job Page 24