The Hangman's Soliloquy
Page 12
As he spoke, Herman heard a revving engine and turned just in time to see a box truck accelerate towards the lobby of the office building, jumping the small curb before plowing into the structure. Schultz had begun explaining the specifics of what would come next when his phone began to ring; he excused himself to answer it.
When he returned thirty-seconds later, his expression had changed from exultation to grave concern. He explained that the call had come from his spotters, who reported that a car had parked a mile east of the facility. They had witnessed three men, all armed, exit the vehicle and begin walking towards the site.
The Tall Man pulled his sidearm. “Your guys armed?”
“Yeah, but we don’t want a gunfight.”
"And we won’t have one.”
The Tall Man explained that they would find a single man, likely unarmed, in the backseat. This man was to be bound and left unharmed in his seat. He went on to say that there would be a laptop and transmission equipment, both of which needed to be destroyed.
While Schultz relayed this information to his spotters, the Tall Man pulled Herman along to their vehicle. He opened the trunk before handing the keys to Herman and telling him to start the car. As the engine roared to life, the Tall Man flipped the switch on the stolen transmitter and watched as an array of lights flickered and danced.
He hopped into the backseat and opened the laptop, double-checking the cable that ran from the computer, through the backseat, and into the transmitter. Content that the connection was secure, he entered the password and was greeted by a command prompt. Rolling down the window, he shouted to Schultz. “Let me know when they’ve finished.”
Schultz replied with a thumbs up. A moment later, one of the men stationed outside of the warehouse called out: he had spotted the three men approaching. The Tall Man began typing, using the operator’s binder to enter the user ID and passcode.
-scanning for receptors…
-3 receptors located
-Distance: 0.0568182 Miles
-Connect to these receptors? {Y/N}
The Tall Man selected YES and hit the enter key.
-Connecting to (3) receptors…
-Connection refused; Active transmission link exists.
-Attempt again? {Y/N}
He tried again; same result. As the assailants moved in closer, he stuck his head back out of the window. “Get everyone inside, out of their line of sight. Where the fuck are your guys at? We need that transmitter offline now!”
“Everyone inside!” Schultz cried out. He then took his phone back up and began to dial. As he pressed it against his ear, shots rang out in the distance.
People began ducking as the Tall Man stepped out from the backseat and leveled his handgun in the direction of the trio of intruders. To his surprise, they had not fired. Instead, each of them stood perfectly still, their arms by their sides. Recognizing the opportunity, he ducked back into the car and grabbed the laptop.
“Third time’s a charm.”
-Connecting to (3) receptors…
-Connection successful.
-Command:
He began typing again, taking care to ensure that there were no mistakes. Once he had finished the command he hit the enter key again and popped back out of the car.
“Come on, goddamnit.”
The three men turned around and headed back in the direction from which they had come. The Tall Man smacked his hand on the roof of the car.
Schultz turned around, his face showing relief and confusion. “What the hell?”
“I’ll explain later.”
Herman climbed out of the car; he was as excited as a kid at Christmas. “Holy shit, it worked. Did that really just fucking work? Holy shit.”
The team finished placing the truck bombs before retreating to an old service station two miles away. Two of the men placed the unconscious guard on a bench under an awning as Schultz approached the Tall Man, detonator in hand.
“So, what was that, exactly?”
The Tall Man explained the events that occurred when they were attacked at Herman’s house and how they had experimented with the transmitter and one of the aggressors. Schultz understood the implications of what he had been told, though a change in his persona gave the Tall Man pause. It appeared just below the surface, an unlit force that drove the humanity out of his eyes. He remained silent, ruminating: Is this a sign of things to come or a passing fever? As Schultz walked over to join his team, the Tall Man swore to keep a concerned eye on him, uneasy about the possible implications.
“Who pissed on your boots?” Leave it to Herman to make his point so eloquently.
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“How concerned should I be?”
“That is yet to be determined.”
Their discourse was interrupted by Schultz beginning the countdown. Herman was struck by how little excitement he held, a sharp contrast to Schultz’s team. Well, most of them. Ambroise locked eyes with him, urging Herman with an unspoken plea to remain vigilant and attentive. Herman signaled that the message was received with a short nod, careful not to arouse suspicion.
Electricity danced through the air, a product of the anxiety and excitement of what was coming. For the band of vigilantes it was another victory. For the Tall Man it was an opportunity to see the team and their leader in action, observe how well (or poorly) they operated. Herman had no clear intent or direction; he was still numb from Ray’s death, his ghosts still vying for cranial real estate.
For Greg Schultz, this was something different entirely, because Greg was harboring a secret. He knew that it would come out soon enough and that it would likely fracture the faith of those who had sworn allegiance to him, but he couldn’t stop what he had set in motion.
That was a lie. It was dolled up for a night on the town, but it was a lie just the same. He could stop if it he wanted to, but acknowledging that meant he had to acknowledge that he didn’t want to stop it. He wanted the opposite, and he knew what that meant.
Pushing those thoughts away, he resumed his carnival barker persona. “Gentlemen, please cast your eyes to the Northeast.” He counted down from ten, his team joining in like drunken New Year’s revelers.
Herman looked on fixedly as the scene played out like some fucked up birthday party. Instead of candles on a cake they were about to light up a billion dollar research facility. If it wasn’t so fucking ridiculous, I’d laugh until I cried. What does a man do to find himself tied up in unsanctioned twilight demolition?
That’s a quaint euphemism, Herman but the best case has you looking at charges of domestic terrorism. Thank god Schultz has a strict ‘no-kill’ policy, otherwise we’d all be looking at the chair.
“Two, one.”
Nothing.
There was a small commotion as the team scrambled to find the problem, a few angry voices rising above the fray.
They’re tearing themselves apart, Herman thought with a sick sort of glee. Any minute this’ll erupt into violence and the whole shit-show will run right off the fuckin’ rails. Herman lost his sneer when the sky to the North lit up like a war zone. By the time the sound of the blasts reached him he was in shock.
The near-fistfight dissolved into a chorus of cheers.
Well, this is real now. Now? Christ, you dumb bastard, this has been real for a long time and you’re right back in the thick of it.
The Tall Man watched silently as Herman continued his internal debate.
Better yet, looks like Ambroise was right. Schultz might not be 100 percent batshit yet but he’s well on his way. If he’s the captain of this ship, we’re all going to find ourselves pulled to the deepest of depths.
Herman’s inner monologue was interrupted by a dark sedan speeding past.
“Was that?”
“Sure was.” The Tall Man was grinning.
Schultz reached them as the car’s taillights faded. “What was that all about?”
“That was the goon squad, off to turn th
emselves over to Greencastle PD.”
Herman rubbed his right ear, tugging it slightly. “For?”
“Blowing up that research facility.”
Herman smirked. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
Schultz smiled, though a sinister cloud hung over him a fog. “Excuse me gentlemen, I have to make a few calls.”
Oops
Michael Conacher sat in his car, eyes trained keenly in the direction of the Levelland, Texas facility two miles to the North. His palms were damp with perspiration as he watched the last rays of sunlight fade into darkness.
They’re coming, I can feel it.
One mile east of the installation sat a car containing the backup that he had requested, programmed and ready to move once the saboteurs appeared. Everything was falling into place.
Unless they don’t show. You don’t know that they will, you just hope they do.
He recognized that he had fucked up in Louisiana. He had been within view of their house and he could have acted sooner. He may not have been able to stop them but he could have taken a few of them out. Instead, he had sat and waited, anxiety clawing at his gut as he watched them drive towards their target. He had come close to pulling out and following them when he noticed movement in an upstairs window.
They had left someone behind.
From that point his instincts had kicked in and he took out all of his angry impotence on the woman he found there. He was beating her with the butt end of his pistol when he heard the explosion, his rage ratcheting up a few more notches. Finding a sense of calm amidst his madness, he had turned her into his artwork, a message that would surely resonate with Schultz.
You let your anger get the best of you and you fucked up. Badly. Your god damned pride and anger are gonna be the death of you. No, you’ve got them rattled. They’ll be second-guessing everything Schultz tells them, which gives you control over them. No, no, you’re fucked. All you did was embolden and provoke them and now you have to reckon with the consequences.
He got out of the car, his boots kicking up tiny clouds of dust, rubbing his jaw as a mob of thoughts conducted a blitzkrieg. Losing was not something that he was accustomed to and while he hadn’t lost, he certainly had been backed into a corner, and that was fine.
It was perfect, actually.
At some point within the next hour headlights would appear in a steady procession down the narrow road that led to the plant. The crew would set about lining everything up, believing they had the upper hand because he would allow them to think that.
You’re on my home field now and I’ll be damned if you’re walking out alive. I win. You lose and I win.
The cell phone in his pocket began to ring, drawing his attention back to reality.
His eyes caught the caller ID, causing him to pause.
UNKNOWN CALLER.
“What the hell is this?” He let it ring twice more before answering. “Yeah?”
“You’re not very good at your job, are you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That bitch in Louisiana might disagree, assuming she could, of course.”
“Yeah, I’m the wrong guy to come at with that, and you really shouldn’t brag about a mistake that’s going to lead to your demise.”
“Ooh, you must be the boogeyman. Is that it? You comin’ for me, boogeyman?”
“If I have to.”
“Well, now, you don’t sound too confident.”
“Confidence,” the voice said snidely. “I wonder how much confidence your boss has in you right about now.”
Conacher started to speak and was quickly cut off.
“Shut up. Now, I know you think you’re in control, that you have all this figured out. You don’t. I’ll bet your parked somewhere with a clear view of the Levelland plant, probably with a team positioned opposite your location.”
“Oh yeah?” Conacher said weakly.
“Oh yeah, and you’re watching the road expecting a convoy to roll in so your boys can light them up.”
“Fascinating.”
“You’re gonna love this part then, because no one is going to show up, not there, not tonight.”
“And I should take your word why, exactly?”
“Because unlike you, I know what the hell I’m doing. You’re a fuck-up. I know it. You know it. Your boss knows it, and it’s just a matter of time before the bottom falls out underneath your cheap boots.”
Conacher could feel hot anger burning inside and every word that came through the phone served to stoke the flames. Then, as if God was showing pity, a pair of headlights appeared at the far end of the service road; they were quickly followed by another. A cold and vile grin twisted his lips as he used to free hand to grab his 2-way radio. “That’s funny because two cars just started rolling down the road.”
The voice came back with a breathless, concerned tone. “What?”
“Yep. Hang on for a second, would you?” Conacher raised the 2-way to his face and depressed the COMM button. “Light up those two cars. Use everything you’ve got.”
“Wait.” The voice moved from concerned to horrified. “We can come to some sort of agreement.”
“Nah, I don’t think we can.”
Bursts of gunfire erupted as the two vehicles on the road were ravaged. There was a small amount of return fire from the cars as a few of their occupants tried to escape on foot. Pleas were cut short by bullets as Conacher raised his phone into the air so that his new friend could hear the massacre. The reports slowed as his three man team approached the stricken vehicles.
Conacher returned the phone to his ear. “Wait, this is the best part.”
He held the phone up again as a handful of single shots rang out, the last bit of life taken from the survivors. When he put the phone against his ear he was greeted by an unexpected sound: laughter.
Conacher was caught off guard by this. “We just wiped your guys out you shithead. I win and you lose.”
The laughter didn’t stop. “Wow, you really are a dumb fuck. Those weren’t my guys, and you just signed your own death certificate.”
“Come again?”
“Your employer received a credible tip that something big was going down tonight and with his faith in you depleted, he decided it was in his best interests to be present himself.”
Conacher could feel the hair on his neck standing bolt upright.
The voice was now cold and hateful. “You just had your boss killed. How do you think that plays out for you?”
“You’re full of shit.” Conacher’s voice seemed to come from outside his body.
“Go down and take a look but you’d better hurry, I’ve got a feeling that any minute now the operator who’s running your team is going to receive instructions to eliminate you.”
“The problem with that theory is that if he’s dead, there’s no one to sic them on me.”
“Wrong again, fuckhead. Just before I called you, I also reached out to the CEO, which was surprisingly easy if I’m being honest. As far as he knows, you planned this little coup and he thinks he’s next. If I were a betting man, I’d wager a grand that there’s a small army headed your way.”
Inertia held him in place, his thoughts all that could move. The dire scope of his situation dawned on him, causing him to respond in the only way that came to him. “I’ll kill you motherfuckers, you hear me? I will hunt every one of you down.”
“Good luck.” The call disconnected.
He got back into the car and took off, speeding towards the far side of the facility. Blowing across the service road he saw the remains of the vehicles, seeing an emblem on the side of one of the cars: QNI. One of the automatons spotted him and opened fire, a bullet piercing the seat and grazing his arm. Rolling up to a parked car, he found the operator standing outside, cursing.
Conacher was out and on his feet promptly, drawing and firing two shots as the operator scrambled towards the open back door. Too slow, asshole. By the time the man’s body dropped, Conacher
was in the operator’s seat, keying commands into the laptop. A trio of shadows crested the hill as he waited for the system to accept his request. “Come on, god damnit.” Watching the figures grow larger, he grasped his pistol and exited. The men continued past, stopping to open the trunk.
One by one they climbed in, contorting themselves to maximize the available space. Conacher sighed, holstering his sidearm as the last goon entered. He pushed the trunk lid closed only to have it rebound. A second attempt yielded the same result. “Okay, you get out.” The man complied and was promptly rewarded with a bullet to the brain. Conacher closed the trunk a third time and was greeted by a satisfying thud. He slid into the driver’s seat, bid adieu to the departed, and headed towards the interstate.
Traveling with the hardware carried risk, though he was willing to assume it to have the added backup. His gut told him where Schultz would go next, but his gut had proven unreliable. Instead, he drove and thought, his mind rolling over with the odometer. When the morning sun rose to his right, his plan was set. It would be messy. That was okay since this was no longer a paid job, it was something much nastier.
“Oh Schultzy boy, they’re gonna find out the truth about you.”
As he drove away, his mind started replaying what had occurred at the house in Louisiana. This time, however, the woman’s face was different. It struck him as much more than a misremembered image; he was now sure that he hadn’t killed the person he thought he had. There was something else that he was sure of:
He hadn't been alone.
Frayed Ends
Mountains gave way to plains as Herman stared out the window, meditating and squinting against the morning sun. The long-lost sense of joy from being on a road trip had returned at a strange time, though he was thankful for the visit. For the first time in months, he felt connected to his own humanity, a sensation that was magnified by its prolonged absence. He was falling deeper into his thoughts when a hand smacked his shoulder.
“Phone’s ringing.”
Herman narrowed his eyes. “You couldn’t have just said that?”