| From: | "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Miami Crackdown |
| Date: | Thu, 2 Apr 1998 01:22:50 +0100 |
CC: C D'Arkan, SAC, Achilles Project
>>>>>[Well, it's official. SIGA are pissed off, kicking ass, taking
names. Even by Achilles standards they push the boundaries when they
feel they have to.
+++++begin video
A helmet camera, the ID tag says 'Kreutz", as he moves from the cover of
a parked car to a doorway. Ahead of him, a burly Ork lies bleeding on
the stained carpet, clutching a shattered knee: Lilith is leading down a
corridor, her Desert Eagles huge in her slim hands.
"What the frag-" is all the woman emerging from a doorway has to say:
she makes the fatal mistake of raising her shotgun, before a .44 Magnum
flings her back into the room. Lilith is in that door in an eyeblink,
both pistols aimed into it. "You move, you die!"
She fires two shots. "Told you! Now, anyone else feel like committing
suicide?" Behind her, Lynch glides past, his broken limping gait still
frighteningly quiet, checking two doors at her back; all protected by
Kreutz, as he watches the hallway over the sights of his L7.
Muffled voices answer Lilith, as she moves into the room: seemingly
spontaneous, but Lynch is behind her. He offers Kreutz a short series of
hand signals, checks the fallen woman, braces by the door.
"I didn't hear you, could you speak up?" Contempt drips from Lilith's
voice. "Whacker was so _sure_ he wasn't scared of UCAS Feds, I may have
permanently damaged my hearing explaining why he was wrong. I may have
to sue for the emotional trauma I suffered when he forced me to blow his
head off. Very distressing."
"What the frack do you want, bitch?" a voice can be made out, and Lynch
is around the corner: Kreutz spares one single backward glance, to where
Barney is watching his back, a H&K held in his shoulder, before covering
the corridor ahead again.
"You call my wife a bitch, you motherfucker?" he snaps, both Predators
aimed. Not waiting for an answer. "You call _my_ woman a bitch? You
trying to tell me something? You got something to say to me about my
woman?"
The reply is indistinguishable, as Lynch advances out of Kreutz's view.
"Oh, yeah, you're gonna say that _now_. I want a fucken apology,
scumbag. You're going to apologise to my wife, and you're going to
answer any questions she tells you to answer, or else I'm gonna blow
your balls out through your asshole, capice?"
"Darling, you're embarrasing me." Lilith purrs. "I'm sure the man will
apologise if you give him a chance."
"I'm real sorry. Okay? I didn't mean nothing by calling you bitch. It's
just a word, you know? I'm real sorry." The reply is almost grateful.
"So who fucked up Sally-Ann? How come she's giving her blowjobs from a
wheelchair these days?" Lilith enquires.
"That cop fraghead Rezar. Pretty Boy." The answer is angry, even
willing. "Got his brains fried on Red Mist and got carried away. Whack,
slap, snap, Sally-Ann can't walk too good no more. Slick the Stick got
her kind of fixed up, but then he hired her for Pretty Cop Boy anyway,
and we'd have kicked his ass if he hadn't."
"Who does Pretty Cop Boy get his money from?"
"You think we'd know?" Helpless anger. "Frag it, he's MPD, he's got
Castro knows how many _pendejos_ queueing up to buy him, how the hell
are we meant to know who's paying him this week? He pays Slick for chips
and girls, and we dealt with Slick. Now Slick's gone. He dead?"
"He's hiding."
A teenage Elven girl, wearing an oversize T-shirt and possibly nothing
else, descends the stares: she gasps when she sees Kreutz and the L7.
"In there. Slow." the FBI agent suggests with a fast flick of the rocket
launcher's muzzle. She complies, as the conversation continues almost
unimpeded.
"Slick's still alive?"
"Well, he was when we talked to him last." Lynch's voice. "So, Pretty
Boy's a good customer?"
"Customer? Cash fracking cow, more like. Pays guns for chips. Red Mist,
Mellow Haze, and any of those hardline Jap S&M porno BTLs we can get."
"Here's a clue for free." Lilith's cool tone. "Find a new cop. Pretty
Boy's not long for the Free World."
"Yeah, well, Pretty Boy kept you guys off us. Until after he stiffed
Slick, and we kind of figured that might happen, so we're still pretty
okay. So, you want him, we're cool. What about us?"
Lynch laughs. "What about you? You think we got jurisdiction here? We
can kill you or talk to you. Bust you? Yeah, real funny. We fucked up
one guy's knee, shot another pretty bad, killed a third, we're illegal
immigrants. Talk to MPD, they'll bust you, then they'll come bust us.
You're being menaced by wetbacks."
"Don't like that word, amigo." someone says.
"Too bad. I stole it, I'll use it how I want. We're illegal immigrants.
A few more pages for MPD to throw at us if Pretty Cop Boy gets to us
before we get to him. Too bad. Here, _we're_ the wetbacks. We can kill
you or walk away. What would you prefer?"
+++++end video
The rest was just routine negotiation. I figured I could have done
better, and Barney could have done better still, but they got the deal
done.
+++++include miami_pd_dirt.dat
+++++include torus_dirt.dat
Only money, as well, that might be the only part of the whole raid that
was entirely within Achilles rules (but then, if we Sanction Rezar then
damn near everything we do is legal anyway)
Thing is, that bothers me. Especially where I see Torus gone so bad, or
just so careless...
Anyway, I don't get paid to be a philosopher, I just follow orders until
my conscience tells me not to. And so far it's only grumbling. Lynch
even gave them enough cash to get their wounded patched, but the guy who
went for the Uzi is very dead indeed, but then who made him grab for his
weapon? Don't ask me to answer these moral maze questions.
Anyway, the more we get on Rezar the dirtier he looks. Lynch seems to
want to have courtroom proof before he moves... mind you, after the shit
he got on Shadoqland a while ago I don't blame him. Rezar ain't going
anywhere, anyway.
But he's a key to _something_. Be interesting to see what he says after
we grab him.]<<<<<
-- SA B Kreutz <01:21:34/04-02-59>
Achilles Project, FBI
