| From: | "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | So It Ends |
| Date: | Mon, 22 Dec 1997 18:53:43 +0000 |
>>>>>[I think Easy's war just came to an abrupt stop, Juli.
+++++begin trideo
Marlowe watches a blue Westwind signal a right turn, then disappear from
sight into a scenic viewpoint. Driving past, he bumps his 3220ZX onto
the grassy verge, and doubles back.
Picking his way through the snowy trees, he has a good view of the
parking area: in summer a pleasant place to relax, but now deserted
except for the Westwind and a panel van: it hasn't been there long, by
the tracks in the snow. The sun is bright, and the shadows are long, and
Marlowe's up-sun of the vehicles, making himself very hard to spot.
The Westwind is perhaps fifty yards from the van, and two figures
emerge: Mani first, the Sufi mercenary keeping his AK-97 in his shoulder
as he scans the treeline: then Easy, the slim Elven samurai distinctive
in her trademark black motorcycle leather, face hidden from the cloudy
sunlight by a black silk scarf.
She and Mani exchange a few words, before Easy moves forward cautiously,
keeping her Ingram aimed at the van: Tapping on the back door with the
muzzle, she says something too indistinct to hear.
"Got to get that laser mike fixed." Marlowe mutters. "No way I'll find
out what she's-"
The Elf reaches for the handle of the door, and vanishes from view in a
flare of searingly bright light. The thunderclap of the explosion is
almost incidental.
As Marlowe's eyes recover, and the pall of black smoke clears, the
shattered wreckage of the van is burning furiously: the back is bulged
and split outwards like a burst gun barrel. A fan of debris is scattered
across the snow, marking out the arc of the explosion: a crude Claymore
mine, made more effective by being van-sized.
Some of the debris glistens, wet and red in the morning sunlight. There
is no other trace of Easy to be seen.
"Oh, _fuck_!" Marlowe whispers, retreating fast and quietly, as Mani
runs towards the van, being beaten back by the searing heat of the fire:
the van's fuel cells are exploding in the heat now.
+++++end trideo
I heard gunfire while I was leaving. Didn't stop to see who it was or
what was happening. Being near Mani right after Easy died didn't seem
healthy.
Sort of a pity, but kind of a relief.
I headed back to the Eight. That Nakamura asshole damn near beat me
there with a whole goon squad, and he and Vincenzo had a long talk in
the office. The thugs stood around waving assault rifles and cracking
Elf jokes, and the first guy to point out he didn't like that got shot.
Only wounded, luckily. If there'd been more customers around it could
have got bloody... but it didn't.
Nakamura left smiling. Vincenzo closed the bar early. Not much joy in
the place, once the word got out.]<<<<<
-- Marlowe <17:58:42/12-22-58>
*****PRIVATE: Marlowe
>>>>>[We checked the scene. The van bomb was very basic: blasting
dynamite, backed by concrete, with a sack or three of assorted scrap
metal in front of it. Crude, effective, more than adequate. Didn't leave
much, but what do you expect for that seperation? It would probably have
been lethal at a hundred yards, let alone point-blank range. We found a
few chunks big enough to identify as human, a mangled Ingram, but not
much more.
Not much paperwork to do, anyway. She never had a SIN, so what's to
write up?
So... you doing anything over Christmas?]<<<<<
-- Sergeant Julianne Hart <18:53:26/12-22-58>
Homicide Division
Lone Star (Seattle)
