| From: | "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Re: One Answer, More Questions |
| Date: | Mon, 31 Mar 1997 18:11:51 +0100 |
>>>>>[+++++create alias file: Black Helicopter Squad
I'm getting tired of the long TO: field.
A couple of friends checked the Grog Shop quietly, and came up pretty
blank. They weren't in a mood to open up to strangers, and they got
downright hostile after a while: we got something, not enough. So we
abandoned subtlety in favour of results, since we at least had something
to verify what we learned now.
+++++begin trideo
Lilith is in the back of a van, surrounded by black-clad Feds: she's
adjusting the gain control on her camera. "This work better?"
"Got it." An unfamiliar voice.
"Okay. Kreutz, you and Franks in position at the back?"
Two clicks in return.
"Our primary still inside?"
"She's there. Hard to miss a chica like that."
Lilith takes a deep breath. "Okay. Do it."
The doors of the van crash open and six Federal officers - faceless in
black fatigues, helmets, goggles and face protectors - rush the front of
a tacky bar called The Grog Shop. You hear shouts, struggles and the
sound of breaking furniture, then there is silence as Lilith pads
towards the store.
You catch a glimpse of her in the mirror as she enters: while the eight
agents are in full raid gear, heavy body armour and HK227s, she's empty-
handed, wearing tight black jeans, a raid jacket and a peaked cap. The
contrast is startling.
The bar's occupants are all laid out in a line on the floor, hands
behind their head and covered point-blank by Federal agents.
"You can't do this! You got no right to-"
"I think you'll find I have the right to do anything I like, here and
now." Lilith's voice is silken, as she strolls towards the speaker: a
burly Ork, who tries to rise and is shoved back down by a foot between
the shoulderblades.
"You see, Samson, your friend Ethan Bell murdered someone we wanted to
talk to. That's not good. We want whoever hired him."
"Don't know any Ethan Bell, lady." the Ork says.
"Oh, yes you do. He was in here on the fifth, sixth, eighth, tenth of
the month... shall I go on? You want the details of what he bought and
times, to the microsecond when he bought it?"
"How the hell do you know that?"
"Because we recovered his credstick. Now, whoever hired him is wanted
for five homicides."
The Ork looks puzzled. "Five? You said Ethan only killed one person."
"And then whoever hired him killed Ethan and his friends." Lilith
reaches into her raid jacket, brings out some eight-by-tens and crouches
by the prone Ork. "Is this Ethan?"
"Yeah, that's him."
"No, it's not." Lilith smirks. "This is what he looks like now."
"Oh, GOD!!!!" The Ork jerks his head away.
"I could get you a scratch-and-sniff card of him if you like. Like pork
chops cooking on a barbecue of burning plastic. He's a little bit of a
mess right now."
The Ork keeps his head away from the picture: from this angle you see
only an indistinct mess of red and black, it seems the victim burned and
badly.
"Someone thought it was easier to kill Ethan and his colleagues than to
pay him. And of course, you'd cover for them. I'm sure you're not
expecting Ethan back for weeks, on a high paying job that might take
some time, his big break, blah blah blah. So you look out for your
friend and customer by keeping silent. Am I right, or am I right?"
"So what if you are?"
"So you're technically guilty of conspiracy to homicide, though we'd
never make that stick. You're definitely guilty of witholding
information and assaulting a Federal officer, and that we can put you
away for."
"We never assaulted any-"
"Agent Hooper, do you know this man?" enquires Lilith politely.
The agent holding the Ork down raises his mask. "Hello again, buttmunch.
I don't hear you laughing this time."
"But Agent Hooper knows you were protecting a customer, and doesn't hold
a grudge. Do you, Hooper?"
"Actually, yeah, I do, sir. I'd like to just shoot this lying criminal
sonofabitch in the head and have done with it."
"But you'll follow orders and like it, Hooper. Won't you?"
"Yes, sir, I will." Hooper lowers his mask again.
Lilith shrugs. "In any case, you just do what you think best. Keep
quiet. Don't tell us a damn thing. That way, whoever killed your
customer gets away clean, and you do time for covering for them. Real
smart, Samson, real smart, you've certainly impressed us all. You and
all your buddies here get eighteen months hard time, and whoever killed
Ethan walks." There is a mutter of protest from elsewhere in the room.
"Or? Come on, you've gotta want something, don't you?"
"Or, you all tell us what you know, we go away and we all make believe
none of this ever happened. Who hired Ethan?"
"I know!" one voice calls, and Lilith turns.
"Ethan came in from New York, a few weeks ago. He was looking for
someone, some renegade guy gone bad. Planning to whack them for the
Feds. He said it was a big-time job, for the Government, his big break,
if it went well there was a follow-up overseas paying a hundred Ks.
Sounded like bullshit to me, but he was paying by the hour and he liked
to brag."
"And you know all this how?" Lilith enquires, moving with predatory gait
towards the speaker: a Troll girl in her late teens, underdressed and
over-madeup.
"Oh, you know, Ethan and I, we were... friends, and he said he was going
to come get me after the big job. Take me away from all this. Like I
hadn't heard that one before." The girl shrugs, where she's lying on the
floor. "Figured once he'd cooled off and met some other girl he'd forget
all about me, so I just rode him for what I could. Real big spender, but
not exactly overendowed with brains."
"Did he tell you about who hired him?"
"Some woman. Young, human, cute for a breeder he said. Might have been
blonde. Didn't get a name. That was back in New York, the others he was
with were from there too. He was hanging here for about a month, then he
just stopped showing."
Samson calls "He called her 'Emma'. I got the impression he was doing
her, but then Ethan liked to play superstud. He never out and said it."
Lilith nods. "And that's all you got?"
"The rest you can get off his stick, what he drank and where he stayed.
Can you get this guy off my back now?"
"Agent Hooper, help Mr Samson to his feet." The FBI agents assist, not
ungently, the patrons and bartender to stand.
+++++end video
Not the most subtle method, but they weren't in a talkative or open
mood. What they said checked with what the low-profile method gave us,
plus a lot more. Problem is, how many blonde women are there in the NYC
shadows? Unless we assume she really told a guy like Bell her real name
and employment, and if you believe that I hold the title deeds for the
Brooklyn Bridge.
Better than nothing, but not by much.]<<<<<
-- 1Lt L R W Lynch <17:58:28/03-31-58>
Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency
