Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude
Where Great Intelligence Goes To Be Insulted

Monday, 16 December 2019

Taking Names And Remembering Faces

PROLOGUE


"Got you, ya sonofabitch!!!! There you are....!!!"

The entire team started at the exclamation. Scared the shit out of me too - my eyes had glazed over and my mind numbed as we all reviewed the endless footage from the news feeds and body cams and street mounted CCTV cams.

I tried to clear my head and get back in the game. "What have you got, Al?" Everyone started to get up and walk over to cluster around him. A few stretched and yawned - I was not the only one losing my edge. We'd been hard at it since the afternoon - yesterday, now.

Al looked embarrassed. "Sorry guys... it's just that I've been watching these damned vids for hours and seeing absolutely nothing. But... this guy? He's blipping on my bush radar..." I knew what he meant. The news feeds were all going nuts and jumping at shadows. The conspiracy kooks were blaming us, The Mob, the Russians, the rag heads, and possibly even the Girl Scouts. "Let me rewind this a bit," Al said, stabbing at his keyboard with two fat fingers. "Put it on the big monitor, Al?" Cindy asked.

"Here we go..."

On the screen the vid took place at street level. People milled in the front and foreground as they all  did at these things. A couple of queers with dildoes capered and gibbered for the camera, surrounded by the usual other freaks that laughed at their antics. The crowd around that ran the gamut, from prudes to other perverts. The camera smoothly panned over all of them without stopping. I felt my ire rise. "Got it. Our Prime Minister was capped in broad daylight by a gang of rowdy queers. JFC, Al - take a break..."

"Not the queers, Top. Look - in the back ground. Across the street... let me rewind this and run it again." The characters on the monitor did a silent, comical sped up pantomime in reverse as the vid rewinded - and then started to play forward, at normal speed.

"Wait... the geezer? With the dogs? He looks like Mr. Magoo..." I said. The man in question wore a syleless summer garden hat. He limped along with two dogs... fairly big ones. He stopped and started trying to start a conversation with a couple security guys from CSIS... but they shooed him along just as they should have. One of the friendlier dogs buried its nose in the crotch of the female agent and everyone laughed.

"Shut it!" I grouched, "Al, you seriously need to go home -"

"Wait, for it," Al said peevishly. Up on the monitor, The Geezer made a few more attempts to chat up the CSIS spooks, and they firmly dismissed him a second time. Old people some times get clingy.  Then... I saw it. 

Oh shit.

The old man was carrying a case for a musical instrument - a trombone, by the look of it. I put my head in my hands and felt a migraine coming on. We were trained for that. Putting guns in guitar and violin cases is the oldest trick in the book! But... the chutzpah on this guy if he was the perp! Walking up and chatting up security? He must have been older than dirt; and the dogs must have disarmed the spooks. Who'd be suspicious of a crippled old fart out for a dog walk? Goddammit, they were probably hung up on watching for swastika clad Skinheads or yodelling moslem militants. That was the oldest mistake in the books. If that was our man - and it was still a long shot that he was - all of our fuggin heads would roll. Later that afternoon, our prime minister had had his head taken off a la JFK, with a flawless head shot. It was the exact same as the JFK caper too - two rapid follow up shots at a couple of his flunkies.. The only difference is that the perp here had gotten away. And of course, the blame started flying as gums flapped and fingers pointed... and we were on the top of everyone's shit list. The blood hadn't even begun to dry.  My career was over, I knew it a few seconds after the PM's headless corpse toppled over on some fat old cat lady that was his Number One Fan. Blood had splattered all over a nearby drag queen and it started to shriek as shrilly as the Cat Lady. Yeah... you could say our PM was a class act all the way, and hung out with the trendiest people. It was all over the internet and media outlets in seconds. And of course, every second turd brain knew exactly what happened and why. These things always go the same way too. Any minute, one of the PM'S vibrant and diverse affirmative action flunkies or fart catchers was going to walk through the door, and ask for my resignation because I hadn't caught the suspect within 24 hours. I pinched the bridge of my nose... I had a migraine coming on and it was going to be epic!

Everyone including Hollywood thought sniper work was all about precision guns with big scopes, when in point of fact, making the shot was childishly easy compared to getting away afterward. Of course you're never fast enough, but we'd thrown up a cordon around the crime scenes that extended well beyond rifle range. And yet, all we knew at this point was the general direction the bullet had come from. Beyond that... so far... nothing.

I blew out my cheeks, put my glasses back on and struggled to gather my thoughts. "Okay. Alright -  Mr. Magoo and his K9 cohorts are on the top of our list - for now. Start going through the other feeds - let's see if we can pick him up again. He has to be on at least a couple other cameras. Find out where, and what he did. Remember - the goal is to conclusively cross him off the list. We are not going head first into the crapper for busting an innocent old fart out for a dog walk, ya hear? Keep looking for other potentials - and either way, good work Al! Let's not have any sloppy work here. Fuck the press, fuck the PM's office, fuck the chattering skulls on the social media. DO YOUR JOBS. If you run into any other suspects, or need something and are catching flak or static - let me know."

My guts rumbled and the acid in my stomach went to work on my throat instead of my lunch.

I shoulda phoned in sick.




6 comments:

  1. The conspiracy kooks were blaming us, The Mob, the Russians, the rag heads, and possibly even the Girl Scouts.

    The Girl Scouts. I love it!

    The crowd around that ran the gamut, from prudes to other perverts.

    Expand on prudes and perverts, then add one so we get an odd number.

    Any minute, one of the PM'S vibrant and diverse affirmative action flunkies or fart catchers was going to walk through the door, and ask for my resignation...

    This is a great line! "fart catchers" - excellent!

    My guts rumbled and the acid in my stomach went to work on my throat instead of my lunch.

    A migraine and olympic class acid indigestion. This is Our Hero under pressure.

    This is great stuff. If you don't finish it, I'm charging you with crimes against humanity.

    I'm not kidding. This is saleable. Check the size guide:

    Classification::Word count
    Novel:: 40,000 words or over
    Novella:: 17,500 to 39,999 words
    Novelette:: 7,500 to 17,499 words
    Short story:: under 7,500 words

    six-word story:: 6 words
    280-character story / twitterature:: 280 Characters
    dribble / minisaga::50 words
    drabble / microfiction:: 100 words
    sudden fiction:: 750 words
    flash fiction:: 1,000 words
    nanotale / micro-story:: 1,000 words

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    Replies
    1. Well thanks for taking the time to look at it WL! I am still trying to digest the rest of this thing and see how it turns out...

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  2. "During a visit to (Yamaoka) Tesshu's home, a conspirator named Shimada said darkly 'It's difficult to kill someone isn't it?' 'Not at all' Tesshu remarked. 'It's only difficult if you want to keep yourself alive." - The Sword of No-Sword: Life of the Master Warrior Tesshu (John Stevens)

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  3. What great start. Can your perp head south and take of business in DC also?

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  4. Hey! Thanks for stopping by you guys!!!

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  5. interesting maybe your next job is self employment as a novelist?

    ReplyDelete