Joined: 13 Sep 2009
Location: Rising from the ashes
|Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2009 6:29 pm Post subject: Heavy Metal - Chapter 5.2: Foresight, Part 2
Foresight, Part 2
“I’m telling you there’s no damned security video whatsoever!” shouted Shaun Garvey, a well-built, athletic, light haired man of late middle-age. As the airport security manager at McCarran International, he’d been having a very bad day.
“How did this happen? Was there some sort of security hacking going on then?” asked Oscar Tolbert, chief investigator for the Las Vegas Police department. They had been engaged in the most confusing investigation Oscar could remember for some time. Some weird stuff was known to go down in Vegas, hell, happened all the time. But this? This was really strange.
“So let’s get this straight,” Oscar attempted to summarize what he’d learned so far, “a huge rubber black man breaks in here with some old fart and a young twenty something. They steal some fuel from the depot, get into a firefight which leaves 7 men dead and one unconscious witness who was struck from behind by a manager who’d been flung through the air over 300 feet? And despite having some distant eye-witnesses, you have absolutely no security video footage of this event? I mean, the dead bodies are here, so it’s clear something took place, but how can I believe the rest of this crap?”
“Don’t forget what he did to that fence at the end of the runway,” Robert Perkins, Oscar’s partner, added.
“I know, it baffles me too,” Shaun scratched his head. “The tapes appear to have been running, but some sort of radioactive interference was taking place at the time, like a massive solar flare. We’ve had electrical problems all around the airport ever since. Our systems are glitching out big time. Most of the computers are on the fritz and it’s holding up air traffic all over the place.”
“Could that be something that this Rubber Man has caused?” Perkins piped in. His slim frame and nasally voice never failed to grate on Oscar’s nerves. The last few years since Perkin’s promotion made them partners had been forcing Oscar to consider retirement. Of course, the nature of his comment made it even worse… How could Perkins be giving this story ANY legitimacy at all?
“Who knows?” Shaun answered, baffled.
“Oh my God! This is all such horsecrap! What really bothers me is that the airport staff needs to come up with such a far-fetched tale to explain their incompetence. Alright, we’re done here. You’ve given us a description of the vehicle the perps were driving and that should be enough to get to the bottom of this,” Oscar explained, exasperated, “C’mon Perkins, we’re out of here. We’ll be back with further questions I’m sure.”
Perkins and Shaun shrugged as Oscar spun on his finely shined boot-heels and strode from the hangar, leaving the forensic teams to handle the stiffs. Perkins eventually bounded, awkwardly, to catch up to the solidly framed detective.
“What do we do now then, Lieutennant?” Perkins inquired as they strode off to their awaiting police car, parked around the exterior of the fuel hangar.
“We go looking for any vehicle that matches the description of course,” Oscar shook his head in disdain. “The perps, if they are real, are out there somewhere, and given the description of this truck they were driving, it shouldn’t be hard to track ‘em down.”
“But it’s already been hours since they made off with the fuel,” Perkins protested, “they could be anywhere by now.”
“I know! Damned radio systems bein’ scrambled all day sure didn’t help us get on top of this in a timely manner, did it? Whoever pulled this off seems to have the Devil’s luck on their side.”
“Where do you figure they’re heading then,” Perkins squawked.
“That dust they left at the scene… looks like any old desert sand really, so obviously somewhere outside the city. If we can get out of the metropolitan area, maybe we can use the radio systems to contact someone who might’ve seen ‘em.”
“Oh, good idea, Lieutennant!”
“Hey! You there,” Oscar suddenly shouted, gesturing towards his vehicle, “Step away from the car! That’s Las Vegas Police property there!”
Perkins looked up to momentarily bear witness to a black robed figure, wearing a gleaming silver cross around his neck, nut-brown hair stylishly cut short with bangs fluttering in the breeze above… glowing white eyes?!?
“I’m sorry, officers. I must commandeer this vehicle in the name of God,” the figure simply stated as he slipped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut.
“In the name of God my ASS!” Oscar hollered as he bolted for the vehicle, his hand grabbing for his pistol at his belt. “Freeze, freak!”
Perkins stood still, pulling his own weapon and leveling it at the car, turning his head as a white flash of light shot out through the windshield from the cab and the car suddenly roared to life.
Ignoring the officer’s threats, the robed man squealed the car around in a donut and shot out towards the rent fence at the end of the runway. Gunshots rang out behind him, deflected by an invisible shield of faith, ricocheting harmlessly into the concrete.
“How many freaks can one man deal with on one day?!?” Oscar shouted in frustration.
A window between the cab and the back of the truck slid open.
“You want I should take these pigs out?” the Bouncer grunted with a smile.
“NO!” Walt objected firmly, “I don’t know how we’ve made it this far but it’s reasonable to assume that if they thought they were coming up on the guys who pulled off the heist at that airport, they’d be comin’ in with a lot more cars than just one. For all we know, he’s just pulling us over for having a tail light busted. Lay low and play it cool! Don’t do anything unless he tries to arrest us.”
Dave nodded, a look of surprised agreement written on his lips. “Good thinkin’ old man.”
The Bouncer looked rejected. “Ah well, one can only hope we still get to play. Alright, we’ll do it your way… at first.”
As the Bouncer slammed the window shut and slunk down beneath the side of the truck, Dave commented, “He sure seems like a bloodthirsty thug, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah… I’m not quite sure how to handle this guy,” Walt muttered. “I’m not sure I want to be havin’ him along for the ride ‘neither, but then… I’m not sure we can afford to ditch him either. He’s in control here and he knows it. He’s playing us somehow, but for the life of me I just can’t seem to figure out what his angle is… or maybe what Lucky’s angle is. From what I’ve seen so far, obviously this Lucky fella knows exactly what he’s got where this… Bouncer is concerned.”
“Guess they don’t call him the ‘Bouncer’ for nothing huh?” Dave injected as he slowed the truck to the side of the road, the police lights flashing directly behind them now.
“Yeah. I don’t think it’s so much in reference to his job as I had originally assumed.”
Walt reached for his license and registration from the jockey box as they came to a stop. His heart was racing, pulses pounding in his ears as they waited for the cop to approach. A floodlight washed over the truck from behind.
“Lord guide my hand,” Thomas uttered as his sight illuminated the sickly crimson glow of a figure, hiding behind the fuel tanks in the back of the truck. The driver registered no taint, but the one in the passenger seat… a faint vermilion aura rested on that one; perhaps a contract unresolved?
This was going to be tricky. The Tainted was surrounded by highly flammable fuel tanks, which of course would be full considering the events that had drawn Thomas’s attention in the first place. How to destroy the creature without injuring the innocent? He’d have to draw out the beast somehow.
He was thankful that there had been a nicely starched police uniform in the back seat. While his shoes might not match, at least the clothes had been a close enough fit that he could wear them. His own pastor’s robes lie in a neatly folded pile behind him. The badge on his chest gleamed, with the name, Lt. Tolbert inscribed across a gold ribbon on the lower end of the insignia. Tolbert… should remember who I am trying to impersonate… just in case.
When he’d changed uniforms, he’d emptied the pistol he’d found under the seat, exchanging the standard issue ammunition with some specialty pieces of his own, liquid filled hollow tips. He’d had no problem, with God guiding his hand, retrieving and arming the shotgun that had been locked down in the cab, though with merely standard issue rounds. Should he approach with both? Why not, he figured.
Might as well add his favorite arsenal to the list as well; his Cross Bow was slung over his shoulder. So what it would throw off the appearance of a police officer? The ruse would only get him so far anyhow.
Taking a deep breath and offering another prayer, he stepped out of the car to approach the old Ford.