Quote:
Originally Posted by Mouzafphaerre
LOL, Thanks. Corrected... Odd mistakes, my english isn't that bad... No, I mean, Really ~D
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Mouzafphaerre
LOL, Thanks. Corrected... Odd mistakes, my english isn't that bad... No, I mean, Really ~D
Very good. I second Mouzafphaerre's statement about a periodic.
I have two comments though: the first is that it is sometimes a bit hard to determine who is speaking. For example the bit where the I-person asks for the car-make, I initially thought it was the man with the hat talking. Secondly the man with the hat is dominating the story a bit too much for my taste. Off course, it is his story, but I'd like to know more about the I. Exactly what is his role, except for serving as the narrator?
But these are just minor things. Please carry on ~:thumb: .
Can't reveal everything yet. You will have to keep reading... ~;)
I would, but my female fans don't want to share me with others and my laziness is too impressive to put myself under such pressure...~DQuote:
Very good. I second Mouzafphaerre's statement about a periodic.
Although who knows?
Next chapter will be up this weekend. I need some sleep and alcohol ingestion before I can sit on a PC again... The pre-christmas rush has me all over the place.... ~:cheers:
Sorry for the delay. I managed to burn the power supply unit on my PC so I had to wait to get into college to get this posted. Thanks again for keep reading this.
Comments are welcome, as always.
:san_smiley: (ha! funny smiley!)
Chapter 7
It was my turn to be on watch in front of Ismael’s office building. We had spent the last forty hours watching the place, taking four hour turns, but the grey van was still parked at the door.
The weather was horrible. Just plain disgusting. Fog in the morning and pouring rain that started just after midday and forced us to move closer to the building to keep eye contact with the object of our observation.
I sighted and lowered the binoculars. The blinds on Ismael’s windows were closed, the van was still on the same spot and water kept pouring out of the sky. The pedestrians - the brave few who were goofing around in the rain – didn’t look particularly suspicious either. A mixture of pitiful and irritated appropriate to the weather and the time of the day.
My partner slept in the Jag parked on the opposite corner of the junction, in the direction opposite to mine so that no matter which way our target moved one of us could follow without disrupting the traffic and drawing too much attention on ourselves. We liked to perfect these little details. It gave a professional impression to our customers.
So I brought a dark BMW to the scene which wasn’t suspicious because in the area we were in, there were about a dozen of them parked on the street. I brought something more convincing and intimidating with me too. Underneath my seat there was a German made HK USP45, a very handy weapon loaded with 12 rounds of calibre .45 and an extra clip in my pocket. I was not getting another beating.
A car arrived to the building. It wasn’t Ismael’s car – not the one he used to go home anyway; one of us followed that one every time – and two men got out. One of them wore a white Jewish kippah , and the other one looked like a bodyguard: well dressed, tall and with good shoulders. That reminded me of a joke I heard a while ago and which was quite inappropriate for the seriousness of the situation, but the brain does these things.
Back to our men. They left the car right in front of the entrance, although it was a non-parking zone, as indicated by the yellow net on the road, surprisingly bright through the rain, and that made me think that they were either really important or in a great hurry or that the driver couldn’t read the signs. Something told me it wasn’t the last one. Must have been the years in the job.
I had to make a decision. Keep watching the building or follow these guys when they came out.
I rang my partner. I heard seven tones before his sleepy voice sounded through the speaker:
- Go on. – he said – Bless me. – Oh, the good old sarcasm.
- Listen. See that car parked at the entrance? –
- Wait…. – I heard him turning – Yeah. – the voice sounded more alert.
- I am going to follow it because it’s on my side of the road, and you will have to stay on watch. – I kept my eyes on the entrance.
- OK – he hung up. He had no need of further encouragement.
I grabbed the binoculars again in an attempt to read the car’s plate, but with the rain and the angle I couldn’t distinguish much. I then took a picture of the car, the building and then both of them together. And then I raised the binoculars again.
The two men were leaving. I turned on the engine just as the big guy closed the door and I wondered for a second if someone was watching us from inside Ismael’s building with the same dedication with which we were watching it from outside. I hoped not.
I followed the car, and managed to take a picture of the plates a few blocks away, as we stopped at some traffic lights. We were moving towards the centre again.
After about an hour driving in heavy traffic, they led me to a back street behind a big building. I stopped outside on the other side of the street and pulled my binoculars again. The men entered the building through the back door leaving the car in the alley. I turned to a main street and went around the building.
Here was the wolf’s lair:
“Casino Diamond”
~:thumb:
Sorry for not updating. I'm just really busy until February. There will be more.
.
About time! :2thumbsup:
.
At least you are posting. I have been working on a story for thirteen months now, and I am still stuck at chapter two. :gah2:Quote:
Originally Posted by SwordsMaster
In other words: don't worry, and take your time. ~:thumb:
And I would like to thank my fans, my dog, and the Gods, and present to your attention the next chapter:
Enjoy
Chapter 8
After parking the car away from the casual eye, I sneaked around the back. The back street was everything a casino needs for supplying itself: loading and unloading decks, rows of rubbish bins for different purposes, a fair smell of rotten food from a day's cooking, and big cardboard boxes that bums have not got their hands on just yet.
As I searched the street for a suitable entrance to the building, a noise and sudden bright light made me duck for cover behind some container. Peeking through the gap between the smelly black plastic and the wall, I saw that one of the loading bay's doors was open, and two men were dragging something out to the street in a rubbish bag. They did not look like kitchen boys though, their shoulders were way too big, and their silent commitment way too serious for a couple of kitchen boys taking out the thrash. I instantly knew there was a body in that bag. I had to know who's.
One of the men walked back in, closing the door behind him, and the other lit up a cigarette before dragging the bag to the nearest container and walking towards the exit of the street. I imagined they were waiting for something. Probably transportation.
This was my only chance so, as carefully as I could, I sneaked around my hiding spot towards the black bag. I put on my gloves so as not to leave fingerprints, and watched the goon who stopped a few metres away from the entrance into the alley and seemed concentrated on smoking and watching the street. I reached the bag, and ripped with my keys the part where I thought the head should be.
I was right, the head was there. It answered more questions than it solved. From the bag, our Ismael's dead eyes were damn questioning for a dead guy. We thought he was the bad guy.
My first reaction was to return to my hiding spot but I took out my phone and took a picture of the body framed in the dark alley, with the casino's name clearly visible.
Who the fuck are you? - I heard behind me.
I had forgotten about the man, and there he was, like a big mountain of muscle and firepower. I could smell the metal. I stood up, I had to keep him talking.
Excuse me? - I said.
I said, who... - And then I punched him with all the power I could muster. I hit him somewhere between the nose and the ear, and then punched him again, straight, and felt the crack of bone under my knuckles, then I kneed him in the crotch, and head butted him as he bent – a move I had learnt with choreographic precision in the old days of bar fighting in Asia – I continued with another punch to the side of his head that made him fall over, and ran as fast as I could towards my car.
There was no explanation for this in my head. Unless they were completely independent events, a local mafia war or something of that kind.
Impossible. I do not believe in coincidences. As cliché as that is. There must be something else. Maybe my partner will know. Or maybe the woman knows more than she told us. Or maybe I should find and ask the daughter. Although before I did any of that I had to know who benefits from killing our employer. Who owns the casino now? I could hardly hope for an interview with his lawyer, but maybe the woman would be able to tell me.
I sat in the car, wiping the blood off my clothes, and then I looked up. A very familiar car parked around the corner from the entrance of the casino.
A nice, albeit short, episode. I am glad to see you are continuing this.
Extremely good and highly readable. Please continue!
Perhaps I spoke too soon? Or is real life interfering again?Quote:
Originally Posted by Ludens
:book:
Really sorry about this. I just have no time for creativity. A major thesis deadline is coming up, and it is not all working out as smooth as I'd hoped. So unfortunately there is not going to be an update for a while.
This being said, I do plan to finish this thing, as the plot is already planned and it would be a shame to waste it.
Again, sorry.