Russian Roulette

Feb 27, 2012 11:04

Title: Russian Roulette

The screen flickered to life and lines of static jumped to and fro for a moment before the picture stabilized on the view of a nondescript street. Pedestrians bustled along, shoving against each other when they felt they weren't going fast enough, but the scene wasn't complete yet. James spun his chair from side to side, lips pursed. Everything was ready, all he needed was for the players to assemble.

He sat, one foot as his pivot on the ground, the other crossed above the ankle, and drummed his fingers on the long table just barely arm's reach away. Next to his tapping fingers, an old record player sat, Glenn Miller 20 Greatest Hits simply waiting for the needle to be set to play. Attached to the arm of the player was a complicated contraption. If anyone asked, he would, of course, claim to know exactly how each component functioned. Fortunately, all it took before the questioning progressed was one prolonged stare and the inquirer would fidget in place for precisely three point seven seconds before they apologized profusely and bowed out the door.

A slight giggle escaped his lips. He would've gleefully launched into an internal analysis of the effect that particular sound had on the people around him each day. However, the time he had been waiting for had arrived. On the edge of the screen, a man in a black suit and a bowler hat had appeared. "Ti~ime," James sing-songed, and started the music. There was the slightest click from the contraption and James pulled his legs onto the seat. There would be no stopping now. He pushed off the table and spun just as the bouncy trumpet notes began. When his momentum stopped, he resumed his previous position and let his whole body sway to the music. A grainy figure in a skirt approached the bowler hat man. He turned to her and flourished a bow, a package held out in one poised hand.

The lady unnecessarily smoothed her skirt. There was a moment of dialogue James couldn't hear through the CCTV, which made him pout. He compensated by turning up the music and clicking his tongue in time with the drums. Finally, the lady took the package from the man and cradled it carefully. James could just perceive her breast heaving in a deep breath before she turned sharply on her heel and marched off.

James watched, inexplicably fascinated, as the woman paced down the block. Though he couldn't hear the click of her heels, he imagined them matching the beat of the drums and the clicking of his tongue. The lady's strides carried her passed the range of the camera and the image flickered for a moment before it was replaced. Already, she was halfway across the screen. It wasn't until another woman stepped into her path that she came to a halt. There was another moment of conversation, but rather than get irritated this time, James clicked a button on a remote. Abruptly, the screen split into two scenes, one with the women conversing, and one with a little boy in a fur coat standing before the same man who'd bestowed the first woman with her package. The formally-dressed man held another package, it's size and appearance identical to the first. He bent down to present the child with the box and for one moment before he accepted, the boy looked directly into the camera.

James squealed in delight at the look of pure terror on his face. As if able to hear James, a shudder passed through the boy's body. He quickly looked away, shoulders hunched and limbs stiff as he accepted the package. Like the lady, the boy turned from the man and made to stalk off. Unlike the lady, however, his movements were uncoordinated and what was supposed to be a graceful spin turned into an unbalanced trip and fall. Both the child and the package slammed into the concrete hard. Almost before gravity had finished settling the boy's hair, there was light and confusion and half the block went up in fire and smoke.

"No," James shrieked. He fumbled in his pockets for his phone, smashed down the buttons, and held it to his ear. "I want a replacement. Now." His brows were heavily furrowed and his hands were unsteady. "No. He must look the same. I want the bowler hat. I don't care! If you can't find someone, do it yourself. You have two minutes to be at the next site. Do not fail me." He hung up and threw the phone across the room.

James turned his attention back to the right half of the screen, where the women had long since finished conversing. The new carrier of the package had frozen and stared into the distance, where smoke could just barely be seen rising above the architecture. "Stupid, stupid child. Should've known better than to choose him. Move, lady. Gods, you can't all be this stupid," James' jaw was tensed and his mumblings were forced out between clenched teeth.

Fortunately for the woman, she appeared to come back to herself and hurried along her designated path. The package was held securely against her chest, her fingers clenched fiercely around its corners. James huffed and settled back into his chair, posture more formal now. He held the TV remote in his hand and as trumpets escalated into their final crescendo, he clicked a button. Again, the screen split, this time into fourths. The bottom left corner remained blank, but the right side, underneath the carnage of the bombsite, showed another unremarkable street in the downtown city. Under James' watchful eye, a man threw himself out of a sleek black car and straightened his bowler hat. He deliberately relaxed the hand that had been digging imprints into his armrest. James smiled once more as the next lucky victim approached the bowler hat man. The cycle would continue, despite the child's mistake.

The woman from the first screen had passed along her package, exactly on schedule. The new courier, this time a heavyset man, looked more promising. He didn't pause to watch the smoke, nor was his gait anything but confident and determined. James would have to keep his number. If he didn't mess up, he might be a good choice for a later operation.

Now that things were back to the way they should be, James let his spine relax into a sprawl, whistling along with the melancholy trumpet. He need not have worried. His plan had accounted for the idiocy of the masses. Everything would continue as scheduled. In the mean time, he would sit back and enjoy the show.

Each time a new song started, a new handoff would take place on each of the screens and James would click the remote to bring up the next scene. The subordinate who had taken on the role of starting the handoffs, delivering the packages to the start of each chain, began to appear more obvious in his nervousness. In turn, each individual he presented the prize to held it more carefully than the last, as if aware of the fate of the one who'd failed. James wasn't sure whether he found this amusing or not. On the one hand, the subordinate would have to be heavily disciplined. No one working for him should have such a terrible poker face. It would hurt their operation just at the worst time and James couldn't have that. On the other hand, however, it was truly entertaining to see all these different people balancing terror and determination while trying to appear as just another person amongst the crowd. Some were more successful than others, which could've been a problem. On the 7th screen, the second person in the chain was pulled aside by a hunched old woman. The courier had shook off her concerns and did make it to the checkpoint in time, but it could have ruined the operation. Perhaps that was something to keep in mind for the future. The use of youths, while all the more fun for the intimidation it caused concerned parties, drew too much attention. Well, next time he'd know better.

For now, however, the last click of the remote left the screen divided into ten different segments. Each individual screen was too small to make out distinct details and James made an idle note to have someone bring him a bigger screen next time. It wouldn't do to miss anything. In the 9th segment, the subordinate handed off his last package and turned to give the CCTV camera a halfhearted salute, the tension in his body clearly visible, despite the size of the picture. Yes, James would have to take care of him. But for now, he'd finished his task.

Eight different people paced across the television, but James focused his attention on the only one without a package. The tenth segment was dedicated to the view of the furnished lobby of the central courts building. There were plenty of people present, all the better to hide the target later, but James cared only for one man. The older gentleman sitting on a wooden bench and drinking bad coffee had cleaned up nicely in his shirt and tie, but his ink-stained fingers, bouncing knee, and eyes that darted from one exit to the next were unable to be hidden.

The last song on the album swelled into the trumpet feature and the last trade-off took place, though the following people in the queue didn't know it. Some were waiting on street corners or at subway stations or in cafes, but the only important one was the one who didn't know what was coming his way. Finally, the courier on the third screen walked up the marble steps to the courts building. Just as a guard intercepted him to check the package and the courier took on a look of sheer terror, the trumpets blew their last high note. The arm of the LP player lifted into a ready position and there was another click from the contraption. Then, under James' delighted gaze, eight separate explosions rocked the city. He spared a moment to mourn the lack of the ninth bomb, the one that had triggered early in the hands of a careless child, but really, it hardly mattered. The entire screen was alight with fire and destruction and James could imagine the screams and whimpers of those caught in the midst of it. Next time, he'd have to remember to install microphones at the target sites. For now, however, he could bask in the silence and the satisfaction of a job well done.

--

Lieutenant Michael Hares found himself in the unfortunate position of contacting the families of the deceased. There were far too many and with the perpetrator unclear, he was not only the messenger with bad news, but the impudent individual asking questions far too soon after the tragedy. It was necessary, however, as the higher-ups were certain that this string of bombings was only the start. The people of the city had begun to leave the streets empty as often as possible. Keep your heads down, that's what the department was telling the public. Unfortunately, that was no guarantee. Some of the people identified as being at the center of the blasts had been the most obscure Hares had heard of and unearthing their families to question and console had been a frustrating endeavor. But they could hardly tell people that being anonymous was more dangerous, when others in the middle of it were heirs of wealthy estates or local businessmen or even protected witnesses in federal cases. No, it appeared that no one could be certain of their safety, whether they kept their head down or not. Hares just hoped that the higher-ups were wrong and that this had been a freak terrorist attack. Maybe there had been suicide bombers or something. Maybe they were gone and the city was actually safer now. Hares could always hope. And if not, he had a bonus coming. He was sure he could manage to relocate his family somewhere safer, if he had to. For now, though, he'd question the families and hope that this would be the last of it.

james and tyler, creative writing, original story

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