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Episode
053
“The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the
“Tomorrow night.” Marilyn said, looking across the table at
Malcolm. “Tomorrow, at the Wonderful Bakery factory.”
“The Wonderful Bakery?” Malcolm said, looking at Marilyn, his
food momentarily forgotten. “You sure?” She nodded. “Man.” He
said, looking back down at his salad. “I always liked their stuffed
cakes.”
“Yeah, well.” Marilyn said, unsympathetically. “They’re
importing drugs into the city.”
“I guess.” Malcolm said. “I’d ask how you know they are,
but I don’t think I really want to know.” He took a bite from his
salad and glanced around the dining hall of the school cafeteria.
“What’s Victor got to say about this?”
“I don’t know if Victor’s coming.” Marilyn said, a bit
bothered by her own answer. “He says that he’s got to go with his
parents to some recital for his brother.”
“His brother’s like, fifteen.” Malcolm said. “Are they
going to be out that late?”
“I don’t know.” Marilyn said, shrugging. “He says he’s
going to try and get out of it, but if he can’t . . .”
“That sucks.” Malcolm grumbled. Another bite. “So, what’s
the plan?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” Marilyn said, thinking. The food in
front of her was untouched. “To be honest, I’m not sure how to do
this.”
“Have you even by the factory?” Malcolm asked, his mouth
half-full.
“Yeah.” Marilyn sighed, propping her head on her left hand.
“I drove by yesterday, but I couldn’t make much sense out of it.”
“Really?” Malcolm said, chewing. He apprised the founder of the
World Alliance for a moment. “Marilyn, have you even been sleeping?”
“Huh?” She asked, surprised by the question. She half-laughed.
“Why in the world would you ask a question like that?”
“You look tired, that’s all.” Malcolm said, shrugging. “I
didn’t know if you’d been, you know, sleeping. And you haven’t eaten
at all.”
“I’m just not hungry.” She said softly. She sighed and looked
down. “I just want this to work.” She said, her eyes closed in
thought.
“The plutonium is still under the corporate building.” Orson
explained, sitting directly across from Aaron, the five all sitting in
chairs around the giant wooden desk. Despite being dressed in suits, with
the grave expressions on their faces, they looked more like witches at a
black mass then businessmen or corporate investigators.
“So, you suggested that we leave it there.” Aaron said, his
eyes closed, as if he was thinking through a headache. “You want us to
leave it there, and we’re going to use the World Alliance to get it out
for us.”
“Right.” Ian said, nodding.
“Okay.” Errol said, looking pained as he tried to consider the
idea. “And how exactly are we going to do that?”
“I’ve got a great idea.” Ian said, leaning over the desk,
pushing the phone on the corner of the desk out of the way so he could
lean forward even more. “I couldn’t believe it, it was so perfect.”
“We’re going to use the World Alliance to attack the Hand.”
Ian said emphatically.
Silence.
Errol shook his head. Uriel covered his mouth, trying to hide his
laughing. Only Aaron and Orson seemed unbothered by the exclamation.
“Okay.” Aaron said, obviously holding down his thoughts. “How are we
going to do this? And more importantly, what would possess us to do this?
I don’t particularly like this ‘World Alliance’ thing, but marching
a bunch of kids to their doom at the hands of the Hand is not my idea of a
‘good idea’.”
“This is how we’re going to do it.” Ian said, still leaning
over, his enthusiasm not at all curbed. “We’re going to leak some
information regarding the Hand to the Alliance.”
“Okay.” Errol said, still not convinced. “What’s going to
convince them to get it out? Why wouldn’t they just go to the police or
something?”
“Because, they want to get some recognition.” Ian said. “They
want to be put on the map, as far as ‘do-gooder-ing’ is concerned. And
when they get the last bit of info, they won’t be able to refuse.”
“Last bit of info?” Aaron asked, looking at Errol. He just
shrugged.
“Now, this is the kicker.” Ian said, his grin suddenly growing
from ear to ear. “We have to tell them that the Hand is going to try and
get the ‘drugs’ the next night. They’ll move THAT NIGHT.”
Silence.
“Well?” Ian asked. “What do you think?”
Errol looked at Aaron. “It’s a bit rough and more than a bit
far-fetched, but it doesn’t sound half bad.” He said.
“No.” Aaron said, chewing on the thought. “No it
doesn’t.”
“There’s the dock.” Marilyn said, staring at the small
warehouse from her car. Parked several blocks away, they watched as a
bread truck picked-up their load. In the mid-afternoon, Marilyn and
Malcolm sat alone in the burgundy car, watching the warehouse.
A large, brick building, it was dwarfed by the other warehouses in
the district, but on it’s own, it was a foreboding sight. Square, with
only two streets running across it, it was on the corner of a large set of
warehouses. On each face, a loading bay waited, while the factory itself
seemed to have no discernable features.
“I don’t know, Mar.” Malcolm said, looking uncertain. “This
just doesn’t look like a crack house.”
“I don’t know.” Malcolm shrugged. “I guess I . . .
Nothing.” He shifted in his seat to stare at Marilyn. “Why don’t we
go to the police? If you’ve got all this proof then we can give it to
them and they can handle this.”
“Because I don’t really have proof.” Marilyn said, still
watching the building. “I got a tip. That’s all. I don’t have any
‘real’ proof. Not what the police would call real, anyway.”
“Well, maybe it’s not the case.” Malcolm said.
“What is it with you?” Marilyn said, whirling around in her
seat to face Malcolm. “Why are you chickening out all of a sudden?”
“This isn’t all of a sudden, Mar.” Malcolm said. “I’ve
never been too fond of this ‘cloak-and-dagger’ stuff. Never. But now
we’re not talking about small-time pimps or something. We’re talking
about a drug cartel.”
“It’s just one house.” Marilyn said, trying to play down the
severity.
“I know that.” Malcolm said, turning back to the front window.
“But, yeah, everything I know’s from TV and stuff. But you got to
think that some of that, some of it’s true. And if it is . . . if it is,
well, come on.”
“Are you saying you aren’t going to help me?” Marilyn asked,
the harsh honesty in her voice grating at Malcolm.
“No, it’s not that.” Malcolm said. “It’s just, well,”
“Well what?” Marilyn demanded.
“Why don’t we get some help?” Malcolm said, looking back at
her. “We’re all still pretty new at this. And even if you’re all
gung-ho to go in there and get evidence and all that or whatever it is you
want to do, the rest of us are a bit iffy. I think it might be a good idea
if we went and got someone who could back us up.”
“Yeah.” Malcolm said. “Or maybe we could go get some of the
knights.”
“The knights.” Marilyn said, turning away from Malcolm. She
thought for a moment, then just shook her head. “I don’t think I trust
the knights.”
“Why not?” Malcolm asked, leaning forward a bit.
“It’s nothing.” Marilyn said, shaking her head as she stared
straight forward.
“Mar.” Malcolm said.
The tone of his voice turned her head. Her eyes were just a touch
stained by tears. “Where’s Tim?” She asked, her voice shaking just a
bit. “What ever happened to him? Where’d he go?”
“I always thought they took him to the police.” Malcolm
shrugged.
“I want to believe that too.” Marilyn said. She turned away,
glaring back at the warehouse before her. “I want to. I want to, I
really do.” She looked down, looking more angry with herself than with
anyone else. “But I don’t.” |