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Highhanded :: Eight
There was a ringing of a telephone, and a woman dressed in a weathered lab coat pressed a button on the headset sitting on her short, layered bob.
She spoke clearly into the microphone, "Hello, you've contacted 'I & R Insurance Firm'. If you'd like to-"
"Cut the act, Doctor. It's Ace."
Doctor Dyr's Danish accent was now audible, "Ace! Hello, it's good to hear from you. There has been some Internet chatter about your place of residence..."
"Anything of interest?"
"On the Internet? No, never. Are you calling about getting a little singed back there?"
"I'd like some more fireproof material for my outfit. And a small, powerful battery."
"Sure. I'd like to come down, deliver the goods personally and visit you."
"Wouldn't that be a little dangerous?"
"The government will be paying attention to the Vigilante and the Arsonist. I will be perfectly safe."
"When should I expect you here?"
"You should see me tomorrow night at the latest. I'm nearly done with my experiment here. Ace, I want you to do something for me."
"It's only fair."
"Try and get a hold of one of the Arsonists grenades."
"Which one? The regular ones or the ones that stick to shit?"
"One of each, now that you mention it. I'll see you soon, Ace." Doctor Dyr pressed the button
on her headset and resumed her tinkering. She readjusted her monocle and turned her attention to the colours that squirmed in her peripheral vision, "Ah!"
She scooped up the roach and pinned his sides between her thumb and forefinger. "Looks like
someone needs a new coat of paint." She pulled out her acrylics and tiny brush. She set the
project aside, and though well aware of her list of things to do, she proceeded to touch up the paint on the roach.
----
Ace and Coen were in the machine repair shop. A beat up car crawled along the track pulled by hooks on it's underside. The paint was burned off, and bullet holes were peppered on its side. The back seat windows were smashed.
"What the hell happened to this thing?" Ace ran his hand over the hood of the car.
"A vehicle sent from the carnage the Arsonist and the Vigilante had a hand in." Coen slid his hand across the machine's command screen. He kept his eyes on the glow. Ace's face scrunched up. "The crossfire started a lot of interesting stuff."
"Interesting?" Ace snapped, "These people were hurt, Coen."
Coen didn't answer him. The arms moved about the vehicle, removing the outer plating. With
the inner frame exposed, they began repairing what parts they could. "We need an A-120 and the 832-PO."
"I think a 833-PO would be better here-"
"You gonna argue with a machine?"
"They have people who work this job for a reason."
"People are stupid, and the machines do the job adequately."
"People have value."
"Can you just get the 832?" Coen spat, "So that we can get this done and move onto the next vehicle?"
"Fine, sure." Ace walked away. He understood the guy lost a relative in that first blaze the Arsonist started, but he was very aggressive. He grabbed the parts from the vending machines and brought them to Coen.
The parts were replaced by the arms and the car was sent away. It was replaced with a mutilated helicopter. There was a large hole on the side, the pane of glass was cracked. The sliding doors were stuck partly open. It's blades were tattered and bent. The tail did not suffer the most damage, but the underside was flattened.
"What the hell?" Ace couldn't contain his frustration, "Why didn't they just buy a new helicopter?"
Coen began giving the arms commands from the computer, "It's actually cheaper to repair things here than it is to buy new ones. Company policy."
"They couldn't just use the thing for scrap?"
"Resources are finite. We must get the most out of whatever we use. Besides, why are you angry? The arms are doing all the work for us. Is something bothering you, Ace?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"I'm not angry." Coen then kept his mouth shut while he ran the command center. The next time he spoke was after their shift was over when he said his farewells to Ace and began to leave the machine shop.
Ace called after him, "Coen, are you going to Amy's party tonight?"
"Amy's throwing a party? With what money?"
"She has decided to spend her first paycheck on a table at the Thai Buffet."
"Fine. I'll have Eddie drive me there, seeing as you sold your bike."
"Sorry, man."
Coen left the shop.
----
There were two men dressed in clothes for all seasons sitting in an alleyway. They had earmuffs and sunglasses on. A policeman approached them sat with the two. He gave each of them a submarine sandwich wrapped in plastic wrap. They took off their sunglasses and earmuffs off. The three began to eat, watching the people walking past the opening of the alleyway.
The policeman spoke first, "How have you two been holding up?"
The man with the large nose spoke after choking down the dry sandwich, "We've been fine. A few threats from passerby, but I don't think they know if we can hear them."
"We 'preciate the pleasantries, Phil." The second one spoke with his mouth full, "You want information?"
"That's why I try to keep you guys out of the Compassion Zones."
He started laughing, sandwich flying out of his mouth, "Pete here has seen them Compassion Zones from the inside. Tell him what you saw." He nudged his friend.
"Fuck off, William." Peter put down his sandwich onto his lap, "Those places are worse than the self-sufficient complexes." He pointed at Philip, "If you and your cop friends did your jobs people might actually have some security in there. No cameras, no paid muscle, definitely not safe."
"We are having a hard time with the Pro-Quality militia. Them and the Vigilante and Arsonist are pissing me off. Especially those two dressed up freaks."
William licked his fingers, "As much as I like a guy with a motorcycle and a giant taser on my side, he's still a douche bag. He was on that roof with the Arsonist and he didn' even have a damn gun on him. What happened to him? He got torched. What a cocky bastard, am I right?" He balled up the plastic wrap and threw it behind him.
"Everybody should have a gun on 'em. If everybody was packing, nobody would shoot at each other. Everybody would know that they'd get shot at back."
"All right you two," Philip stood up, "I have to return to the office. Do you guys have any idea what the next Quality militia target is?"
"They're gunna blow up the religious district."
"Thanks guys. Stay out of trouble."
Peter had the sandwich in his mouth, he waved as Philip left. William went back into the alley to find something soft to sleep on.
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