Wharehouse

This is a revised edition.  The original can be found here.

It was raining again. It was always raining these days it seemed. To make matters worse, there was a fierce cold wind cutting me to the bone. Why did he always have to meet with us on nights like this? And why in the Warehouse District? Doesn't he know that's where they expect you to have these kind of meetings? He's so damn cliche.

I really shouldn't complain though. He's been feeding us excellent intel ever since he turn on his Master. Not that we've actually been able to do much good with it. How is this Wizard, or whatever his name is, always able to stay one step ahead of us. I mean don't we have inside information? Or are we...

"Joe!" That was Al. Damn, I must have been lost in my thoughts again.

"Yeah, uh, what?"

"Where you planning on walking all night? We're here."

Damn. I was lost in there again. So much so that I almost walked right past the meeting place. It was much like all the others. Our informant had a hard on for run down buildings. Abandoned factories. Empty warehouses. There was something different tonight though. Something I just couldn't quite put my finger on.

Walking inside I can see at least half a dozen spots where an ambush could be waiting. I mention this and the odd feeling I have to Al. He says it's just my paranoia, but that he'll stay alert anyway. That's the mark of a good partner. If I'm uneasy about something I know Al's got my back.

"Did you bring the stuff?" How the Hell does he do that? This guy just appeared out of nowhere. I could have sworn the spot he's now standing in was empty no more than a second ago.

"Yeah we got 'em," replies Al. "What'd you bring us?"

"Toss the goods over here and I'll show you." Wait, what. He never asked for his stuff without showing us he had something in return. Something's definitely wrong here. I say as much to Al.

"I think you're right. We should..." Why did he stop talking mid-sentence. I turn my head toward my partner and I can see why. He no longer has a head. Panic starts creeping in. Not good.

"You were trying to bring down the Boss." That voice. "We can't have that." Where have I heard that voice? "We already took care of the traitor." No it can't be. "Now it's time to take out the rest of the trash." Stygan.

They got to our informant. They killed my partner. It's time for me to get the Hell out of here. But I'm too slow. As I turn around to make my escape I find out first hand just how my partner died. The indescribable pain in my chest draws my attention down to where a sword is sticking out. Damn she's fast. So this is how I'm going to die. In a rundown old warehouse. Killed by a bitch with a fucking sword.

Scout's Date

Scout Thompson once hated her name. She had hated her parents for naming her after a character from "that Harper Lee book." But now she loved it. Fitting, she thought, considering what it is I've chosen as a career.

You see, Scout is an investigative journalist. One of the few remaining it seemed to her. Working for blogs and independent websites didn't pay well. It was a living though. Plus it allowed her the freedom to do what she loved, and get paid for it.

She was on to something big. Something that all journalist dream of. She was hot on the trail of the story that was going to make her a household name. If only she could find the damn meeting place.

The source she was meeting was flaky at best, but had provided some very useful information in the past. He had set up this rendezvous a couple of days before and insisted that it be in what was surely a dive in the worst part of town. After three wrong turns and much backtracking, she found the place.

"Pizzler's Pub, this should be interesting." She remarked as she opened the door. The place was sparsely occupied, even though it was happy hour. She was also hit with an olfactory sensation wholly new to her. She began analyzing it immediately.

"Hmm, sweat and stale beer, not unexpected." She stopped for a moment, getting a nose full of another scent in the air. She rankled her nose as she figured out the last major odor, "I that piss?"

"Why yes it is, darlin'." She recognized the voice of her informant, Deep Ten, from their many phone conversations. He was standing just two feet behind her right shoulder. As she turned towards him she noticed his attire. Clad head to toe in black.  With black ball cap pulled low and cheap sunglasses, he looked like something out of an old spy movie she'd seen growing up.

Is this guy for real, she thought. Pushing that thought aside, she continued with the conversation. "They picked a great name for this place then."

"Indeed. One of the reason I like it here. Have a seat."  He motioned to a booth a few paces away that was none to clean.  Deep Ten slipped into the seat without missing a beat.  Scout was a bit more hesitant.  With a deep breath, and a nose full of the putrid stench of the bar, she buried her disgust and sat down as well.

After a brief pause, Deep Ten continued, "I've come to you because the major networks won't return my calls. They think I'm a nutter or something. I think they just don't care about what's going on right under their feet. What I've got here will shake this country to its very core." He reached into his coat and pulled out a rather sizable envelope. "Do you have my payment?"

It was Scout's turn to present an envelope. This one, though, a bit smaller. "I don't know what you want with the stuff, but here it is." She put the parcel on the table.

"You'll find out when the time is right, darlin'." He picked up her offering and pushed his across the table. "That should be enough to get you a good start. Look for more at the drop point noted inside soon. All the instructions are there."

He got up from the table. "We won't be meeting like this again any time soon. I'll be in touch. Pleasure doing business with you, beautiful." With those words he turned and was out the door in mere seconds.

Scout turned back to her newly acquired packet. Opening it carefully she peaked inside. Deep Ten was right, it was a very good start indeed.

My Mission

About two years ago I started a blog as an outlet for my creativity.  Since then life has kind of gotten in the way, and I pretty much forgot about it.  I haven't written much since then either.  However I do still have a multitude of ideas floating around in my head.  I've decided to give it another go in hopes that this time I don't let it fall to the wayside.

New stories will be coming soon, as well as reworkings of the ones from the old blog.  Maybe you'll enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing them.

~DD