"I wish you told him ten." Touch says after their sparing session. "That only gives us an hour to move in and scout the location."
"How long would you prefer?" She asks, replacing the stylus in her pocket.
"Ideally? A day or two in advance. But right now, we need to move quickly, so at least two hours."
"Are you expecting a trap? I thought Ortega verified this guy."
"Traps and scams only work if they're unexpected. I don't know this guy personally, so we can't be too careful. We can't rule out that he's a hunter or a nark, that's built up a cover first. Or an opportunist who's switching sides out of convenience. I have a program that can verify the tablet, but-"
"Verify the tablet?"
"Yeah. It'll match up the hardware and software information with documentation I downloaded from the net to make sure no one put any extra trackers, bugs, or malware on the device. But it takes time, about two or three minutes. Transferring the funds will take another minute or two. All in all, we should be gone in five. That's only if things go perfectly. A lot can happen in five minutes."
The sun had fallen back behind the trees. Casting the horizon and wispy clouds in a brilliant orange and yellow glow.
"Lets move." Rachel says, throwing on her dark purple hoodie.
They approach the town well after dark. Coming out of the woods, walking around the back of a collection of industrial buildings. It smelt of iron and dirt as they came up to the side of the slaughterhouse.
"Familiarize yourself with the interior. I'll start patrolling." Touch says.
He pulls out the pistol he took from the bounty hunter.
"If you hear gunshots, run straight back to camp. Make sure you're not followed."
"Alright, be careful."
They go their separate ways. It's dark and quiet all around, though she can hear people and see the hazy glow of light pollution farther into town. The back door is locked, but the window around the side isn't. She lifts up on the window and a rank wave of bleach and blood seeps out. She mounts the window sill and slips into a small office. Straight ahead is a metal freezer door. To her left, past this little corner office, is a hallway. To her right is the locked back door. Dead quiet, no movement. She peeks into the hallway, then unlocks the back door and slides the window closed, locking it shut.
The ground is wet concrete. The hallway has a drain in the center, and the floor sinks into it on both sides. The ceiling was a hollow skeleton of metal supports, wires, and duct hoses, with some kind of rail that ran from the freezer to the front of the slaughterhouse. She opens the freezer, cold nipping her face, to see frozen, headless-pigs hanging by their feet from chains and hooks attached to the ceiling rail embedded in a metal overhead. A stab of disgust and sadness for the slaughtered animals rises through her stomach. The walls are stacked with buckets and tubs of ice.
She closes the door in silence.
She walks down the hall, listening. Quite and still. She approaches the door on the left to find a small break-room, round table in the center. Toward the back there's a coffeemaker on the counter of the kitchenette, next to the sink, cupboards above it. There was a window on the outside wall with the blinds drawn. She keeps her hand on her stylus as she scopes the main room.
The hallway opens up into a large room lined with carcasses glowing pale in the moonlight, shining through the large windows along each wall. She keeps to the left-hand wall, scanning from the windows, all the way around behind her. The carcasses have been beheaded, gutted, and drained. Organs replaced with bags of ice dripping water on the floor.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
They were obviously slaughtering more animals than they could store. They would most likely cook up the animals right before or right after the meat began to spoil, then drive it down to the city to make some quick cash in corporate vouchers.
The ceiling was a hollow skeleton of metal supports, leading up to a sheet metal ceiling. The left corner held some kind of packing station, where they would wrap up any cuts of meat, accompanied by a tool bench with several large knives and a sharpening station. In the right corner, and running down the wall, was a stainless steel kitchen, like what you see in the back of restaurants. Through the center was a little walkway with double wooden doors at the end, and a small wooden door on either side.
A small office through the left door, and a stockroom to the right. She listens at the double doors. Nothing. She opens the front door leading to the front counter of a small butcher shop. It was dark, all the blinds were closed. She looks up to see a menu for people to order from. She pulls out her phone and connects to the wifi. She makes sure she is connected to Ortega's personal VPN, encrypting all her traffic.
Forty-five minutes pass as Rachel paces back and forth. She gets a message from Touch.
'One guy approaching'
Several seconds later, the deadbolt turns with a click, a skinny hipster with large glasses, man-bun, and a beard walks through the front door holding a key. He turns and closes the door behind him, then walks up to the counter, he gets halfway before jumping back and screaming.
"What the fuck!"
"I let myself in."
"But it's locked." The guy has the look of mounting regret on his face.
"You have something for me."
He hesitantly pulls the rugged tablet and charger from a messenger bag at his waist. His hands tremble as he sets it on the counter. She pulls Touch's small laptop from her bag, eyeing the hipster as she sets it on the counter next to the tablet. He looks away, unsettled. She logs onto the laptop and connects the tablet.
"What's that?" He asks.
"Assurances." She stares at him again.
He looks away.
She keeps staring at him as the program does its business. She didn't think this was a trap. He was a little shaken and nervous. But if any soldiers were coming in behind him, he'd look terrified of being caught in the crossfire.
The front door opens silently, Rachel's hand falls to her stylus, already powering up. It takes a second to recognize Touchstone's silhouette dominating the doorway. She powers down the stylus. Touch closes the door.
"We're clear." He says as the door clicks shut, the hipster jumps.
"FUCK!" He turns to Touch, then to her. "I thought you said to come alone!?"
"For you to come alone." Touch corrects. Dark gray skin making him nothing more than a shadow, or a shady spirit.
The hipster pales as Touch approaches, looking like the opposite kind of spirit. "Oh my god, you're The Golem! The one they're looking for!"
"The Golem? And who calls me that?" Touch says in low tones, sending chills down Rachel's spine.
"Ok, Touch, we can settle down. This guy's obviously not with anyone."
He stares the hipster down a moment longer. Then relaxes.
"Very well. Had to be sure." Touch says, back to his relativity friendly self. Again, sending chills down Rachel's spine.
The hipster is shaking.
"Relaaax, no one wants to hurt you. We just needed to scare you to make sure this wasn't a setup. Understand?"
"Not really, man."
"Well, if you were too calm, then we would've known you had backup on the way. If you were too scared, then you're a civilian about to be caught in the crossfire of an ambush. Get it?"
Rachel looks at the laptop.
"Tablet's clean. Pull out your phone." She says. The hipster complies. She takes the QR code from her jacket pocket. The guy scans it and puts in a request for 40 credits.
"Hand it to me." she says. He looks miserable as he hands it over. She puts in for 50 credits and hands the phone back. She scans the plastic square and approves the request on her end, then they swap tablets and chargers.
"Alright, sorry about scaring you. Can't be too careful. Bye." Rachel says, heading out the back. Touch vaults the counter after her, then looks at the hipster.
"And if anyone asks, tell them we threatened you into handing over the tablet."
Touchstone winks before following Rachel.