Ever closer, it came.
Ever closer, but ever slower.
The strange sound that had put Donny and the others on guard bounced around, just loud enough to fray the nerve, but not so loud that they could pinpoint its origin, or even what it was—not what was making it, nor specifically what the sound itself may be.
So, they waited.
Stuck in a maze of boxes and shelves, the trio had no recourse but to seclude themselves as best as possible within a serviceable area in which they hoped to form a kill zone.
Of course, for whom that hunting ground would bestow its favour upon was still yet to be decided.
The whole place was a mess; too many ways in, too many gaps to see through. Thankfully, that disorganisation also offered them ample corners to hide in, and ample viewpoint to observe from. but those gaps worked both ways.
At least it gave them some advantage.
Still, their current situation was ludicrous. Yes, just running about would have been the height of stupidity, but so was just waiting here. They had no clue where the sound was coming from, and they had no idea if whatever was making it would even come their way, or even if that thing was instead in actuality a group of things. But between the two choices, they had to pick the lesser of evil and hope for the best, the three of them now waiting to see what was what.
Donny hated the sense of powerlessness that filled him right then, forcing himself to stiffen his leg to keep it from bouncing up and down from the stress threatening to overcome him.
They waited as nothing continued to happen.
They waited, every little knock and bump, theirs or not, keeping them on edge.
And still, they waited.
And Donny waited for whoever had just stuck the tip of a pocket pistol into his back to begin talking.
“Hands…please?”
A woman. A polite one. His senses, heightened by years of experience and exposure to danger, told him that she was short—though, given his height, that description applied to most people he met—under five feet if he were to guess.
Donny raised his hands slowly, keeping his trap shut so as not to give what might have been an itchy trigger finger a reason to squeeze said trigger of what felt like a Sterling’s Companion 9mm, all the while realising that he might have been in this situation far too often if he was starting to recognise what model a gun was by how it felt from behind.
“Your friends?” she asked.
He did not need to think it over; Donny called out, “Frank; Germain.” The tone of surrender in his voice telling them more than any words could.
The gun pressed harder into his spine.
“Just the three of us,” he told her.
There was no further action, thankfully, so she presumably believed him. The woman led him out from behind the pile of boxes he had been using for cover, keeping his body between her and his partners.
“Donny?” Frank asked, his question more about what the plan was rather than if his partner was alright.
“Frank,” Donny replied, hoping that whatever his partner did next did not get him killed.
“Frank?!” the woman said with surprise.
“Baby Doll?!” Frank asked in equal surprise.
“Oh, gods!” Donny lamented. Frank’s record with women was such that it was a coin toss as to whether she would pull the trigger just for seeing the idiot.
She leant out from behind her oversized human shield to look at Frank, stating then, “It is you!”
“You know these idiots?” another woman asked as she and three more appeared from wherever they had been hiding, the sound of her voice laced with education and pampered upbringing, almost British in tone, indicating that she was from the upper crust, or at least knew how to fake it. A pretty, chestnut-haired, package dressed in equally fancy wrapping, her ensemble a mockery of old country hunters wear for the nobility, though coloured in khaki than the traditional red and white.
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“I know that one,” Baby Doll answered nodding her head towards the ginger-haired man.
“What the hell is this?!” Frank both tried to yell and whisper in accusation at the unexpected ambush.
“‘This’ is us dealing with a bunch of mooks waiting for us in ambush,” the still unknown woman answered him with a bite.
“What?! No, we’re…can’t you hear that,” Frank exclaimed as he indicated the strange sound.
“Yessss,” the woman replied as if she were addressing a child—and where Frank was concerned, she was not far wrong, “that’s us.”
“What?!” Frank said once more, utter perplexed by this turn of events.
“Cavalier,” Germain answered then, the previously silent man in possession of information that the other two were not.
Make that “other one”, Frank then making a sound of annoyance as he realised something from that lone word.
“Wait,” Franks started as he turned back to Baby Doll, “I thought you were with Heartram and Dobson?”
“Gone,” Baby Doll answered, swiping a thumb across her throat to indicate the exact nature of her former agency’s collapse.
Before they could go on, Donny interjected.
“Frank,” he said as he wiggled the fingers of his still-raised hands. “Can we de-escalate things a bit?”
Frank looked to the woman behind Donny, then to the still-unnamed woman for an answer.
The unknown woman turned to Baby Doll.
“Lilly?”
Baby Doll rolled her eyes and said, “I don’t know about the other two, but that one’s just a dumb lug; harmless.”
“Well, ain’t that a how…”
“Frank!” Donny begged, his hands still raised.
A moment of silence followed then as the unknown woman took a moment to think.
“Fine,” she said, waving a hand—the one holding her gun.
Donny lowered his arms, but that seemed to be the extent of the de-escalation, none of the women lowering their guard as he was forced to. Baby Doll, specifically, not moving from where she stood behind him.
“Gentlemen, mind answering why you were waiting to ambush us.”
“We aint,” Frank answered defensively, “We were waiting for whatever that sound is; didn’t know it was you doing it.”
“Out of your section? You see how we might not think that story holds up, correct?” the woman said back, doubt dripping from every word.
“What?! This is our section!”
“Nooo. I don’t know who you are, but I do know all the groups that were supposed to be searching this area, and you are not one of them. This is the area beneath the general exhibits, you are not supposed to be here. The obvious answer is that you’re to ambush us, so w…”
Frank gave a barking laugh, the action causing him a second of regret as the sound echoed around the area, reminding everyone of the situation that they were currently in.
Momentarily peering around, Frank continued in a whisper. “We’re beneath the Dino room, ya daft woman! This is our area.”
Donny noticed Germain move. Not going anywhere, just shifting his body to convey to the women around them that he was not in any way related to him and Frank, having never seen the two strangers before in his life.
“Dino…what?! Noooo…”
“Yeees,” Frank said as he mimicked her tone, “maybe if you had a map,” he said as he waved his tatty notebook up in the air, “you’d…”
“We do; Beatrice?” the woman snapped.
One of the women pulled out a cloth wrapped taught around a circlet of some sort, the rim bearing several indentations filled with various coloured grains of…sand or something, holding it up straight for the three of them to more clearly see the picture drawn upon it.
A spatter of light-brown grains on the surface depicted in far finer detail than their printed map of what could only have been this level of the building; every shelf, crate and miscellanea shown in crude but exacting detail.
Several coloured pellets clung to its surface unnaturally, a collection which Donny noticed matched all their current locations precisely.
“Seeee? This is where we are…?” her voice dripping with condescension.
The smile of having the upper hand then slipped from her face as she noted Frank’s hard expression.
“What?” she demanded.
“Seventeen,” Frank replied.
“What?”
“Supposed to be seventeen groups here, that thing’s only showing twelve.”
Everyone turned to look at the cloth map, the little pellets barely visible even with the light of multiple lamps upon them.
Seeing the look of doubt on the woman’s face as she looked towards Baby Doll, Donny said to her, “Miss, I know you don’t know us, but trust me when I say that Frank knows his numbers. If he says we’re down to twelve, he ain’t wrong.”
“Eleven,” said Frank.
The lone word felt like a punch to the gut, the hairs on the back of every neck present then making like a priest in a Johnny house.
As if to punctuate that sudden declaration of danger, somewhere in the distance, a lone gunshot rang out.
Everyone grouped up in response, any lingering antagonism temporarily forgotten as mutual interest took over.
Minutes passed as they waited for something else to occur; an attack, another shot…something, but none came. That return to silence was not welcomed by any of them.
Eventually, the woman said, “Mr…?”
“Frank. Sullivan. Donny Cohen. Germain…,” Frank said with a nod of his head, his words trailing off as he focused himself harder on attempting to discern the sounds echoing around him.
“Germain,” said the man from Africa, correcting Frank’s pronunciation off the word.
“Well, Mr. Sullivan and company, my name is Heather Wolfe, and I and my companions are in service of The Ladies Cavalier. Now, pleasantries aside, given our current circumstances, may I suggest an alliance be in order for this occasion? Until we ascertain the particulars of what we’re facing, at least? Standard rules and all that.”
“Sure, Sure,” Frank agreed for the trio. Though neither Donny or Germain disagreed, Frank’s need to always be the lead did grate on their nerves.
Formalities of the business dealt with, they then got down to the real business.
“Beatrice?”
“Still eleven.”
“Good. Perhaps that shot was alone for a reason.”
“Don’t be daft, why would a bullet end this?” Frank asked incredulously.
“What?” Heather asked in confusion.
“They’re poor,” Baby Doll declared Bluntly.
Frank was not the only one to bite his lip at the blunt statement. Guns were only considered powerful because of their lethality towards other humans—on the unfathomable, they were much akin to trying to put out the sun by spitting at it…normally, but those with the money to burn could and did augment such mundane armaments to offer their payloads the same offensive capability unto the unknown as they did unto vulnerable flesh. In some cases, their augmented lethality proving even more so.
Baby Doll’s explanation told everyone much, though the message differed between parties.
To these Cavaliers, whoever they were, it informed them that Frank and sundry were on a lower tier in terms of social status, their abilities and resources likewise.
What it said to the others was that they were about to be shafted, the arrogance of the rich and powerful demanding subservience from those lesser than them as a default, even when they were trying to be nice.
Partners were only partners when they were equal, and there were no equals in this world.
“What’s the plan then,” Germain asked.
“A very good question,” Heather said. “Suggestions?”
“That map of yours,” Donny asked.
“Yes?”
“Does it change, or do you need to use a ritual or something?”
“What’re you thinking of?”
No one missed that she did not answer his question. Not surprising given the clear value of the object and the…general nature of most freelancers.
“I think we should head for the nearest stairway up, check the situation there.”
“Then what? Supposing this thing’s guarding the cause of all this and we let the opportunity to end it go?”
“Unless you’re absolutely confident in your abilities, I suggest we focus on the number of people present than possible gains to be had. We go upstairs; if the situation’s clear, we gather who we can and come back like a marching band. If not, we make a new plan,” suggested Frank.
Heather Wolf chewed his words over for a moment before indicating her approval, reason overcoming her freelancer’s greed. Seven people was only a lot if you were in a gang fight, not when facing the unknown.
Though still slow, their journey was a lot faster thanks to the girls’ map, it being far more accurate than either of the three’s paper versions, its power preventing them from getting lost as they had before.
Their still grouped-up march forward only halted by the deployment of another of the military’s French sticks, tossed into the small room housing the staircase to counter anything that may have been lurking within.
The things that went bump in the night tended to favour such places, and the waste of time and resources was easily deemed worth the loss even after proving itself uneventful.
What they found upstairs was…less so.