An Hour and 10 Minutes Later is new, Tracking Down Leads is newish…written and posted before the details up to it were, written. It’s an odd system I have, but it works for me. Enjoy. 🙂
An Hour and 10 Minutes Later
“Ready?” Puddles asked over the comm-system.
“I feel better,” Chuck replied.
“Not about your bathroom break!”
“Quiet!” Whiskers commanded. “They left and are almost out of sight.”
Leaning over the edge, Whiskers watched the three gromathi gangers continue down the alley.
“Chuck bring the car around and see if you can find an upper floor exit,” Puddles ordered.
“Will do,” Chuck replied. “This place looks pretty self-contained; I don’t expect to find anything.”
“I will remain outside in case any clients arrive.”
“Sweet, let’s do this,” Puddles said with glee.
Whiskers watched Puddles stride into the office, cup of coffee in one hand, frying pan hanging from her belt, and holstered pistol on her hip. Whiskers dropped into the alley ready if she needed assistance.
The largest, ugliest, and very unconvincing receptionist sat behind a prefab desk covered in the “appropriate” amount of office supplies. Security she thought to herself, approaching the desk. The only other thing in the room than the desk, offices supplies, and “receptionist” a door she hoped lead to the doctor. Hopefully the doctor had the information they were after, she thought.
“I need to see the doc,” she said.
At least he pretended to type on the holo-keyboard. Puddles was positive she could see the gears in his head turning, very slowly. Setting her coffee on the desk, she leaned forward and coughed, twice. He turned, did she hear gears grind as his head turned she thought with a smirk, and glared at her.
In a deep voice he said, “There are no available appointments.”
“But,” coughing again, “I’m sick.”
“You can make an appointment for another day,” he replied not missing a beat.
Coughing again, Puddles turned and took a step towards the door, “I’m sure the doc can see me. It’ll be quick. We’re old…”
“DO NOT,” he emphasized each word and stood up, “take another step.”
“Fine have it your way,” Puddles replied pulling her frying pan off her belt. “I hope the doc can see you afterwards.”
Tracking Down Leads
The frying pan, bent in the middle flew across the room when the mook shook his mechanical-augmented arm.
“I just bought that!”
Puddles was positive she heard him form a metallic fist. Ducking under his powerful swing, Puddles rolled past the mook, popping up she fumbled with her holster. The mook pivoted much faster than she expected, wired to the gills no doubt she thought, and kicked her in the chest, knocking her against the wall. Her breath explosively left her lungs, leaving her holding out a paw, the other wrapped around her chest, and gasping for air.
The mook did not wait; grasping her outstretched arm, with a single yank he threw her to the opposite side of the room over the desk, scattering office supplies. Rolling to a stop amongst office supplies and her cup of coffee, Puddles tried to stand, still gasping for air. With two long strides he grabbed the desk and threw the desk at her, his aim off the desk exploded against the wall, showering her with desk parts. Puddles scrambled away from the wall, fumbling with her holster and looking for something, anything to give her an edge.
Mook grabbed her ankle, but before he could get a good grip, Puddles slipped her foot out of the boot and rolled onto her back as she drew her pistol. Her first shot blew her boot up; that he reflexively threw at her, her second and third shots put large holes in his thigh and gut. With a monstrous backhand, he knocked her pistol out of her paws. Puddles scooted backwards as he fell to one knee. Her paws landed on the familiar shape of her frying pan she swung with as much force as she could, cracking the mook across the face rocking his head to the side.
For a brief second she thought he was going to continue the fight; then he fell over onto his side. Puddles sat down against a wall. One breath, two, and three. Other than breath the mook had not moved. Standing, she retrieved her pistol and searched the mook; bingo, she mentally cheered pulling an identcase from a pocket. She waved his identcard over her watch accessing public data, nothing other than a name and top-level membership with emergency services. Before leaving the office, she punched in an emergency and dropped his identcard by his head.
“Figures,” she said to herself.
Looking at the frying pan, bent and nothing she could do about that, even better the person she wanted to see was gone. Empty office, at least this desk was intact, she thought ruefully. Puddles sat down and pulled up the holo-monitor.
“Let’s see what the good doctor was hiding.”