The Paranoid Thief (19 page)

“Colonel Don Van Hasting,” Captain Russell
started, “or should I say Randolph McCann?”

“Randolph will do,” Randolph sighed, still
wishing he knew where he’d gone wrong.

“By your reputation, I’d have thought you’d
have known better than to try a stunt like this after killing that city
sheriff.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“Accessory after the fact
then, which will be added to your other crimes of murder.”

“I didn’t kill them, either!” Randolph
snapped, still offended by that frame-up.

“Whether you did or not might have been
taken into account had you surrendered yourself and turned in Miss Wander.” The
severity in his voice indicated the captain didn’t believe him, a reaction
Randolph was well aware would be upper most in every-one's thoughts till he
made Mr. Hilden confess to the crime. Even so, it made little difference now as
Jill had indeed made him an accomplice to murder, no matter if he had asked
Jill’s help or no. Understanding the routine, Randolph carefully stood and
turned to the wall so they could start processing him.

Once more running the gantlet of security
measures to extract any objects considered not skin and bones, Randolph was
finally clothed in a bright yellow short-sleeved jumpsuit, given a number,
video-graphed and incarcerated in the same cell block as Jill.

Evidently
one of their more maximum security blocks,
Randolph mused,
which in truth is rather lucky for us as
they should have kept us well separated, given my track record, which Captain
Russell made plain he’d read in some detail.
Randolph shrugged off this
fortunate mistake, now that he was in a more familiar role, and sat down
listening to the magnetic lock being activated which brought to mind plan B.
For obvious reasons, Randolph couldn’t indulge himself in planning out plan B
as he also had time restraints on this activity, due to Jill’s lack of the
same.
In other words,
Randolph
reminded
himself,
it’s
put up or shut up, as this is our very last chance at escape. If this fails, I
have no magic hat to save our butts from the sterile stainless table top and
that cold, cold needle.

Randolph shook off that morbid thought as
he sought out the video camera and microphone then flipped a mental coin on
whether or not to leave Jill to her fate and save his own butt. Letting that
imaginary coin fall unnoticed to the floor, he went to the corner under the
video camera, and twisted and pulled his arm out of its socket while the
building celebrated their illustrious capture. With his head pressed into the
corner, Randolph bit back his scream of pain, as he gathered out the precious
tube which had saved his life several times over the years, and extracted with
teeth and suction the miracle pill, which made morphine seem like a mild can of
beer.

Unable to use the dislocated arm till
resetting it back into its socket, Randolph bit down on the cylinder like a
cigar, plastered against the wall blinking watery eyes as he waited out the few
moments for the pill to take effect. When Randolph felt its wonderful molecules
attaching themselves to the pain centers along his brain stem, stopping the
news from his arm of the misuse, he kept the first cylinder between his teeth
and reconnected his arm then disengaged the other arm for its cylinder. After
making certain his arms and hands worked as normal, Randolph palmed both
cylinders and put a depressed look on his face, playing the part of a whipped
puppy, before he walked back into view of the video camera and settled under a
light wool blanket with his back to the room to begin his work in earnest. Once
the tools were assembled, Randolph took several deep breaths before sitting up.
With a look skyward in a plea for any help from the man upstairs, or any help
from the imaginary gods of stupidity, Randolph activated the video jammer and
shot to the door frame, activating a laser pen. Within seconds he was in the
wall and jumping the circuit board without consideration for extra security
measures as he had no time to dawdle. When he heard the power shut off,
Randolph pushed out the door and ran down the hall to the guard’s station as
fast as he could run. With the aid of his non-slick shoes, Randolph halted at
the guard’s station and
lasered
the key hole and bolt
assembly till it fell to pieces when he yanked the door open and charged into
the surprised face of Lieutenant Bran. Yanking a clipboard off the wall he’d
seen before being captured, Randolph applied this to the lieutenant’s cranium
more than once to introduce his displeasure of being locked up. With adrenalin
racing and his breathing elevated, Randolph stripped the lieutenant bare,
swapping out their clothes, even to the lieutenant’s slightly larger, imitation
leather work shoes, and then searched out Jill’s holding cell. When he gained
her cell number, Randolph grabbed up the keys, and downing the lieutenant’s
coffee to wet his dry throat, hurried back the way he’d come, dragging the
unconscious, naked lieutenant along so he could wake up knowing how it felt to
be incarcerated unjustly.

Still adjusting the bothersome tie the
uniformed officers were forced by ignorant managers to suffer, Randolph dropped
his cargo off on the floor next to Jill’s cell, and slid the lieutenant’s card
key into the slot, hitting the green button which informed the electronics he
wished the door open. Once the powerful magnets released, Randolph yanked open
the door and barely caught a glimpse of something inside moving. With but that
fraction of movement, Randolph managed barely to deflect Jill’s dinner tray
from full contact with his skull.

“
Ow
!” Randolph
stumbled back and saw a brief blur of movement as Jill landed on him, forcing
him back to the hall where he lost his balance and sat down hard on the floor
with her on top. “Jill, it’s me!” Randolph tried, his face coming alight from
her fist. “Geez, is that anyway to thank me?”

“Oh shit, Randolph, are you okay? Can you
get up?” Jill intoned worried-like, scrambling off him.

With Jill’s help, Randolph stood, and saw
her face take on so many expressions of joy, fear, relief and uncertainty at
once, he said tasting blood, “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll find out.”

 
“You
could have told me that was you, for crying out loud!” Jill told him in
considerable anger.

Still feeling wobbly, Randolph leaned
against the wall. “Sorry, I was rather busy concentrating on getting us out of
here instead of worrying on miner details.”

“What do you mean—don’t you already have a
plan?” she asked, recovering faster than him.

“Hey! I had a perfectly good plan, a
wonderful plan, save I had less than 24 hours to get every detail figured out,
with the added disadvantage of having to use public facilities never designed
for my type of work to gather the documentation needed with no sleep in the
last 48 hours. So after that disastrous try, I’ve spent the last three hours
being prodded and poked then shoved into a cell two doors over from yours.”
After running his mouth out of nervousness, Randolph took note of a change in
Jill’s eyes that vaguely reminded him of cat eyes becoming filled with
mischief,
then
he ended up on the receiving end of two
engulfing strong arms. “Jill?” he began, hearing her sniffle, “now is not the
time for your softer side. We still have to get out of here before the guard
wakes up and discover I’m wearing his clothes.”

Jill pulled away from him, wiping her eyes
with a hand, and said with a catch in her throat, “Your right of course. It’s
just over whelming to know you’d risk your life to try and get me out of here.”

For a second, Randolph thought to point out
she’d done the same for him, save that could wait till another time as they
really needed to get moving. Jill stood a foot from him, her arms trembling as
if she were fighting them from grabbing him again. Randolph looked into her
eyes to see her looking at him expectantly, as if he already knew how to get
the pair of them out of here.
Trusting,
isn’t she?
He then looked down on Lieutenant Bran, without his clothes;
Randolph once more verified to himself. Women
are far more pleasing to the eyes,
then
snapped his fingers, coming up with an idea. But before he began, Randolph
pointed an accusing finger at Jill, remembering her past words. “You will
promise me you will NOT kill anyone on the way out.”

“Randolph—”

“Promise me—”

Jill chewed on his words and stern face
made a face of disgust before she improvised on his words. “I promise to kill
no one as long as they’re not a threat.”

“Jill,” Randolph warned, “everyone in this
building’s a threat.”

She shrugged. “That’s the best you'll get
out of me, sweetie.”

“Sweetie?
Since
when do you use endearments?”

“Oh come off it, Randolph, can’t I try to
sound appreciative of what you’re doing?”

“Not in our current situation. I need to
know who I’m talking to.”

“All right, fine. So what am I supposed to
be doing?”

Randolph looked skyward in thanks just as a
moan and thud sounded from Jill giving Bran a swift kick to keep him quiet.

“First things first, you lock our bundle of
joy in the cell and I’ll see what can be done at his console.”

Jill gave him an exaggerated “
righto
” salute, to which Randolph rolled his eyes before
jogging back to the lieutenant’s work station. After seating himself in the
chair in front of the console, Randolph began typing up programs, document,
copies, and information on all resident criminals. Then he looked over the make
and model of the printer, and found what he had in mind
was
feasible, as long as no one really looked hard on his forgeries.

In a matter of minutes, Randolph cut and
pasted their papers and geared up to start printing the documentation when he
realized he was making a seriously stupid blunder. As he was still thinking in
linear terms, Randolph had naturally made the documentation up to transfer Jill
to another facility. A momentary review of a clip board on the wall holding a
large video picture of his face, he understood instantly the paperwork would
get them nowhere but back in a cell before they could step ten feet beyond the
elevator.

“Shit!” Randolph exclaimed as he rolled
over other possibilities.

“What? Is something wrong?” Jill asked from
her place at the door.

“Yes,” he grumbled trying to rethink, “as
long as I have shit for brains.”

“Come again?”

“Be quiet will you!” Randolph snapped
unnecessarily, regretting the words but needing to think. He drummed his
fingers on the table, looking for inspiration, as Jill sat her butt on the same
surface, crossing her arms.
Waiting for
the master mind to remember he isn’t alone in all this!
With a blinding
flash of inspiration, one he should’ve had precious minutes ago, Randolph
started the cut and pasting all over. After ten minutes of rework he started
the printer and told Jill to strip.

“Randolph, this is hardly the time.” Jill
smirked but did as asked.

“Actually, I should have asked you to do so
ten minutes ago,” he remarked, irritated with himself, shucking off his stolen
clothes as well. “As a cop killer, my video would be all over the place,
regardless of the fact I’m now safely behind a cell door. You, however, having
just been identified and currently sealed inside a cell, will not have had one
issued. Therefore it should be you escorting me out. Besides,” he admitted,
“you have a mentality near on similar to the police.”

“How’s that?” she asked,
trading clothes.

“You have a way of carrying yourself I
could never emulate. Besides you’re far better trained in combat then I am.”

“Oh, so you’ve noticed, uh?” Jill smirked.

“Shut up and get dressed.”

“As you say, sweetie,” Jill said with a
smile, receiving a glare in response.

Jill was zipping up the fly on the pants as
Randolph contemplated this might not be a good idea, for Lieutenant Bran’s
clothes were far larger than her body type could support. This little piece of
news he should have considered when he was wearing the lieutenant’s clothes,
but in a time where he was improvising like crazy, he was bound to make a few
mistakes. The problem was they couldn’t afford them.

“Uh, I may have been wrong about this.”

“No, no, it’s all right. I’ll tuck them in
here and there and if anybody asks, I’ll tell them I’m new and these were the
only clothes they had on hand.”

“Will that work?” Randolph asked
skeptically.

“Sure. You don’t really think the military
has on hand all sizes of clothing for women, do you?” When he shrugged, Jill
continued. “No. Besides every woman’s hips are different, if you hadn’t
noticed, and the brass insists on crispness in the ranks.” So tucking the shirt
in, she sized the belt by using the laser pen and cinched up the pants.

As she bent over to roll up the excess
length in the pant legs, the
couple were
interrupted
by a buzzer and a yellow light flashing on the board. Randolph turned to look
over the console, worried-like, and found the screen above a readout as it
dawned on him they had guests.

“Cripes, not now!”

“What do we do?” Jill asked, becoming very
professional.

“We do nothing. You sit here and answer
those two.” He pointed to the screen. “With these words,” he hastened to add.
Jill did as asked, working her tie in place, and fumbled her way through the routine
as best as Randolph’s memory remembered, till the group of men were about to
come through the last door. After Randolph sat down at Jill’s feet so he
wouldn’t be seen and yet could still direct her if she hit a snag, he heard the
buzzer for the last door activate and saw Jill’s face set with a light but
bored attitude. Randolph marveled on her control, somewhat envious, when he
heard the room speaker pronounce, “Where’s Lieutenant Bran?”