The Paranoid Thief (2 page)

She sat his ID card down and nodded, as if
she accepted his lie, then asked with some hardness. “Can you then explain the
cut and bruise on your left temple?”

“
Wha
...?”
Randolph reacted in surprise and reached up to touch his forehead. He winced
from the light pressure on the damaged skin and his fingers came away with
sticky wetness.
Of all the stupidity!
he
angrily admonished himself,
I should have known to have given my forehead a ‘look see’ when my
temple began to throb.
A small error like this could delay him even more,
if he couldn’t come up with a plausible lie in seconds. So he touched the area
once more to hide any showing expressions and thought furiously.

“Well?” the woman prompted with impatience,
apparently sensing she’d caught him in some illicit act, but whether that was a
crime or not remained to be seen.

As Randolph sought out a plausible story,
his eyes fell on the two bulges in her shirt which caused his animal instincts
to wonder of their true size, shape and firmness. This distraction in the back
of his mind brought forward a simple but typical male answer. With a quick mind
to seize on such a simple story, Randolph ducked his head to look sheepish and
replied, “Well, you see...” he stretched his words to sound embarrassed. “I
came up on a nice looking
woman,
and well…” Randolph
gave a hesitant laugh. “When I passed her by, my eyes stayed on her instead the
tree I ran into.”

“Uh-huh, and you expect me to believe
that?” Her face radiated skepticism.

“Honest, Officer McCormick,” Randolph added
after he caught her name tag and pulled out a handkerchief to mop his temple,
just remembering the throb on his forehead before he touched it.

“All right Mr.
Lenton
,
come clean. Tell me the whole story and your lawyer will be able to say you
cooperated with the police at your trial.”

“Trial?
For what?
Running into a damn tree because I like women?”
Randolph blurted with the knowledge she was only using entrapment tactics.

“Last chance, Mr.
Lenton
,”
she warned, signaling her back-up to step closer, an intimidation gambit to get
him to bolt for the trees or foul-up his story.

“But I didn’t do anything!” Randolph said
excitedly, not falling for it, purposely drawing attention from the other
joggers, whose faces he surmised held looks in varies degrees of curiosity to
insecurity.

“Very well Mr.
Lenton
,”
the officer said with hardness. Then she leaned toward him, her body language
all about intimidation. “You had your chance. We’ve got your name and
pic
ID. Should a woman report being molested and pick out
your ID, ten years will be added to your sentence for police evasion.” With a
motion of her hand for him to pick up his articles, the woman looked down on
her screen for any last minute warrants for his arrest. When she found none,
the officer motioned Randolph could go, as she held no evidence to hold him on
any crime. “You may wish to have a doc look at your forehead before operating
any vehicles, Mr.
Lenton
,” she said as he passed.

“Thanks Officer,” Randolph responded in ill
humor as his act demanded, refilling his wallet, very much pleased with his performance
while she fished for the wrong reactions.

In a few steps Randolph exited the park and
checked the time under the halo of a sun lamp. “2:47 a.m.,” he mumbled.
The skimmer-port won’t open for another
three hours yet. It’ll be time enough to tie up loose ends.
With a sigh to
resettle his nerves, Randolph tilted his face skywards to feel the moist
drizzle in the air. Then after a couple of breathes, he looked down on his
wrist watch and tapped its liquid crystal to bring up the avenues of approach
to his present office. With one more tap, the watch showed him all the pathways
to his office, which revealed one pathway he’d purposely left untraveled, with
turns galore that would throw off any unwanted followers. With a causal look
about, to make certain of no police surveillance, Randolph set his feet in
motion along the near-deserted avenue.

When his first turn came, Randolph ducked
into the alleyway with the knowledge no eyes could follow him in without
exposing themselves. Now alone from even the regular foot traffic, Randolph
jogged to the other end and stopped only momentarily to unzip and zip his
jogging suit at key points to change its colors. Clad now in a black over blue
jogging suit, Randolph walked out of the darkened shadows and kept track of his
location with more scrutiny.

When at last Randolph came within sight of
his place of operation, he slowed his hurried steps and watched everything. For
now he had to be the paranoid thief he always was, as it was here all his
preventive measures would either see him through or...
Hmm.

Randolph flattened himself on an office
wall and reasoned out why he must take this risk.
With the air bike’s systems all but fried in my hasty retreat, I held
no chance in redirecting the bike to my hidden stash of clothes and hard
credits elsewhere in the city.
But as Randolph was an accomplished pick
pocket, this was really not a problem. What in truth was driving him back here
was the evidence which could be gleaned from some of his equipment.
Really nothing the police don’t already
have,
Randolph argued,
but there are
one or two items I’d rather not leave for Mr. Hilden. The man was too well
connected. And knowing him, he would use them to assassinate my character. This
in turn might step up police involvement or deter any others from seeking out
my services.
Four or five other reasons were worth the risk of running back
into the building.
But are they truly
worth risking my life over?
With a turn of his head, Randolph scanned left,
right and all directions in-between. But no matter how hard he looked, the
stone facing at ground level and the street out front looked unimposing.
But what of the three lit windows?
He
didn’t even contemplate the hundred or so darkened windows in his inquiry,
least he drive himself to distraction. With an eye on the three windows from
his concealment, their angle to his office and the front doors seemed too
severe for an assassin to attempt this one opportunity.
That is, if I’m worth the price of a competent assassin,
Randolph
corrected his reasoning,
but once inside
the office building I’d be relatively safe, as no one without an access card
could get in, legally. Then again, Mr. Stanton didn’t have the look of a man
the least bit worried of breaking minor laws.

With the knowledge of who might be inside,
Randolph tried to swallow back the bile fouling his mouth and licked dry lips
as he pulled out the building’s access card.
If I’d had the time to set up my normal security measures, this trip
wouldn’t be necessary. If I hadn’t left in such a hurry,
if
,if,if
…
Randolph scolded himself. With the
knowledge he was only stalling the
inevitable,
Randolph
rubbed his sweaty palms dry on his sweat pants, took a deep breath and dashed
across the street shoving the card key home.
Click,
the undeniable sound of the magnetic lock on the
plastic-steel door sounded. With a yank on the door the instant the computer
registered his office ID number, Randolph rushed in.

Once inside, the feeling of a bright neon
target painted on his back by targeting electronics melted away. However,
Randolph’s elation of this victory evaporated the instant he was a few steps
in.
No!
his
mind screamed as he stopped in his tracks. With another silent denial to what
his eyes were showing him, Randolph tried unsuccessfully to retrace his steps
because a bulky body moved in between him and the door, jarring him into an
uncomfortable stop. The very next instant before Randolph could side step the
human blockage, he felt the unmistakable pressure of a pistol pressed up
against his spinal cord.

Randolph’s perspiration flew into overdrive
as his eyes registered too late the four musclemen resting comfortably in the
unadorned lobby couches.
NO! Heaven above
no…! They shouldn’t be here! I purposely showed off other avenues of escape I
could use to sneak in or out of this building!

Totally at a loss, Randolph looked on the
group who by all rights should be elsewhere in the building, spread out to
cover three other points of entry, not to mention the roof. So seeing
them
all gathered in this unadorned lobby meant he had
granted them far more intelligence then they held. Or
perhaps I underestimated their numbers!
Randolph removed his eyes
from this improbability to turned and look on the wall blocking his way out. He
tilted his face up to view the Neanderthal with a
uni
-brow
across both eyes, and upon seeing his menacing grin, knew he held no chance in
removing this obstacle. With no need to broadcast his level of intelligence to
Randolph, the big fellow motioned with a huge protruding chin that Randolph
should walk right on in as he had been doing. Unable to render a justifiable
reason why he should not, Randolph tried to swallow,
then
felt the reason against his side why he should obey the silent command.

For once in his life, while his heart did a
double twist nose dive into building stomach acids, Randolph regretted his
conviction to never carry a weapon. But even if he had, situations like tonight
would still have found him in this same predicament. So even lamenting his
choice, he would still be here, slowly raising his hands to inform the row of
badly-tailored line backers he held no weapon to endanger their lives.

Unable to influence matters until a change
in his favor presented itself, Randolph watched the worst of the lot, the one
with more intelligence than the whole group
combined,
calmly fold up the paper he’d been reading before standing.

Encircled by the five heavies, whose
mothers apparently ignored basic nutrition requirements in child care,
preferring to raise their sons on beef byproducts and steroids, Randolph
watched in mounting dread as Mr. Stanton crossed the badly-polished, dull white
floor, dressed smartly in fashionable black dress shoes.

The brick wall dressed in a blue-stripped
Harmanii
business suit brushed off imaginary lint on the
sleeve, before he tugged on a 2,000 credit diamond cuff-link as a signal to his
men he wished to speak to his captive. “My dear Mr. McCann,” he began with a
voice basted in malice, nailing Randolph’s wide eyes with his own hard gray
ones. “You don’t know how relieved I am to see you whole and unhurt. Especially
after the all-points bulletin on my police band,” he calmly showed off the very
illegal card scanner just inside his inner jacket pocket as he switched it off.
“Why, by the sound of the chatter, you managed to upset two city precincts,
which I must say caused me some misgivings in regards for your safety. But
thankfully, here you are.” Mr. Stanton smiled then, like the proverbial cat
before he devoured the mouse. “But upon my word, you don’t look likewise
pleased to see me and my associates.” The mountain man, whose manicured
fingernails looked well out of place, frowned down on Randolph as if he were
genuinely aggrieved to learn of this, regardless of what his cold gray eyes
said. “This sentiment, of course, could not be from not accomplishing your task
this night,” Mr. Stanton then announced, “as Mr. Hilden very plainly explained
the consequences. So I can only surmise your current state of anxiety could
only be derived from being uncomfortable in my presence.” Mr. Stanton allowed a
false look of sadness to touch his facial muscles before he continued, “I am
thusly very hurt, Mr. McCann. I had thought our prior meeting was rather
enjoyable. But now I plainly see that you’re shaking in my very presence. Very
well,” he said as if being reasonable, “If you’ll but hand over the package you
acquired from Mr. Henderson’s home office safe, my men and I will depart, and
no more need be said or done between us.”

Randolph tried to wet dry lips with a dry
tongue while he thought furiously. If only he could recalibrate his brain.
If
,if,if
…
he berated himself, knowing it was
futile to render up excuses but he had to say or do something! “Look Mr.
Stanton,” Randolph began lamely, “I tried! I really did try, but I’m not one of
your fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants
sort
of thief. I
told Mr. Hilden that, you heard me! It takes months for me to setup a properly
executable job, not days!”

Mr. Stanton frowned with an evil smile
which spoke louder than words he’d never expected Randolph to achieve his task.
“So you were unsuccessful?” Mr. Stanton asked needlessly with a shake of his
head as if he were even remotely saddened at Randolph’s failed attempt.

“Look, please,” Randolph threw into the
silent moment of false remorse. “I have 50 thousand credits in an island
account. I’d be glad to give them to you if you were to simply misplace me.
Give me five minutes, just five minutes head start and I’ll disappear.”

“
Tsk
tsk
, Mr. McCann. Have a little back bone. You failed in
your appointed task, pure and simple,” Mr. Stanton announced with distaste,
taking out a hypo-dart pistol. Randolph’s eyes locked on the conceivably deadly
weapon that could be supplied with harmless sedatives, or a kaleidoscope of
non-traceable poisons. Regardless of whatever Mr. Stanton had chosen to insert
into the barrel of his pistol, the consequences would be dire. But before
Randolph could fall to the floor to cast aside the remnants of any dignity he
may still own, Mr. Stanton pointed the gun and pulled the trigger.