Post by Cullen Montoya on Jul 11, 2014 0:48:35 GMT -6
Cullen's phone rang at 4am, waking him from an uneasy, drunken slumber. He groped around for the noisy creature, dragging it across the bed to his ear with as minimal effort as possible. "This... had better be good..."
A familiar voice was heard on the other end of the phone. Cullen listened carefully as his old friend spoke to him seriously. Quickly sobering with each word, Cullen forced himself to sit up and instantly regretted it. "All right, man. I'm on it. Sandman already knows, right? Okay. I just need to throw up a little first. Don't worry, everything's all under control. No sir, nope, I did not hit on your wife. I think. No. No, she wasn't there. Yep, I'm pretty sure she wasn't there. All right, later."
Cullen hung up the phone and forced himself to his feet. That was when he realized he was still in his clothes from last night. Never a good sign. He remembered going to see Eddie, and something about karaoke, but everything else was kind of fuzzy. "Shit... how did I get home? Did Eddie drive me home? Eddie? Are you in my house?! If you're doing something weird in my shower I'm gonna kill you! ...Freak."
Staggering toward the kitchen, Cullen went toward the fridge to grab some water, only to find a note on the door.
Cowboy,
Eddie and you called me from the bar. You were pretty wasted. I got you home and reminded Eddie that he lives upstairs from the bar, so he's not in your house, or my car! I programmed your coffee pot, and set out some aspirin.
~T
PS ~ WTF were you doing partying with Eddie? I hope you knew what you were doing. Because... Ew.
A flash of relief went through Cullen, knowing that he didn't have a crazy Japanese guy, or worse, running around in his trailer. He turned around to find his coffee pot was just finishing its brew. Pouring himself a cup, he swallowed the aspirin and staggered into the bathroom to take a shower and get dressed. It took a while before Cullen felt even remotely human, but he eventually managed. His phone was picked up off the bed, and he called for a taxi. Cullen dropped down onto the bed with a sigh, reaching underneath to pull out a military footlocker. He pushed aside various odds and ends until he found a set of keys at the bottom.
The taxi arrived a short time later, and Cullen ordered the driver to take him to a storage facility on the other side of the city. The driver was reluctant, the neighborhood wasn't the nicest, known for robberies and other petty crimes, but Cullen tipped him extra for his nerves. Funny how money can make anybody brave. Arriving at the facility, Cullen made his way up to the office, showed his pass, and signed his name in the book under the name Ray Quick. The attendant checked his signature against his records, and after checking his ID, nodded and allowed him inside. Cullen gave him a mild salute and headed into the facility toward the larger storage containers.
The large door rolled up easily once Cullen dialed in his code. Inside the container was what could not be mistaken for anything but a motorcycle underneath a heavy cloth tarp. In the back of the container was a large workbench, with a simple computer chair in front of it. The surface of the workbench was covered in various tools, wires, switches, and computer chips. Cullen made his way over to sit down at the bench, taking a moment to tie his hair back from his face. Sliding a pair of magnification glasses over his eyes, he picks up a small soldering iron and plugged it in, setting it in a holder to warm up. While he waited he carefully began to arrange the items he would need. He carefully began constructing a simple, wireless trigger, the first of four. Once he was finished with the triggers, he moved to a large, military storage crate and opened it to reveal stacks of what appeared to be bricks of gray clay. He takes a very small portion of the clay, molding it into a small ball before attaching one of the triggers to it. He repeated the process three more times, until he had four small charges of plastique on remote triggers. He then carefully packed them into a secure, foam-filled casing that kept each one stable. It would also allow the blast to be controlled, shaped.
Packing them carefully into a bag, Cullen once again called for a taxi. This time he orders the driver to drop him off at a near by salvage yard. Cullen made his way in, smiling to the man behind the counter. "I'm looking for a muffler that could work on a 57' VW bug. You got any of those?"
"Try lot 41. $10 to enter the yard."
Cullen would slip the man the money, and strolled onto the lot with the bag slung over his shoulder. Walking to the lot, he picked out a decent looking muffler, and as he placed in inside the bag, he withdrew the small box, and carefully slid it underneath an old fender. Making his way back to the office, he thanked the man at the counter, and strolled back out. Once he was outside, he took out his phone and dialed a pre-paid number. "It's at the usual spot. Lot 41, under a fender."
With his business complete, he slipped back into the waiting taxi to drive back to his trailer. His head was pounding, and he just wanted to crawl back into bed. There really was no rest for the wicked.
A familiar voice was heard on the other end of the phone. Cullen listened carefully as his old friend spoke to him seriously. Quickly sobering with each word, Cullen forced himself to sit up and instantly regretted it. "All right, man. I'm on it. Sandman already knows, right? Okay. I just need to throw up a little first. Don't worry, everything's all under control. No sir, nope, I did not hit on your wife. I think. No. No, she wasn't there. Yep, I'm pretty sure she wasn't there. All right, later."
Cullen hung up the phone and forced himself to his feet. That was when he realized he was still in his clothes from last night. Never a good sign. He remembered going to see Eddie, and something about karaoke, but everything else was kind of fuzzy. "Shit... how did I get home? Did Eddie drive me home? Eddie? Are you in my house?! If you're doing something weird in my shower I'm gonna kill you! ...Freak."
Staggering toward the kitchen, Cullen went toward the fridge to grab some water, only to find a note on the door.
Cowboy,
Eddie and you called me from the bar. You were pretty wasted. I got you home and reminded Eddie that he lives upstairs from the bar, so he's not in your house, or my car! I programmed your coffee pot, and set out some aspirin.
~T
PS ~ WTF were you doing partying with Eddie? I hope you knew what you were doing. Because... Ew.
A flash of relief went through Cullen, knowing that he didn't have a crazy Japanese guy, or worse, running around in his trailer. He turned around to find his coffee pot was just finishing its brew. Pouring himself a cup, he swallowed the aspirin and staggered into the bathroom to take a shower and get dressed. It took a while before Cullen felt even remotely human, but he eventually managed. His phone was picked up off the bed, and he called for a taxi. Cullen dropped down onto the bed with a sigh, reaching underneath to pull out a military footlocker. He pushed aside various odds and ends until he found a set of keys at the bottom.
The taxi arrived a short time later, and Cullen ordered the driver to take him to a storage facility on the other side of the city. The driver was reluctant, the neighborhood wasn't the nicest, known for robberies and other petty crimes, but Cullen tipped him extra for his nerves. Funny how money can make anybody brave. Arriving at the facility, Cullen made his way up to the office, showed his pass, and signed his name in the book under the name Ray Quick. The attendant checked his signature against his records, and after checking his ID, nodded and allowed him inside. Cullen gave him a mild salute and headed into the facility toward the larger storage containers.
The large door rolled up easily once Cullen dialed in his code. Inside the container was what could not be mistaken for anything but a motorcycle underneath a heavy cloth tarp. In the back of the container was a large workbench, with a simple computer chair in front of it. The surface of the workbench was covered in various tools, wires, switches, and computer chips. Cullen made his way over to sit down at the bench, taking a moment to tie his hair back from his face. Sliding a pair of magnification glasses over his eyes, he picks up a small soldering iron and plugged it in, setting it in a holder to warm up. While he waited he carefully began to arrange the items he would need. He carefully began constructing a simple, wireless trigger, the first of four. Once he was finished with the triggers, he moved to a large, military storage crate and opened it to reveal stacks of what appeared to be bricks of gray clay. He takes a very small portion of the clay, molding it into a small ball before attaching one of the triggers to it. He repeated the process three more times, until he had four small charges of plastique on remote triggers. He then carefully packed them into a secure, foam-filled casing that kept each one stable. It would also allow the blast to be controlled, shaped.
Packing them carefully into a bag, Cullen once again called for a taxi. This time he orders the driver to drop him off at a near by salvage yard. Cullen made his way in, smiling to the man behind the counter. "I'm looking for a muffler that could work on a 57' VW bug. You got any of those?"
"Try lot 41. $10 to enter the yard."
Cullen would slip the man the money, and strolled onto the lot with the bag slung over his shoulder. Walking to the lot, he picked out a decent looking muffler, and as he placed in inside the bag, he withdrew the small box, and carefully slid it underneath an old fender. Making his way back to the office, he thanked the man at the counter, and strolled back out. Once he was outside, he took out his phone and dialed a pre-paid number. "It's at the usual spot. Lot 41, under a fender."
With his business complete, he slipped back into the waiting taxi to drive back to his trailer. His head was pounding, and he just wanted to crawl back into bed. There really was no rest for the wicked.
