A Simple Phone Call
(Sequel to Opposing Force)
A Simple Phone Call
Winslow National Bank was something of a landmark, having been a fixture in the city since the last depression, where it had served as a shelter for the homeless. It was a stark, brutal building, and seemed out of place amongst its more fluid, romantic contemporaries, which had all been built in the last decade and took on the more modern style. They lacked the sharp corners or the heavy stone that categorized this bank. This contrast only added to the sense of audacity that the building embodied. It was an older building that refused to change, that refused to shift with the ever shifting times. Composed of stone and bricks, with large, yawning doorways and a hefty flight of stairs, it could have been a church or courthouse. Quite the contrary to the bright, open, modem banks, composed mostly of glass, this one resembled a fortress where precious treasures could be stored safe and secure.
Samantha Jewel had parked a few blocks away. The bank was in the heart of the city, and it wasn't worth the trouble of looking for a parking space, especially when she had an appointment. She was a slender, shapely lioness. Somewhat short, but still attractive enough that a few of the men turned to watch her. She wore a white button shirt and a pair of red pants, glasses, and her long hair in a poorly done bun. She looked rather comical or clumsy, out of place and trying to look professional in this more business section of town. She climbed the stairs up to the bank, confronting the largeness of the thick, wooden doors. A gruff looking bear in a suit stood by the door, and as Samantha came to stand before him, he opened the hefty door, letting her enter. The inside of the bank was as stark and strong as the outside, though at least a bit more inviting. The color scheme was mostly beige, brown, and red. Furniture looked to be made of leather, though none of the furniture was too close together, so everything was spacious and warm, cozy yet not cramped. There were lots of desks, where attendants or secretaries typed busily at their computers or entertained clients and guests.
Contrasting sharply against the rustic, almost natural color scheme and feel were the several metal detectors and a line of uniform police who formed a perimeter around the lobby. They stood with their hands behind their back, and did their best not to bring down the mood of the bank. They smiled politely at anyone who passed, and answered questions, though there was clearly some confusion about just what they were doing here, for the guests to the bank and the police themselves. And because they were confused and bored, they weren't paying that much attention to the job. The police who was monitoring the X-Ray machine was reading a magazine, occasionally lifting his gaze to at the screen then resuming his reading. There was no way to enter the lobby without stepping through the metal detectors, so Samantha emptied her pockets: placing her car keys, a cell phone, her wallet and some loose change, a watch and her glasses into a plastic container before stepped through. She jumped suddenly when there was a loud beeping.
A husky came forward, and asked her to stop. He waved a hand-held wand over her body; it started to beep as it passed over her groin. She dipped her head, blushing. "Uhm... ma'am, have you emptied your pockets?" the husky asked.
Samantha swallowed nervously. "U-uhm... I know... Uhm... I know what it is." She leaned closer. There was a visible crimson blush beneath the gold of her cheeks. She tried to lower her voice, but because her voice was trembling, it was honestly quite hard to hear. "L-look... uhm... Officer Grey. I... uhm... have a piercing... down there... I... I'm kinda flustered. I... it's lucky... Iknowthat'ssostupidbut... I have to try to get a loan, so I did my best to look good and I... uhm... I just... I... I didn't think it would..."
Officer Grey chuckled softly. "It's alright ma'am. I understand. But yeah, these metal detectors are pretty acute. We've been getting beeps and shrieks all day: someone has a needle stuck in their shirt, a penny stuck to the bottom of their paw they didn't even notice. We've spent accumulative hours just pointing out little dots. Don't worry."
"T-thank you," she said, blushing red beneath her golden fur, and quickly tried to adjust her shirt. Her hand shook as she gathered the contents of the plastic container, the stuff that had gone through the X-ray machine, stuffing them into her pockets and quickly heading deeper into the lobby.
An albino hare greeted Samantha with a warm, practiced smile. "I have an appointment... uhm... about... a loan? I understand that this... this is the most prominent bank in the city, but... I do have an appointment..."
"Relax dear. I know this place can seem a bit big. We've all asked Mr. Winslow about changing it, but he likes the intimidating look."
"Uhm... yes, but... what is with the police?" the lioness asked softly.
"Apparently, the MLA has issued a threat against Mr. Winslow. It's... rather absurd, but, we're taking every precaution."
The lioness nodded. After being shown to a desk, the two women engaged in superfluous small talk for what seemed like an eternity, the hare occasionally slipping concepts such as interest rates and side expenses into the chat. The hare was a master of intimate-sounding, utterly superficial chit-chat, though she managed to sneak in enough terms that, if Samantha were to agree to anything, everything would hold up in court. She was clearly baffled by what was said, and struggled to listen and make sense of it, at least until she politely asked to be excused, so she could powder her nose.
The bathroom was mostly polished white, with beige stalls made of stone, doors made of wood: it made each look like a little apartment instead of a toilet. Samantha checked each stall as best she could. After confirming she was alone, she locked herself in the far left stall, and sat down on the seat, giving a sigh of relief. She quickly undid her zipper, and opened them peering between the panties and the crotch of her pants. "Nine, uhm...you alright?" she asked, biting her lip.
The little micro wolf crawled forward, over her panties and on to her shirt. Samantha quickly scooped the wolf up, holding him up and letting him catch his breath in what clean air he could. The special stitching of the pants had been designed to give a passenger enough area to avoid being crushed, even if the wearer sat down or crossed her legs, while still being obscure enough that a hiding micro wouldn't be noticed by a passerby or in a body search. The location had been pragmatically chosen: it was the best combination of safety with an area unlikely to be searched too closely. It had still been uncomfortable for both involved, and Samantha was intent to let Nine catch his breath, while she tried to calm herself down. When Nine rolled over onto his back and sat up in her hand, she smiled down at him, and brought him to her lips. She gave him a little kiss, and he returned with an affectionate lick of her own.
Nine was wearing a pair of spiffy little green pants. Noticeable on his belt was a knife: resembling a shrunk down trench spike: a straight blade with a knuckle guard over the handle, something Nine had quite enjoyed using in his training as of late. Samantha had begged him to part with the weapon, as it would set off the metal detectors, but he had refused. And that had nearly gotten them both caught. Samantha stroked his back, sighing softly. It hadn't though, that's all that mattered.
Samantha's ears twitched, as she again made sure that she was alone in the entire restroom. She didn't hear anything, but still spoke in a whisper, "Be careful... alright Nine? Just... be careful."
"I will," said the little wolf. "Besides, I'm not alone. I'm working with Lucky on this one. He's been living in the walls for almost a year now, making sure everything is set. I'm just going to do the heavy lifting."
Samantha nodded slowly. "Just be careful. I have a bad feeling... We've never tried something this hard. When security was this tight. Why did you guys call, and tell Winslow you were going to try to kill him?"
"It's not about who you kill; it's about how you do it."
Samantha climbed onto the toilet, balancing with true feline grace. She pushed a ventilation grate in the roof open, and lifted Nine high, letting him leap into the shaft. Samantha pulled the cell phone out of her pants pocket, and placed it into the shaft along with Nine. She stared at the wolf a moment: his brown fur, his strong body, his little emerald eyes, the size of a needle point to her. She watched him until he pulled the cell phone into the shaft, and disappeared from her line of sight. Samantha closed the grate, and stepped off the toilet. She fixed herself up, staring in the mirror, tucking her shirt back into her pants and trying to calm her pounding heart. She smiled slightly. With any luck, the hare would just assume she was nervous about the loan.
It was a long trudge through the ventilation shaft. Nine was about six inches tall, and well built. It was still exhausting to push a cell phone, which was roughly the same size as him, all by himself. The shaft was smooth, so although that meant he could push the cell phone with ease, it also meant it was difficult to find a proper footing. He kept slipping and sliding and struggling. Although the air conditioner was not on, it was still unpleasantly cool on the micro's small frame. At last, Nine came to a small opening in the shaft's side. He positioned the cell phone, then pushed it through. On all fours he followed, and left the uncomfortable shaft and entered the wall.
Lucky was there to greet him.
Lucky was a micro rat, shorter and lighter than Nine. His upper body was white, while his lower body was grey. It gave him an odd look like he was always wearing pants. His eyes were blue, and his tail, presently at his feet, was hairless. The only clothing he wore was a belt, and that was only to hold a pair of knives that dangled loosely at his thighs.
"How much farther?" Nine asked, panting.
Lucky pointed about seven feet forward, down a narrow corridor that was illuminated with a line of dim Christmas lights. All the way down that narrow corridor was what looked to be a toy crane. Lucky never talked much. Eleven months spent inside these walls, digging trenches and tunnels, watching the macros, learning their ins and outs and habits; spending eleven months in near isolation, probably hadn't done much for Lucky's people skills. Still, he got behind the cell phone, and aided Nine in pushing it the rest of the way. When they arrived, Nine tied the end of the crane to a loop on the cell phone's top. The crane was bolted to the ground. It should be able to support the weight of the cell phone and Nine, who would be lowered down with it.
"Be careful," Lucky offered. He always had a bit of a detachment in his voice. Truth be told, Nine had never liked him. But the wolf nodded, and then pushed the cell phone to a small hole in the ground. Positioning it right, it slipped through, and fell. The crane whined a moment, before bracing itself and adjusting. Nine slipped through the hole as well, landing on the cell phone, and holding tight to the wire. Lucky began to steadily lower the phone down.
Nine was now in a large office, being lowered from an unnoticeable hole in the ceiling. The office had the same rustic feel as the lobby of the bank: lots of red and brown, furniture covered in leather, a large desk made of red wood which was Nine's present target. On the far wall was a massive book shelf, covered with hundreds, if not thousands of leather bound texts. When the cell phone touched down onto the desk, Nine leapt off. He drew his knife, and cut the wire that held it, letting the cell phone fall onto the desk with a low crash. He cut the knot that had been tied to the cell phone's loop, and walked to the desk's edge to drop the cut wire into a trash can. Sheathing his knife, Nine walked back to the cell phone, and pushed it over the desk to a corner that was occupied by several other cell phones. Mr. Winslow was a man of many businesses. He had more phones than he could keep track of. Lucky had observed, more than once, a visitor left their cell phone, and Mr. Winslow answered it without much thought. He wouldn't notice one more.
Nine walked back to the string that still hung down from the ceiling. He gripped it tight, wrapping it around his thick forearm, and gave it a soft tug. The rope began to pull, Nine coming up with it. The progress was slow. He assumed that the crane had more trouble lifting then letting drop, but he didn't realize something was wrong until the line snapped, and he found himself falling suddenly. The wolf landed hard, but managed to roll and avoid a crushing impact. A long length of string fell onto him. He tugged it away, slightly annoyed, and quickly checked himself for any severe damage. He was a bit sore, but nothing seemed broken. He looked to the small hole in the ceiling. "Lucky?!" he shouted. "Lucky!"
His little voice echoed in the large room, but no answer came down. The string must have snapped, or the entire crane broke. It didn't matter. Nine was trapped on the desk, and at any moment, Mr. Winslow might return. He looked over his knife, then around at the desk, the seemingly endless stretch. Another micro might panic, but at the very least, Nine's intimacy with Samantha had given him a better understanding of what it was like to be on a giant desk with giant furniture, and he did understand how to get around a giant room. He got to work.
He gathered as much of the broken string he could, and carried it to the edge of the desk. He cast the excess string into the garbage can, hoping that it would not be found. His ears twitched. He saw the door knob across the office start to turn, and with all his might he ran, and reached to the opposite corner of the desk, where the computer monitor stood.
Mr. Winslow was a chubby mouse, with rounded ears, beady black eyes, and a large nose. He stepped into his office, closing and locking the door behind him. Nine caught a glimpse of him, of his chubby form walking along, and a deep panic struck Nine in the heart. But he couldn't panic. For the simple reason, that if he was caught, Mr. Winslow might suspect something, and he might notice the phone that Nine had worked so hard to place. Nine approached the monitor, hiding behind it as Mr. Winslow came closer and closer. As Mr. Winslow curved around the desk, Nine moved, and continued to hide himself behind the sides, until he was at the back. Mr. Winslow sat down, and Nine gripped the wires of the monitor tight, before lowering himself slowly, hand over hand and keeping his legs tightly clenched to keep hold of the wire. Landing on the ground, he held his chest, panting and groaning, realizing his ankle was throbbing, perhaps sprained when he had fallen on the desk. He lowered to all fours, and scurried over the office door, only to find the low frame and high shag rug did not provide enough room for him to squeeze underneath, and into the lobby. Cursing now, biting his tongue to keep him from howling in a fit of frustration, he instead ran to the cover of the bookshelf, and squeezed behind the back.
If nothing else, he needed to find a place to hide. If he couldn't reach Samantha by a certain hour, she would leave, and he would be stranded here. He couldn't be found, though, that was most important. At first he was just looking for some place out of the way and dark, but to his surprise, he found a small hole in the wall. Not large enough for Nine, not yet. He drew his knife, and as quick and hard as he could, he stabbed and dug through the hole, gradually widening it, checking every few moments to see if he might squeeze through. He was afraid of the time. He was afraid that Samantha would leave, and he would be stuck here. He was afraid he would die here. He had never really been afraid of dying, but he didn't want to, and he gave a long sigh of relief when the hole was big enough he could just squeeze through, by sucking his torso very tight. Even then, a sharp spot of wall cut through his fur and nicked him.
He assumed Lucky had dug these tunnels, like he had the ones in the office's ceiling. These tunnels were illuminated by the sallow glow of old Christmas lights, strung at about his shoulder. Nine even hoped to find Lucky, coming to greet him. Instead, he found a different sort of rat: a feral female, plump and fat with young in her belly, probably exploring these familiar tunnels looking for food, before it would settle down to give birth to its brood. It was huge and fat, not just from its young, but it was just a big rat who had managed to live long and eat well. It was probably three times Nine's weight, and twice his height. Nine gritted his teeth, and gripped his knife tight, before assuming a stance that resembled a boxer: his right hand holding the knife, cocked back behind him. He turned his body, showing his shoulder and so a smaller profile to the rat.
The rat mother had eaten morsels like this before, in her long life. She was old, and had been through many birth cycles, and eaten many types of meat. Though momentarily confused by this prey's stance (usually they turned and ran), the rat mother was nevertheless set on its course, and moved forward. Nine twisted with his full weight, putting his full force behind the knuckle guard of his knife, and he punched the rat mother hard in the nose.
The rat mother stumbled back, confused and hissing at the suddenly blunt pain that was on her nose. She stared at the micro, who returned to his stance. His teeth were gritting, and his rear claws dug into the wood that was beneath them, as he held himself at the ready. A moment later, he gave a loud shout, screaming at the rat mother to come. Of course the feral rodent could not understand him, but assumed that that attack had just been a fluke, moved forward, but was again punched hard in the snout, and this time she stumbled back.
Anger fumed in the rat mother. She hissed and screamed, and stomped forward, but was again met with a furious punch to the snout, and a second quick jab to the open mouth that knocked several of the rat's teeth loose. The rat was confused and stumbled away, hiding her face with her forward hands, but in a fury, Nine howled, and punched again, smashing his encased fist into the rat's crown. Adjusting his arm, he swung, and the stiff blade slide into the rat's skin but was deflected by the density of its skull. Nine screamed once more, and this time swung his knife underhanded, and jammed it under the rat's throat. He gripped the rat's eye with his free hand, pulling the head back, and twisted the knife side to side, grinding the blade left and right. A flood of crimson suddenly splashed forward, and sprayed across Nine's chest. He roared, and used his full weight to push against the rat. Its snapping jaws clenched down hard onto Nine's shoulder, but he kept pushing and twisting the blade, working the hole in the rat's throat wider, making more and more blood spray out onto the ground, until the rat gave a shudder, and rolled onto its side. Nine pulled the blade out and continued to stab and stab, before he fell to his knees and, exhausted, rested against the rat's corpse.
And still, there was no time to rest. He sighed, and stumbled to his feet, bracing himself on the lights that were strung up. He looked over the blade in his hand, and now that the adrenaline was starting to die down from the fight, he realized that most of his fingers were broken. Hanging like loose spaghetti in the knuckle guard, he realized that most of the bones in his hand were shattered, and even the bone in his forearm must have been cracked. He whimpered, tugging the blade off slowly, and working his fingers out of the hole. He cleaned the blade on what clean fur was on the rat's body, before placing it in its sheath. Gripping the rat by the tail, Nine began to struggle and drag, pulling the bloated corpse along. He could rest later, once he was in Samantha's hands, nice and safe.
Eventually, there was an opening in the tunnel. Nine dropped the rat, and crept forward. He hid against the opening, and peeked out, and came to face a pair of enormous paws. Nine swallowed slightly. He crept out of the cover, and looked up, to see a musculature that was distinctly feminine. The legs were mostly orange, and he could see a very large tail at the side of it. A fox, probably. He was under a desk that the fox was sitting at, casually typing.
Nine returned to the cover of the tunnel, and gathered the rat up by the tail. He bit his tongue hard, and pulled with all his might. The bloated corpse of the rat became stuck in the hole. Nine once more spent those precious moments chiseling at the hole, working it larger. He also cut some of the excess muscle and fur off the rat, tossing it carelessly over his shoulder, before at last pulling it, and placing it at the fox's feet. Taking a deep breath, he stabbed the knife into the toe pad that was before him with all his might, earning a sudden yelp from the fox, and the foot retracted so fast it would have killed Nine if it hit him. Instead of running back into the safety of the wall, however, Nine ran forward. He scurried under the chair as it screeched back, and hid behind one of the chair legs as the fox peeked under the desk. She let out a loud scream, leaping back, and screamed once more.
Everyone came running at the sound of the scream, which was exceedingly loud and made a baby in the arms of a mother start to cry. Nine remained hidden against the chair's legs, pressing himself as close as he could to the wood, hoping to blend in. The vixen was screaming and kept pointing, though once they learned what she was panicking about, some of the men started to laugh. One brave man strolled forward, and putting a plastic bag over his hand, scooped the corpse up.
While everyone was distracted, everyone was laughing, everyone was looking in the wrong way, Nine ran. He broke from the chair, and scurried as fast as he could, dodging furry paws and twitching toes. When he scurried over some of the feet, some of the women yelped, which only caused more panic, and it would have been so easy for him to end up as a stain on the polished wooden floor.
Nine broke from the main group, and quickly skimmed the room. Samantha was close by, to his relief. And she hadn't gotten up from her seat, to join the fools trying to look at the mouse's corpse. In fact, she had deduced what was happening, and was looking around the floors for the little brown spec. Nine ran, panting and gasping, to her. Samantha cringed when she saw the blood that practically drenched her partner, how he was favoring his leg the closer he came, how one of his arms hung at his side, but she held herself firm. She couldn't reach down, and gather Nine up, and hug him and kiss him like she wanted. There were cameras watching her, and when the police looked over these tapes, she did not want to be found out. Instead, she casually stretched her leg out, as if she were only relaxing. Nine crawled forward, towards her foot. Small as he was, he wouldn't be noticed by the cameras, especially with his brown fur against the wood. He gave her toe a very gentle kiss of affection, before crawling into her pant leg, and finding the small pocket that was located on the inside. He secured himself, tilting his head back, and now safe and warm and surrounded by the scent of Samantha, he passed out.
He woke sometime later, when water splashed upon him. He groaned, and twisted, but a delicate finger pressed down on his belly and kept him from wiggling too much. "Calm down," Samantha said softly. Nine blinked, and looked up, to see the smiling face of the lioness. She had taken off her fake glasses. He spent a moment looking at the rubies of her eyes, before tilting his head down. He was held in her right hand, her left hand was pouring a bottle of water over his body, letting some of the foul smelling blood wash out of his fur. She was out of most of her clothing, only her tank top and panties: she must have taken her pants off to let him out. He realized that they were in the back of her car, the tinted glass keeping him safe from prying eyes, safe and sound in Samantha's hand.
"How are you feeling, Nine?" she asked. "I... I tried checking you, but I didn't want to move you too much, especially with you unconscious. Needless to say... I'm ecstatic you've woken up so quickly. I was... I was a little... just what the hell happened?"
"I'll tell you later," Nine said softly, slowly shifting and sitting up. Samantha shifted him to her other, dry hand. He was careful as he landed. His right arm was aching, as was his ankle, and his ribs, and... every part of him. He could barely move. "I planted the phone. Have you made the call?"
"No, I was waiting for you."
Nine smiled, however slightly. Samantha climbed into the front seat of the car, and placed Nine down on her warm thigh. Nine lay down on the soft, golden fur, sniffing it softly. He realized that he was still wearing his little army pants and knife. Perhaps Samantha had worried about taking them off him. He pulled them off, and tossed them to his side, and then embraced the warm thigh with his nude body, hugging against it. His whole body ached, but the fur was so soft, he could pass out once more.
Samantha dialed a familiar number, and held it to her ear. The phone rang four times, before it was answered.
"This is Winslow," said the voice on the other end. Samantha sighed, and placed her finger on the phone's pound sign. She pressed the button gently, and then dropped the phone out the window and drove away.
The next day, on the news, it would explained that micro terrorists had rigged a cell phone to explode. Mr. Winslow, an outspoken opponent of micro rights, was pronounced dead on the scene. The pictures were deemed too horrific to show.