Suicide Solution
Syd
Suicide Solution
Many things had gone wrong already, Paul Wright mused.
He sat under a tree, watching the clouds. It had not been a good week.
He sighed, expelling a deep breath. He resisted the thought of what
else could go wrong, because, inevitably, it did get much worse. He
instead analyzed what had happened. That made him even more depressed.
His cell phone went off. He let it ring. It eventually went silent
again.
He leaned back and closed his eyes.
Nothing moved in the tranquil landscape. The air was warm and full,
full of buzzing insects and sweet plant smells. The sick-sweet smell
of decay. Shadows filtered around. The sun shone through the canopy of
limbs. No breeze disturbed the scene.
He smelled smoke.
Opening his eyes, he saw a distant swirl of smoke. The Forrest was
under development. Soon, there would be no peaceful spot in the city.
He sighed, got up, picked up his jacket, and strode to his car.
Moments of such peace were rare these days.
Paul sat in a dimly lit bar. Cigarette smoke curled to the ceiling.
Vague shadows moved in the dimness. The clink of pool balls cut
through the thin music. A jukebox sat in the corner, beside a
dartboard. A gambling machine sat in the front, beside two pinball
machines.
Paul sipped his Jack Daniel's, letting it's fire heat his throat,
stream into his stomach. He watched the TVs as they played sports,
entertainment and news.
He contact was late.
In the sweltering cool of the place, Paul wondered why his intrusion
into the time of others always caused him to wait.
How many coffees in an hour?
Paul drove to his Harbison home, right off from the shopping center
clogged road. He never went there. So many shopping centers made the
road hazardous and impassible. And the holidays made it worse.
The doors opened smoothly. He cut the arc lights on, switching the
strobes off. The house was now lit in bright blue-white rays. He
grinned in the harsh light. Absurd and unpredictable lights show, but
an impressive one.
He stepped over broken instruments, half-assembled electronics, and
two half-built computers. His footsteps echoed through the halls. In
the expansive living room, he turned on a hi-def TV, tuned in a music
channel, and pushed the volume to maximum. He switched off the arcs,
and turned the strobes back on. He laughed diabolically. His face
flashed in the flickering strobes.
Paul Wright's cell phone rang again. This time he flipped it open. The
voice he heard on the other end wasn't reassuring.
Nothing had gone according to plan.
Now, Paul stood with a gun to the back of his head. The thug holding
it had followed Mr. Stiles and him as they entered the bank vault and
had ambushed them.
He now laughed and said "So much for your plan. Bye now."
He clicked the trigger, pointed it for maximum damage.
He laughed and laughed as his finger flexed the trigger.
His laughter stopped when a huge hole appeared in his forehead.
Paul looked to his right, and said, "You took your fucking time!"
"Always complaining," The girl said, as she stepped from the shadows.
She was vaguely Asian. Her hair was black and brown, as were her eyes.
She was dressed in a long military coat.
"And what," He asked, "Are you doing here, Chi Fang?"
She shrugged, tossing him a sub machine.
"Ms. Laurie tried to recruit me first. I decided to follow when I
heard you'd accepted. Good thing, huh?"
Paul glanced at the dead thug, shrugged.
"C'mon then," He said, "Let's get Mr. Stiles and get outta here."
"Well" Ms. Laurie said, "The mission wasn't a total failure."
Paul shrugged. The dim lights that flooded the chamber hurt his eyes.
Ms. Laurie watched him, her hands steepled under her nose.
"We at least stopped a source they were using," She continued.
He said, "They have more."
She shrugged and said, "That's not surprise. But we won this round.
They will find other sources difficult to come by."
"I wish," He said, "That I shared you certainty."
The Forrest seemed unchanged at first glance.
On closer inspection he saw that the edges were further inland then
before. The black smoke was not on the horizon. It was mere yards
away.
Paul Wright stood among the rapidly disappearing Forrest watching the
plume of smoke as it creeped ever closer.
He sighed. It wasn't that he was a rabid environmentalist. His love of
fur coats made that impossible. But he did love these woods. It's
disappearance made him sad.
A belt flung across a tree branch.
Paul Wright hung from the belt.
A bad end to a bad week.
-End