Theme: Hostages
Initial thoughts: Am I the hostage, the kidnapper, or the police? What would I do in each case? what would be more fun? Ok, let's take me out of it, and make this third-person. What have I ever seen in film, etc? It's a trope and it's been done before. In fact, it's been done a lot. Sometimes well, sometimes badly. When was it done well? Hmmm. Whom do I want to win? AHHHH, that's the right question, and it determines how to approach it!!!
The grey skies looked even more foreboding
than usual as Lieutenant David Grimsby got out of his cruiser and approached
the barrier horse. A quick flash of his
badge got him past the young patrolman, who started to salute.
“Easy kid,” said Grimsby. “How long have you been out of Academy?”
“Easy kid,” said Grimsby. “How long have you been out of Academy?”
“Three months, Sir.”
The Lieutenant harrumphed as he moved his
6-foot-3 frame past the young officer, already onto the next thing in his
mind. Part of him dreamed of these kinds
of opportunities, and part of him dreaded them.
It was the chance to do something noteworthy, to save lives, to be
recognized for the good the police could do.
Unless, of course, it went wrong.
If it went wrong, there would be no hiding from the media, the
bureaucracy, and most of all, his family.
They
were the ones who mattered most. He
always considered it a good day if he could go home to his wife, Maddie, and
their two daughters, Karen and Samantha, look them all in the eye, and not feel
like he was being judged. They were his
litmus test. If he could do that, then
the work that day was good and justified.
If not – her preferred not to think about the ‘if not’ days. So far, he never had a need to, and he knew
he was lucky in that. A lot of guys on
the force could not say as much. A lot
of guys on the force didn’t have any litmus test.
“What
have we got going on here?” said Grimsby as he approached the back of the SWAT
van.
“We’ve
got three armed suspects in there, Lieutenant,” answered the Sargent on
duty. “From what we can tell, they came
into the bank dressed as businessmen in coats, pulled out some shotguns, and
started firing.”
“Great. Just what we needed. Is there anyone hurt?”
“We
don’t know. We haven’t heard from them
yet, and they don’t seem to be making any moves to get out of there.”
“OK. Where’s O’Malley? I want him down here to deal with these guys
if we have to negotiate. Now, how many
people are in there, and can we get in?”
“It’s
the lunch crowd – we figured about twenty hostages. The only way in is the main door.”
“Sargent, it’s a bank. There’s always more than one way in and out. I want to know where it is, and if we can get in there, and I want to know it now.”
“Sargent, it’s a bank. There’s always more than one way in and out. I want to know where it is, and if we can get in there, and I want to know it now.”
Grimsby
turned to his men, his voice rising above the din. “Listen up!
We do everything by the book. No
cutting corners, no taking chances, no hot-dogging it. Nobody does anything without my say-so, and
we might all get through this day in one piece.
Got it?”
A
chorus of “Yes Sir” went up around him.
“Good! Now, get me the perimeter
locked down. I don’t want a single word
to the media. Not one word! I don’t know if they have TV in there, and I
don’t want to give them any information they don’t already have. And I need some coffee!”
He knew
he sounded like a cliché you would find in the standard cop film, but he didn’t
care. It was cold out, and a cup of
coffee would help keep him warm as well as keep him sharp. He was in for a long day.
“Excuse
me, Lieutenant –“
“What
do you –“
He
turned quickly on whomever it was that spoke to him, only to find himself
looking directly at the chest of a huge goliath of a man.
“I
thought perhaps you might be in need of my services,” said the stranger.
“Well, if your services include being the size of a bus, I’m sure I can
use you at some point, Mr. – “ He
trailed off.Hey, the page ran out before I could totally finish the idea!!!! That's what this is really about, though - STARTING an idea, and creating characters and situations that can begin stories - short stories, novellas, novels, sagas - the idea is you're supposed to WANT to turn to the next page!
OK, number two for today (oh, and you will get two tomorrow as well - because I missed Saturday AND Sunday)
Theme: Assassins-R-Us
Initial thoughts: this is a toughie. I could go through the whole "secret organization of assassins" approach, and it works. It's cool, even. BUT, it's been done. It's been done a lot. It's been done under the guise of governments, of very rich elite gangsters, of mercenaries for hire....it's been done in just about every single way you can think of it. So how to do it differently and better?? Wait. I already hit on it. What if it's not-so-secret?? Or illegal? Well, that's a different world, isn't it?? This will be fun!!
Betty Herndon walked into the office. She was nervous, but then, who wouldn’t be
when walking into a job interview? She
wore her best outfit today, the sultry black dress with just a little ruffle in
the skirt and the red patent leather heels that clicked and clacked across the
marble floor and over the great seal of the International Brotherhood of
Assassins. The IBA was known far and
wide as the best for hiring quality hitmen.
When you needed someone killed, the IBA did it right. The work was challenging, and the benefits
package was brilliant.
She already did the research she needed to
do, and as she sat down in the waiting room, she looked around for other
applicants. There were none. Strange.
She wondered at the interview process.
They selected her and contacted her, so they already had her resume,
including the confirmed kills and the suspected kills. She was especially proud of that list. The mark of a good assassin was, of course,
to never get caught. Killing was
technically still illegal, after all, even if it was explainable in the
courts. Getting caught would ruin your
career. It was much more difficult to
kill someone if they knew who you were.
From her small two-bedroom house in the suburbs just South of Buffalo,
NY, she engineered the demise of virtually every crime family on the East
Coast, including Canada, without once getting caught. Now, it was time to go international.
The door opened, and a short, balding man
entered the room. “Miss Herndon? If you would please follow me, your interview
is ready.”
“And you are?” she asked politely.
“I’m Tennyson, Miss.”
“Is that a first name, or a last name?”
“Oh, you don’t understand. Here at IBA, we don’t use our real
names. My department has selected
literary names to use around the office.
It’s a quaint custom we use to remind us of just how far we’ve come. After all, anonymity is important.”
“Yes, I can see the logic of that. It must be a field day for HR.”
“I never thought of that, but that would
be a question for Longfellow,” said Tennyson.
“Ahh, here we are. Right through
this door is your interview. I trust you
have everything ready?”
Tennyson pointed to a door on the right
side of the hallway, that looked just like every other door there.
“Thank you, Tennyson. I’m sure I will be quite all right.”
“I hope we meet again, Miss Herndon.”
With that, the short balding man turned
abruptly and walked down the hall, in no hurry to be rid of her company. He was simply a man going about his job. He never even shook her hand.
“Well, here goes,” thought Betty. Her gloved hand on the doorknob, she turned
it, and pushed inward, stepping back as she did so. A bucket of water tipped onto the floor. It was above the door. An old trick, to be certain, but a fit test
to check on the alertness of any candidate.
A wet candidate would not be worth hiring. She pushed the door open all the way, to
eliminate the space behind it, and the possibility of someone lurking there.
She checked for lasers, and motion sensors
before doing one last thing: the air purity test. Reaching into her purse, she opened her
perfume bottle and sprayed a little into the air. Instantly, it turned blue. Not good.
She pulled out the air filter hidden in her compact and putting it in
her mouth, ducked into the room.
The door slammed shut behind her.
A moment of panic hit her, but she suppressed
it. This was normal. These were the kinds of things you ran into
in this business. The room was
brilliantly white, with nothing on the walls, which were finished in a high
gloss. The only furnishing was a small
bedside table, finished in blue, with a vase of fresh flowers on top of
it. She heard a timer beeping. She checked under the table.
“Of course,” she thought. “Of course there’s a bomb – or at least a
timer.”Yup, that was fun, indeed!! Silly, yes, but fun!
Thanks for reading,
Me
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