Chapter 9: What Waits Behind Room Thirteen
Ben Urich: A Few Minutes Ago
Ben waited inside his car, taking a drag from his cigarette before blowing it out the window like one of the old detective films that he'd grown up watching as a child.
He didn't smoke often, not since he was a young twenty-something kid, trying to take on the world.
But every now and again, he decided that he needed just one… which usually became two, which became three and so on and so forth.
It usually stopped after the first day, as Doris never liked him smoking and when she found out that he'd been smoking again, she gave him a look. Then he'd give up smoking again.
Ben was just waiting for the right moment to strike, the right moment to silently call in the other reports, them and the news networks that could get here the fastest.
All to make sure that they couldn't cover up the trafficking of young girls going through this dock.
The idea was when Ben heard the sirens of the cops, he'd call them in. Simple enough idea.
"I just hope the kid doesn't get a big head," Ben murmured, squashing the cigarette into the car's ashtray.
"There are more ways to kill a man than just shooting," It wouldn't be something that the reporter would like to be responsible for. "Just what I need, the kid to be drowned."
It was taking longer than it should've. Ben could already hear the gunshots ringing out from the docks. Someone should've called the cops already. It put Ben on edge, made him feel jumpy and caused him to keep an eye around for signs of trouble.
But then it happened, the sirens rang out, police cars zooming on past him as if they were red, white, blue blurs.
"Showtime," Ben hit the send button on his burner phone, sending a mass message that would start the media frenzy. Then he put his foot down, following after the cars as they made their way towards the docks.
Though, keeping himself from getting too close to the cars, getting ready when they went to form a perimeter around the dock entrance. Something that they did with expert precision just mere moments later with barely a screech from their tires.
"Hello," Urich erupted from his car with a smile on his face. "Officers, mind giving me a statement?"
"Oh god," A detective groaned, one hand holding his head as if it was in pain while the other smoothed out the creases in his suit jacket. "Who tipped off Urich?
That question only brought a series of shrugs from the other officers around him.
"Detective Blake," Ben grinned, waggling a finger in a playful manner as he walked up to a barrier that the officers had just placed on the ground, having taken it from the trunk of their cars.
The Reporter didn't bother to try and get around it, he wasn't stupid, he knew the rules. "We both know that I don't need to be tipped off to follow the sound of gunfire."
"Well stay back, just-" Blake's rebuke was interrupted by the sound of what amounted to a parade of news crews, reporters, cameramen and the rest of those ilk arrived. It was sidling van doors that created the majority of the noise. "Oh fuck's sake."
"Listen folks!" Blake's partner, a black man by the name of Hoffman, yelled out, grabbing the non-police officers' attention. "Stay back, far behind the barrier or we can't protect you. We won't be taking any questions, we're still just accessing the situation."
Sadly for Hoffman, his exclamation didn't stop the entirety of the reporters on hand, barring Urich himself who just leaned back and smiled at the situation, from screaming a barrage of questions that only grew into in odder questions.
Some of which caused even Ben to raise a brow.
"Is it true that you Detective once shoved a banana up you-" That question was halted by the sounds of gunfire restarting once more, as well as a deafening explosive that went off.
"And so it starts," Urich murmured to himself, his eyes staring as the police broke down the front gate of the docks, allowing him to catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure near the back of the docks, standing on the edge of one for the two boats were docked.
The seasoned reporter only took out a single notepad, jutting down a few notes about the night before walking back to his car with a large smile on his face.
x–x-x
Patrick Doyle: Present Time
The water hit my skin with a refreshingly cool sensation, but nowhere near as cold as it should've been for this time of night.
But it was cold enough that I wasn't surprised that it brought a small amount of shock to my system, sending shivers up my spine as I drove deeper into the water, hopefully letting me go unseen by anyone looking into the water from the docks.
I was swimming much faster than I'd ever managed before, probably faster than any regular human could've without some enhancement of the mystic source or being some sort of alien from beyond this realm.
It wasn't even ten minutes before I'd managed to swim out far enough that I couldn't hear the sounds of the police anymore, so I slowed down and made my way towards a public peer, the darkness of the night masking my figure as I crept out of the water.
Standing tall and attempting to shake off as much water as I could from my body. Sadly, I could feel that I was zapped, so tired that I wasn't really able to shake off much water before I decide that I should just cut off my losses.
"Fucking water," I groaned, my fingers pinching the ruined fabric that made up what used to be a hoodie. The water seeped out, not a lot of water but at least enough to let me know that I needed to change clothes as fast as possible, otherwise, I couldn't help but hope that the motel that O'Reilly picked out had a change of clothes.
I ripped the mask off my face before throwing it behind me, not even waiting for the sound of it splashing before I started to jog off. it didn't take long for me to get to the motel that O'Reilly had told me about.
But it was as I made my way there that I noticed that some people were looking at me oddly, I looked down towards my feet, the attention causing me no small amount of anxiety… which was when I noticed what I thought they were staring at.
My clothes had a series of burns and holes that made me seem more like a stripper than some jogger. In fact, the hoodie was barely holding together, strings of burnt blue were the only thing that held the top of the hoodie to the bottom of it.
I'd reached the motel much faster than I'd thought I would've… which lead to me realizing that at least some of the people were giving me looks weren't really giving me odd looks, so much as they were peering at a blur that was running by.
It was especially evident when I turned around and saw how run down the new pair of runners I'd been given had gotten, their soles were nubs.
"Hope that no one noticed me," I groaned, grabbing at my shoulders and hearing the squash of the wet fabric. How odd it was that my clothes were still wet when I was supposedly running as fast as some cars? "The last thing that I need is someone managing to take a pic of me running around in speed mode."
Deciding that it wasn't worth the time that it would take up, and feeling exhausted as well, I went into the motel, finding the lady sitting at the front desk within seconds. I tapped at the bell, drawing attention from her in the form of an unamused eyebrow raise.
"Sorry," I shrugged, rolling my shoulders and giving her a slight grin. "I just couldn't resist ringing the bell, ain't done it before."
"Riiiiight," The woman enunciated the word oddly, lengthening it till it became a parody of itself. "Do you have a reservation?"
"Jimbosentme," I replied, in a manner that I thought was smooth but was, in fact, just me saying the words so fast that anyone that could hear it just ended up confused. "I said. Jim-Bo Sent-Me!"
"Oh," She nodded, her eyes fell to the book in front of her, then she took her left hand and opened it. I let my eyes drag over to the clock, hoping that it would tell me the time. Sadly, the damn thing was frozen. "Room thirteen," The lady said, interrupting my thoughts and my eyes fell back to the woman. "That's down the hall."
I sighed, closing my eyes for just a second as I let my legs drag me towards the thirteenth door. Opening the door with a single hand, I heard the carpet smush under my feet, the water from my soaked pants having slid down onto my shoes.
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