The Tailor's Razor

17. You Shouldn't Run on Glass Ceilings

The Witching Hour
Apice Globale, again

Taylor came into the foyer with his shoulders swinging. The guardia on shift started at the sight of Taylor with his breezy civvies coming in off the dark street. One look at the lanyard round his neck and the epauletted officer was sated; however misfitted Taylor looked he presumably belonged here.

Whatever his credentials were his heart was hammering in his ears; this was not his usual MO, wandering in unarmed with a bit of plastic to do his dirty work. Sure, Romauld and Madison were waiting outside in a car, ready to receive the data when it came pouring over the sluice gates, but he couldn't imagine they'd come running if any trouble flared up. Those were valuable bridges he'd burnt.

On the sixteenth floor, where a carpet-shampooist did his lonely shift, Taylor found a disregarded computer and logged on. Sticking the USB in he twiddled his thumbs while the drivers were installed. Continuing without scanning, Taylor activated the programme and leant back in the chair.

5 minutes 30 seconds

That ain't bad...

8 minutes

What?

15 minutes 30 seconds

You've gotta be joking!

The data dump promised to last till the end of time, so Will pulled out his phone and went through Facebook. Nesh and half the company had been out in Braddon the night before, Madison hadn't posted anything since her dad had died, and there were some incredible pictures of his mates snowboarding, making him very jealous. Sighing loudly he saw someone had shared a video of extreme car-repairs, a subject that fascinated him. It was while learning how to inflate a tyre with WD40 and fire that he spied a gang of four marching through the archipelago of office cubicles. In the zebra-lighting of the overheads Taylor watched Yuri lead a few private-security goons towards him. Not appearing as if they were on a reconnaissance jaunt Taylor checked the data dump: 16% done. Well... this had been a useless plan. How was he expected to get this done with no-one finding out?

"All right, you found me," Taylor pocketed his phone as the quartet arrived, "How does this slap on the wrist work? You gonna void my contract? Cos that... wouldn't be the end of the world."

"Will... stop yourself," Yuri smiled, and it was a genuine grin, not one of those filthy grimaces that alienate you from anyone of substance in the room. She thought he was cute; so utterly out of his depth but with more than enough competence to head-butt his way out of the situation, "Shostakovich, break the computer."

One of the burlies picked up the screen and hurled it onto the floor. A chord went whipping around, narrowly missing Taylor's chin as he ducked and called Shostakovich an idiot. Stomping the monitor a few times he nodded at Yuri.

"Shostakovich..." Yuri rubbed her eyes, "That doesn't do anything. You need to break the tower. It's not an Apple; there's no processing power in the..." Shostakovich stared blankly at the woman, "Screen. You see that big block beside Taylor's leg? Will, would you give Shostakovich the tower? Thanks. Now smash that one."

Taking the tower from Will's hands Shostakovich launched it into the floor, shattering it beyond repair.

"Thank you," Yuri sighed, "Now Will, dear, could you come with us? Enrico wants to see you."

"What's the boss doing in on a Friday night?" Will rose and joined the party.

"He's in the dog house since bellina mio found out he's been smoking."