The Recoil Of The Mind

Chapter 9: The Scent Of The Storm

"That was you?", Bradley's voice crackled through Rickard's phone. Rickard looked at his watch. 5:13am.

"Not only me", Rickard replied. "Marlon engineered the whole thing. Just like you told me."

"Well Marlon was supposed to be the underboss. The right hand man for DeShawn." Rickard opened the drawer. He picked up a glass. "Though I thought that it would've been his brother."

"His brother's got other plans", Rickard said as he opened the tap and filled up the glass with the rushing water.

"Hey, even I didn't know the whole extent of how far down this thing goes. And you should be lucky that there were no people inside."

" Ah, come on!", Rickard paused and took a sip of the cool water. "We've got a heart too. Remember that we let the ladies go."

"What ladies?"

"Well not just the ladies, there were some men. You know, for that Chinese chop shop job." He took another sip and swirled the water in his mouth before spitting it into the sink.

"Yet you failed to protect DeShawn. Mind you, that oversight has given rise to a whole new set of problems." Bradley, aren't you hilarious?

"You sent me, nah, you ordered me to investigate a terrorist attack. Yet I can find no evidence of one."

"Rickard, you dumbfuck! Marlon just blew up an empty theatre! What if he tries to blow up something else, but this time in public? He is the only suspect you have, and you are fucking running out of time!"

God, he's pissed. Rickard gulped down the rest of the water and put the glass down. "What if there are more? We don't know if it was just him. I think we need to wait."

"I'm tired of you, Rickard. I may be your friend, but I'm also your superior. This time I'm trusting you. Don't make this harder for me. Do you think we enjoy all of this?"

Rickard clenched his jaw. "Alright, I'll do my best. Please trust me on this."

"You better."

"Yeah."

"Okay. Now tell me. What's their next move?"

Rickard went over to the sofa and sat down. "Marlon and DeShawn have called an emergency meeting for all the chairmen. Well what's left of them, anyway. Most of them have already switched their sides over to Griffin, and no one knows DeShawn's still alive. All they know is Marlon wants to talk."

"And he's called you?"

"Yeah. I don't know where the meeting is, but somebody's coming to pick me up."

"Alright. Keep me informed. Don't let me down."

"Yes sir."

"And stop bothering my informers. Although it's for the better that you saved him."

"Put down the phone now. Oh, and give Jason my regards." With that, Rickard ended the call with Bradley.

Rickard went over to the washbasin and looked at the reflection in the mirror. The man who looked back at him had ruffled black hair, a growing stubble, and sleepy eyes. He turned on the radio, cupped a handful of cold water and splashed it on his face. He repeated this until he was gasping for air. Taking a towel from the nearby kitchen counter and wiping his face with it, he looked back into the mirror. He could recognise himself again.

Rickard wore a black shirt, black trousers and a watch. Beneath the clothes he had his trusty Walther p99 and a couple of magazines on the inside of his belt. Rickard also had a black suit jacket to complement his outfit, on the coat hanger, waiting. Other than that, he had nothing for protection, both from the bullets and what was about to come. He heard his doorbell ring. Rickard went over and opened the door.