Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 72 ( Chapter 72 )

72

 

Let's show Oliver how it's done, shall we, my dears?

 

::You both know the drill. Let's see if we can make this happen.::

 

I sighed and nodded. Brad Crawford was not one to waste a training opportunity. ::You ready, kiddo?::

 

::Hai.::

 

With Farfarello out on his own somewhere, the three of us had a good chance to tighten up our skills together, though I suspected this was more to distract us from our worry. I hated the thought of our mad teammate wandering the countryside in a fit of unrequited love, but there wasn't a damn thing any of us could do about it. So we used the time creatively, under Brad's inspired command, and now I was getting ready to shoplift from a crowded music store in the middle of a shopping center in Liverpool.

 

I did say it was inspired.

 

Tight jeans, low boots, and a designer t-shirt served as camouflage here, as I strutted through the aisles of overpriced CDs and rare imports. I caught sight of myself in one of their security mirrors, and flirted with my own reflection. Freshly dyed hair signaled an imminent return to my natural color, as the upkeep on it was proving more of a hassle than it was worth. Brad had even suggested it, handing me the color kit with a fox-haired woman on the label. I couldn't help but smirk at the thought that, just maybe, Brad missed the red.

 

My fingers trailed over the cases, flipping them forward as I searched for something worth taking. This was only an exercise, but I felt no reason to be wasteful about it. I found some more of that tasty goth music as well as something advertising itself as operatic heavy metal. That should be entertaining.

 

I took my find toward the front of the store. ::Nagi, you're up.::

 

A brief moment of hilarity crossed my mind as I prepared to do my part of the exercise. But quoting Obi Wan Kenobi would not be the best way to cloud the minds of these unwary folks, as they'd probably all seen the movie a dozen times each and would recognize the line at once. In fact, as I wove my telepathic web about them, I discovered that one fellow considered himself a bona-fide Jedi Knight. I fought down the snicker and got to work.

 

Carrying my soon-to-be bargain discs to the counter, I wrapped my mind around the cashier's; I already had a hold on the other customers who were within line of sight of the transaction. The girl smiled, eyes blank, as she hit buttons on the cash register. On impulse I embellished the suggestion a little. She gave me change for an imaginary payment.

 

I thanked her and wished her a lovely day, held firmly to her thoughts and those of the other people nearby, and headed for the exit. If the alarm went off, I could keep them from hearing it or reacting, but the rest of the mall would know. We'd be able to get away, but it wouldn't be the neat and clean operation Brad had in mind.

 

My stride didn't falter as I took the security-tagged items past the electronic sensors.

 

The alarm did not go off.

 

The lights at the base of the sensors gave a brief flicker, as with a momentary break in the power, but not enough to trigger them.

 

Outside, Brad sipped a drink in a paper cup while Nagi slouched on a bench and looked bored.

 

I joined them and grinned. ::Perfect, kiddo! The thing didn't even squeak.::

 

Nagi rolled his eyes. He looked like he had a mild headache. ::Schuldig, those sensors never squeak. They buzz.:: Turning his attention to Crawford, Nagi asked, ::Did it work the way you expected it to, Crawford-san?::

 

::That depends. Both of you - any ill effects? Headache, fatigue, nausea?::

 

::I'm fine,:: I replied, ::a little tired but nothing bad. Though I might have the nausea after I listen to this one CD I got…::

 

::Headache, a little queasy. But electronics have always been easier for me than anything else. It wasn't that hard.::

 

We walked through the mall, fine-tuning our new tactic at select stores. I wondered for a moment if Brad had watched “Oliver!” too many times or something, or if he had some deeper reason for this little crime wave. It wasn't like we were stealing highly useful things, though I did appropriate some new clothing and shoes along the way. We'd be in for another round of “keep or pitch” when we were done, as there was no way in Hell I was going to carry all this shit in my backpack.

 

As the hot afternoon faded into a milder evening, Crawford drove us to an actual hotel for the night. I had to use my gift again to sneak us in without registering, and without the clerk noticing the key was gone for about eighteen hours. My head was starting to really hurt by that time; I knew I'd overdone it, and so did Brad. Between my condition and Nagi's pain-stained eyes, no wonder our leader saw fit to get us real beds for a change.

 

After a decent meal - at least they knew how to serve fish in England - Nagi curled up on one of the beds and dozed off, giving me some much-needed time to talk with Brad. My brain wouldn't allow any more silent speech that day.

 

“So, how did we do?”

 

“Very well, actually. I'm quite impressed with you both.” Brad leaned against the dresser and smiled at me. “We've been living on the fringes so long I'd forgotten what a joy it can be to run team exercises. I think we'll be doing much more of this in the future, keep us from getting rusty. And give us the chance to try new tactics.”

 

“Okay, Fagin, are you going to tell me what the point was, or do I go on picking embroidery out of fancy handkerchiefs?” I asked with a grin. Brad knew my love of older movies, and if he didn't catch the reference, it would just be too bad for him.

 

But he surprised me by laughing softly and saying, “As long as you don't burst into song about it and scare Nagi. No, there was a point to it, Schuldig. A very important point, and I can't yet guarantee that the exercise will fulfill it. We have more testing to do yet. But basically, think about this: where else might we need to confuse the eye and confound the detection equipment? I'm thinking long-term usefulness, here.”

 

I pondered a moment before murmuring, “Customs?”

 

“Any checkpoint, actually.” He regarded me with a serious expression and said, “From now on, we travel brazenly armed. None of this sneaking about and bypassing security, we're going in head-on, only invisible.”

 

“But, won't the cameras still pick us up?” I asked, trying to guess what his reasoning might be. “Or is Nagi learning how to mess them up, too?”

 

Brad smirked and adjusted his glasses. “Either way, we come out ahead. If we want to lead the hunters in a certain direction, we allow the camera to track us. If we want to disappear, the camera lies. But first, we have to make them believe that the camera never lies.”

 

“Brilliant, oh evil leader!” I chuckled. “You've really learned a lot from me, in the mindgames department. I'm impressed!”

 

He shook his head, one hand raised in demure negation. “Actually, I've been taught by someone far more skilled than even you, Schuldig. It's been a long time coming, but now they're going to see just how much I've learned. And they'll probably regret ever bringing me to Germany.”

 

The hairs on the back of my neck stirred. Brad never talked about his past, and this was almost an invitation.

 

“No, it's not. You're tired. Get some sleep.”

 

We repeated the exercise several times over the following days, with increasing smoothness and confidence. Finally Brad declared that it was time to use our newly honed skills for real. The next morning saw the three of us appropriate a car and make our way to the airport at London. Brad drove, and I had the feeling he was looking for something other than the terminal.

 

A hitchhiker walked along the side of the highway.

 

Brad pulled over.

 

One golden eye looked up, glimmering in recognition. The scarred face creased into a smile.

 

“Well?” Brad asked as Farfarello slipped into the back seat.

 

“A few.”

 

I stared at Brad a moment, then asked, ::What the fuck? What are you talking about?::

 

Brad ignored me. “You know the rules, Farfarello. One slip…”

 

“Aye, I know. And you should know, I don't slip.”

 

“Very well. Keep it that way.” Brad made eye contact with Far through the rear-view mirror. “Good work.”

 

Far slouched down in the seat and started dozing.

 

I glared at our leader. ::Do you mind telling me just what the fuck that was about?::

 

::Pest control.::

 

::You mean, you knew -::

 

::I Saw Farfarello make our departure a little cleaner, that was all.:: Brad glanced sidelong at me and added, ::Don't worry, they never saw him coming. They never will.::

 

On arrival at the airport, Brad instructed each of us to arm for a fight. He, Nagi and I sported shoulder holsters beneath light jackets, while Farfarello was a veritable pincushion of concealed knives. We should have set off the security alarms just by walking in the front door.

 

I strode at the head of the team, Farfarello behind me. Nagi stayed back a few steps to give him a clean line of sight on any electronic sensors in our path. And Brad followed behind, to give us cover in case anything went wrong.

 

Tickets? No problem. We're right in your computer, see? Four ticketed passengers, business class. I smiled at the clerk, she smiled back and stamped our boarding passes. Passports? Right here, sir. My smile wavered a little as the headache swelled up, but I wasn't about to let Brad down. We'd invested too much effort in this tactic, it had to work. I had to make it work.

 

And when we lined up to go through the metal detector, the two-dozen civilians and staff noticed nothing out of the ordinary. I carried my loaded pistol right through, with Far at my heels. Even without knives on his person, Farfarello always set off the alarms: he had more steel pins in his teeth and bones than anyone else I'd ever heard of. When you don't feel pain, it's harder to allow injuries to just heal, so he always had medical intervention in the form of screws and supports drilled into his skeleton.

 

He strolled through without a chirp.

 

Brad's plan had worked.

 

By noon, we were on our way to America.

 

 

 

 

Special Notice from GuiltyRed:

 

As Schwarz speed toward America, this story is speeding toward LiveJournal and my website. There will be no more updates here at fanfiction-dot-net or mediaminer. If you are using the ff author-alerts system to know when to find an update, I am providing a similar e-mail service. I know what a hassle it can be to check everyday for updates to my stories only to find that real life has interfered with writing progress. I am also very aware that if you have a very active LJ friends list, you may miss a chapter or two in the bustle. So I have a way to help my readers keep track of my new posted chapters. ^__~

 

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Send me an email with your email address and the stories that you are currently reading that you would like an Author Alert for. This way, you will be contacted via email every time I post a new chapter and you won't have to go digging for it.

 

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A/N

Let's show Oliver how it's done, shall we, my dears?

 

I was tempted to not use the song “You've Got to Pick a Pocket or Two” from “Oliver!” for this chapter, as I don't seem to have a copy of it outside of the movie…then I realized, why worry about posting the song when I can tell my readers to just rent the movie? It's worth it! Besides, after letting Schuldig get that song stuck in his head, I couldn't find a better quote… ^_^;;

 

“Okay, Fagin, are you going to tell me what the point was, or do I go on picking embroidery out of fancy handkerchiefs?” - The reference is from “Oliver!”, the musical rendition of Oliver Twist. As Schuldig himself confessed, the German has a thing for older movies. And for those who haven't seen it or read the original, Fagin is the man who “recruits” street boys to steal for him, sort of a thief-pimp.