[BC] 039 - Rage
In the three years he'd been at the office in Seattle he'd drawn his weapon four times. Seven if you counted raids, which he didn't actually count. When everyone had their weapons out it would've seemed silly he thought to keep his holstered. Safety was always on those three times, so he never actually put it toward his total count. He wasn't even sure why he kept count, but every morning when he slipped the holster over his shoulder, and clipped the strap of leather over his weapon he remembered each time he actually took that final motion to withdraw it from his side.
After the first year he'd already lost track of how many times he'd slipped his jacket back to expose the weapon, or placed his hand atop it. Lost track completely of how many times his thumb flicked that single strap of leather off the snap closure and rested his palm against steel. It was all in the threat, the thought that he would draw it if he had to. If they made him do it, he wasn't going to hesitate.
Now though pressed to the wall just outside some kids house he was counting those first four times over in his head because he didn't want this to be the fifth. They'd been tracking his work for a week now, and once his hacking trail matched up to their records, and the largest sum of money was finally secured into one of his own accounts they were going to move. The fear though was his spending habits seemed to actually use all the funds he wired in and out of accounts, and that sort of spending meant paranoia and a bit of protection. They'd pulled SWAT in on it, and everyone else was pulled back. It just hadn't been going as planned.
It never went as planned, and Caleb was beginning to think that there wasn't ever actually a plan at all. There were regulations, and a play-book to speak of. A flow-chart of questions that never got the right answers, and never produced the exact results they were supposed to. He often wondered if it was their fault, or just a situation that no one could actually predict to a science. It sure as hell wasn't the way it was shown on television either.
"DO YOU THINK I TRUST YOU?? I'M NOT COMING OUT THERE! YOUSONSOVBITCHES ARE GONNA HAVE TO COME AND GET ME!!!"
Evidently, the guy was a bit upset.
SWAT was already heading around the building, and Caleb was trying to just remember that yelling never actually solved anything, but neither did brandishing his weapon when yelling was involved. "Look, I know you've been trying to work around the system. Trust me the system actually does work. The proof would be the SWAT team circling around back, and the fact that I'm about two minutes away from kicking the door down and I'm pretty sure you'd rather not have that sort of a mess on your hands."
It was sort of funny how quickly he could hear the footsteps heading around to the back of the house to confirm that right about now he was surrounded and there wasn't anywhere he could go. The scuffle of footwork and chairs and what Caleb guessed was a bookshelf maybe, or a table was amusing as well.
"Ain't gonna work. Look you can make this easy on everyone. Just drop the weapon, and come out of the house."
The shrill scream that came from the back of the house made Caleb hang his head and shake it a bit in an almost moment of pity for the guy trying to make a run for it. Shutting his eyes Caleb tipped his head back against the aluminum siding of the house, listening for the sounds that he knew were going to echo for at least a few hours in the back of his mind. The exhale he let out timed perfectly to the final shot being fired off, the first from the direction of the house, the rest from the team that was prepared to take him down.
Close to two-hundred and eighty thousand transferred from bank account to bank account, leaving little less than a slight trace behind as he had worked, and now the only thing left to do was going to be go through the house... and wait for his mother to come home.
Just so he could explain, why things weren't fair. Seven hours later when he would be sitting at his desk trying to finish the paperwork he didn't want to, he'd still feel the hard pressure of her fists, balled tight and hitting his chest and shoulder as she tried to come to grips with the fact that her son hadn't grown up to be who she thought he would've... in fact he'd never grow up at all.
After the first year he'd already lost track of how many times he'd slipped his jacket back to expose the weapon, or placed his hand atop it. Lost track completely of how many times his thumb flicked that single strap of leather off the snap closure and rested his palm against steel. It was all in the threat, the thought that he would draw it if he had to. If they made him do it, he wasn't going to hesitate.
Now though pressed to the wall just outside some kids house he was counting those first four times over in his head because he didn't want this to be the fifth. They'd been tracking his work for a week now, and once his hacking trail matched up to their records, and the largest sum of money was finally secured into one of his own accounts they were going to move. The fear though was his spending habits seemed to actually use all the funds he wired in and out of accounts, and that sort of spending meant paranoia and a bit of protection. They'd pulled SWAT in on it, and everyone else was pulled back. It just hadn't been going as planned.
It never went as planned, and Caleb was beginning to think that there wasn't ever actually a plan at all. There were regulations, and a play-book to speak of. A flow-chart of questions that never got the right answers, and never produced the exact results they were supposed to. He often wondered if it was their fault, or just a situation that no one could actually predict to a science. It sure as hell wasn't the way it was shown on television either.
"DO YOU THINK I TRUST YOU?? I'M NOT COMING OUT THERE! YOUSONSOVBITCHES ARE GONNA HAVE TO COME AND GET ME!!!"
Evidently, the guy was a bit upset.
SWAT was already heading around the building, and Caleb was trying to just remember that yelling never actually solved anything, but neither did brandishing his weapon when yelling was involved. "Look, I know you've been trying to work around the system. Trust me the system actually does work. The proof would be the SWAT team circling around back, and the fact that I'm about two minutes away from kicking the door down and I'm pretty sure you'd rather not have that sort of a mess on your hands."
It was sort of funny how quickly he could hear the footsteps heading around to the back of the house to confirm that right about now he was surrounded and there wasn't anywhere he could go. The scuffle of footwork and chairs and what Caleb guessed was a bookshelf maybe, or a table was amusing as well.
"Ain't gonna work. Look you can make this easy on everyone. Just drop the weapon, and come out of the house."
The shrill scream that came from the back of the house made Caleb hang his head and shake it a bit in an almost moment of pity for the guy trying to make a run for it. Shutting his eyes Caleb tipped his head back against the aluminum siding of the house, listening for the sounds that he knew were going to echo for at least a few hours in the back of his mind. The exhale he let out timed perfectly to the final shot being fired off, the first from the direction of the house, the rest from the team that was prepared to take him down.
Close to two-hundred and eighty thousand transferred from bank account to bank account, leaving little less than a slight trace behind as he had worked, and now the only thing left to do was going to be go through the house... and wait for his mother to come home.
Just so he could explain, why things weren't fair. Seven hours later when he would be sitting at his desk trying to finish the paperwork he didn't want to, he'd still feel the hard pressure of her fists, balled tight and hitting his chest and shoulder as she tried to come to grips with the fact that her son hadn't grown up to be who she thought he would've... in fact he'd never grow up at all.