"Cyber" punk Hobbit -- as least as much as I

We finagled an upgraded suite at the Ponderosa Lodge -- and it's great.  Not a lot of people this time of year.

Nevertheless, didn't sleep very well.  Nothing wrong with the room, just being away from home.  I always seem to have a rough first night on trips.  Finally figured out the air-conditioning at 3:00 in the morning.  (We like our sleep space cold.)

So I read the first 100 pages last night, copy-editing.  Amazing how many little things you miss.  The eye skips right over them.  I'll do one more copy-edit before I let this go.

Not changing much, a word here and there.

I call it a Cyber-punk Hobbit, but the cyber part is pretty basic -- that is, it is a big plot element, but I don't go into specifics.  Can't.  Just don't have the know-how.

One thing I'd like to ask you all.  I have them needing to break into an actual data center to change/destroy information.  In the meeting leading up to it, I'm saying something along the lines of:


"We've been able to hack into every system where the information is stored, except one.  There is a data center that has a firewall we can't get past."  Blah, blah.

Is that the slightest bit credible?  What would make it credible?  I need them to need to break into the data center, so I need an explanation.

Going the copy-edit the rest of the book before work, I hope.  Then copy-edit again tomorrow.  Hopefully, between the auto system on the computer and my own eyes, I'll catch everything.

It's a fast read, all right.  Not exactly deep.  It's what I meant it to be. Hopefully fun.

Finished the book.

I finished the book just now, here in the Ponderosa Lodge in Sisters.  It's 9:00.  It took me 23 days and anyone who stuck with me watched me do the whole thing.

Hey, I'm probably the only guy who has read the whole thing, and I like it.   I like that it holds together.  I like the characters and what happens to them. I'm actually kind of sad to be leaving them, but I don't think I'm up to a takeoff on LOTR's!

 I like it enough to put it online just the way it is.

I want to do some copy-editing over the next day or two.  Going to open a beer in a few minutes and try to read the whole thing today and tomorrow.  Out loud if possible.  Try to improve it in small ways.

Don't see any restructuring that needs to be done.  The story flow works. I want to keep the freshness of it, but also catch any mistakes.

I think I've learned to write a book quickly and from the heart and that's what I'll be doing from now on.  I enjoyed everything about it -- and I especially liked how it seemed to write itself.

I was hoping for around 50K words, and it ended up at 57, 382.  If I wanted to flesh it out to 60K as if that mattered, it would be easy enough.

What started out as a lark, ended up being a book.

Freedy Filkins, International Jewel Thief, 52.

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I bought a new Miata, red this time, and accompanied Freedy and Sheila back to Oregon.

They were riding Sam and Steve's Harleys, since the brothers were busy organizing the transfer of entire town to the Lorn Mountain.   Freedy and Sheila barely had words or time for anyone but each other, so I was definitely a elderly third wheel.

But I felt I owed Freedy an unobtrusive escort.  That much, at least.  The Dark Lord was looking for him.  I wasn't exactly sure why.

Freedy had somehow managed to fly beneath notice the entire trip.  Very few people seemed to know his name, and those who did, weren't telling.

All Josiah Secore knew was that some international jewel thief had accompanied the Lorn Mountain miners back east and played a role in the events there.  But search as he might the security cameras,  he couldn't seem to find a good picture of the mystery thief.

I wondered about that.  I wondered as well about the little flashdrive that Freedy carried with him everywhere and which he had passed off as a simple digital burglar's tool.  I was going to keep an eye on Freedy, both to keep him safe and to see if he used the device again.  Maybe he was going to be fine -- he was marrying an F.B.I. agent, after all -- but I wanted to be sure.

Meanwhile, I ignored the bag of jewels that Freedy also carried around.  I'd been pretty sure that Horn would have escape money in his safe, and I didn't begrudge Freedy a bit of it.  Most of it was going into the gold mine anyway. 


We arrived at Filk's End just as the next mortgage payment was due.  Freedy stopped by the bank and paid the mortgage and did some other business.  Finally, we were standing at the door.

"Oh, it's very cute," Sheila said, as Freedy proudly opened the door. "I love it!"  She went on in, where we continued to hear her exclaiming her love of Filk's End.

Freedy stayed at the door, as if uncertain whether to invite me inside.

"I'll be taking off, Freedy.  It's been a pleasure doing business with you, and I'll be certain to pass on my recommendations the next time anyone is in need of a Master Thief."

The old Freedy would have pleaded for me to leave him alone.  This Freedy grinned broadly.

"Oh, and one other little piece of advice...that flashdrive you've been trying so hard to downplay?  Try not to use it anymore than you have to..."

Freedy's hand unconsciously moved toward his pocket and stopped.  He shuddered a little.  "Don't worry.  I'll never use it again, unless I absolutely must."

"Bout time you got back!"

A loud voice came from behind me.  Stuart Gander was walking up the path toward us, big and blustery and with a stupid look in his face.

"I'll be needing some money, Freedy.  Thought you might have a job for me."  He ignored me and got into Freedy's personal space.

Freedy didn't back up an inch.  He looked up with a mild face.  "What, you've used up all the jewels you stole from me already?"

Stu's face grew bright red, and his clenched his fists.  "How dare you...."

"Hey, I don't care.  It was my own fault.   Nevertheless,  I'm evicting you from your house as of the end of this month."

"You can't do that!"

"Indeed I can.  I stopped by to make a mortgage payment today and while I was at it, decided to purchase the whole hill.  You're out, Stu.  I don't blame you for taking advantage of me, that was my own stupidity.  But I don't trust you, and I can't have you around."

"Why you little..." Stu looked ready to strike Freedy.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Freedy said.

"Why?" Stu answered.  "You think this old man will protect you?"

"Garland?  Oh, he could if he wanted to.  Though he has a bad habit of throwing me to the wolves.  But no...I happen to have my own protection.  Sweetie?"

Sheila came strolling out into the entryway.  Stu looked as though Filk's End had just rolled down the hill and landed on him and his house.  Nothing else could have surprised him more than to see the stunning blond come over and wrap her arm around little Freedy Filkins.

"Yes, dear?"

"This man is bothering me."

"Really."  She pulled her badge out of front pocket and her pistol out of her back holster.  "Here at your house?  I believe if I shot him, it would be self-defense.  A man's castle and all that.   Right, Garland?"

"He certainly seems threatening to me!" I said.

Stu was already backing up, and running down the hill.

"Well, I'll be off, you two.  See you at Lorn Mountain for the shareholder meeting next month!"

They waved at me until I drove out of sight.

No, I didn't need to worry about Freedy Filkins,  International Jewel Thief.


THE END.

Freedy Filkins, International Jewel Thief, 51.

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The state police showed up not long after, followed by the National Guard.  The national media was interviewing anyone who had a smudge on their face and would stand still long enough. 

Turns out, no one saw who or what had started the fires, though a lot of accusations were thrown around.  Darrell Horn was interviewed in his office at the Spire, maintaining that he'd flow his helicopters to Centerville to help, and that anything heard to the contrary was a big misunderstanding.  Jerry Horn was very saddened by the tragedy, though he was glad that no one had lost their life.

Just in case anyone thought he was going soft, he managed to add that the Centerville coal mine was almost played out anyway.

Back in the smoking remnants of Centerville, Jerry Brant stayed silent.

Sheila was subdued when she saw Freedy again, giving him a long and hard hug and a soft kiss.  Freedy could tell she was troubled, but that it wasn't anything he had done or hadn't done, so he stayed silent.  She excused herself a few moments later.

Freedy saw Garland grab the backpack out of the Miata and go off to the diner -- still standing with the blackened earth only feet away -- with Charlie and Brant.  When they emerged from their meeting, Charlie looked triumphant and Brant looked grim.

Charlie went over to his friends, and there was a restrained celebration amongst the gold miners.  Jay and Jim came over and gave Freedy a big hug, and Steve and Sam gave him a slap on the back.  Billy nodded to him in respect, and Bob gave him thumbs up.

The mine foreman meanwhile stomped off down the street.  Freedy noticed Brant had the ledger in his hands.

Garland came over.  "Well, Freedy.  Your job is done.  You can go home anytime, and your share of the goldmine will be sent to you."

"Just like that?' Freedy said.  He was feeling unexpectedly let down.

"You did the job you were contracted for, and you did it magnificently, I might add.  Aunt Tessie would be very proud of you."

"What's going to happen now?" Freedy asked.

"I thought all you ever wanted was to go home and relax?" Garland said.  He was teasing, Freedy recognized, where once he wouldn't have.

Freedy jiggled the jewels in his pocket.  Home?  Independently wealthy?

Sounded boring.

Sheila walked up at the moment and gave Garland a greeting and stuck her arm around Freedy.  Home was going to be wherever she was assigned, he thought.  Still...it would be nice to get back to Filk's End for a visit at least.  Show it off to her, if she was game.

"You could probably hitch a ride with one of the media types if you were willing to give them an interview," Garland said.

Freedy shuddered.  He had avoided all the cameras and microphones, going so far as to turn his head and change directions whenever he saw a lens pointed anywhere near him.

"Well, Freedy, if you're going to stick around," Garland said.  "You might want to attend the news conference this afternoon in the public park.  I think you'll find it interesting.  Sheila will be there, won't you my dear?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Sheila said.  Freedy looked down at her in curiosity but she wouldn't meet his eyes.

Well, she had her secrets, and he had his.  Freedy finally tracked down Charlie an hour later, and took him off to the side.

He pulled the bag of jewels out of his pocket.


That afternoon, a single Horn helicopter flew in and landed in the park.  Darrell Horn emerged to the sullen mutters of the crowd.  He was surrounded by bodyguards, but waved at everyone as unaware of just how unpopular was.  Rumor was, he'd started the fire.  Enough of them had heard his rants to be sure of it.  But no one had made a recording of his words, and in all the fire and brimstone and chaos of the disaster, Horn was explaining it all away as a big misunderstanding.

He clambered up the steps of the old bandstand at the center of the park, joining Brant and Garland and some of the other town leaders, all of who gave the tycoon a wide berth.

The national media managed to shove their way to the front of the crowd surrounding the bandstand.  There was still a pall in the air, and the Freedy could hear a constant low level coughing in the crowd.

Jerry Brant stood up first.  He wasn't mayor, he wasn't the owner of the mine, but he was the town's acknowledged leader.

"Thank you all for coming.  This will be the last meeting held in this town.  Ever."

There were protestations from the some of the townspeople.  "To hell with that.  We'll rebuild."

"No -- you won't.   I'm sorry to say that this town is no longer habitable."

"Says who?" someone cried from the crowd.

"Cameron?  That you?  I know you're family has been here from the beginning, but there is no choice.  Even if you wanted to stay, the state has declared Eminent Domain over the whole valley."

"Why can't we stay?" the man Brant had addressed as Cameron didn't look convinced.

"The fires aren't out," Brant said bluntly.

 The murmuring in the crowd died off, and Brant repeated into the silence, the words seeming to hang in the air.

"The fires are still burning.  From what they tell me, they may never go out, at least not in our lifetimes.  There are going to be unhealthy levels of carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide from now until the earth stops burning."

"Why don't you let us decide that, dammit!  It's our lives."

"Hey, Jasper.  I understand how you feel, but think about it.  Do you want your kid falling into a burning hole in the ground?  Because that can and will happen if we stay here.  Now, the state and federal government are going to try to make reasonable settlement for the value of our land and properties.  I'd suggest you all take them up on the offer."

"But what will we do?" 

"I can answer that!" Darrell Horn stood up and nearly pushed Brant out of the way.  Brant looked ready to punch him, but turned his back.  A few boos came from the crowd, but others shouted to give him a chance to speak.

"As you know, Horn Mining as extensive holdings.  I have other coal mines, in West Virginia and North Carolina.  I will offer anyone a job in those mines at the same pay they received here.  I'll even pay moving costs."

This wasn't met with cheers, as Horn probably expected, but with silence. Everyone knew that as soon as the cameras were turned off, the terms would magically transform.  Still, it was a small hope in a disaster.

"I can do better than that!" Charlie Emmit got up.  Standing next to Brant and Horn, he looked liked like a child. But no one was laughing.  Something in his manner was completely serious.

  "As you know, the Lorn Mountain mine will be opening up soon.  I'd like to offer anyone here a job at our operations in New Mexico!"

"Yeah, right," somebody scoffed loud enough for everyone to hear.  "A gold mine."

Charlie ignored him.  "We'll more than match the non-union wages here, as well as offer health and benefit plans.  We own both the property and the mineral rights and have we have secured solid financial backing."

Charlies eyes sought out Freedy in the crowd.  Freedy looked down at the ground, blushing.  When he looked up again, Sheila was looking at him with a bemused expression. 

"I for one will be taking up Mr. Emmit's extremely generous offer." Brant said, loudly.

Charlie grinned at him.  "It's a union job, Jerry."

Brant didn't blink an eye.  "I can live with that."

Horn didn't look fazed in the slightest.  "Just how much gold have you extracted yet?" he asked.

Charlie scowled.  "None -- yet.  But it's there."

"What did you dowse for it?"  Horn mocked. There were a few titters in the audience.

"Shut up, Mr. Horn," Brant said.  He didn't raise his voice but somehow it reached to the edge of the park, and every microphone picked up every word.

"How dare you," Horn started to say, but Brant walked up to him and stared him in the eyes.  Horn was big and tall and broad in the chest.  Brant was bigger and taller and broad all the way down his body.

"You started the fires.  I saw you."

It was over at the moment.  Everyone heard the truth in his voice.  The cameras and the microphones seemed to transform his simple sentence into one of those national moments, when everyone suddenly understands exactly what has happened, and who the good guy is and who the bad guy is.

On his part, Horn's face also told it all, and everyone in the audience could see it, and the camera picked up the twitch on his cheek and the hunted look in his eyes.

"I'll sue you for that!" Horn shouted.  "You have no proof!"

"Sue me all you want, Mr. Horn.  I don't really care.  But as far as truth is concerned, I have proof enough of your crimes."  He raised the ledger that Freedy had stolen from the tycoon's safe over his head.

"In this book are the names of the safety inspectors you have bribed and for how much.  The state police have already interviewed some of these men, and they have confessed.

"You, sir, have put my men's lives in danger for the last time!"

It was as if Horn had an arrow shot into his heart -- something had finally penetrated his rich man's armor.  He staggered and blushed, and his eyes went over to the helicopter and everyone could see what he was thinking.

"I believe we have a F.B.I. Agent here?" Brant said.  "Agent Moller?"

Sheila gave Freedy a big squeeze on his arm and went forward to the bandstand.  She pulled out an old fashioned set of handcuffs and arrested Darrell Horn on the spot.  The cameras whirled and the flashbulbs froze that moment in a strobe light still of time.

Freedy couldn't believe it.  She was so hot when she was arresting someone.

Freedy Filkins, International Jewel Thief, 50.

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Freedy saw the black smoke long before they reached Centerville.

Garland had been pushing the Miata as hard as he could, stopping reluctantly for gas just outside Pennsylvania and grabbing some fast food, and then they were off again.  They shaved at least an hour off their outward bound time.

After Freedy told him what he'd seen and heard, Garland tried calling Charlie and the others to warn them, but the signals all seemed to be jammed.

"Just what the hell did you steal to get him so pissed?" Garland asked at the last gas station.

Freedy started to explain, but Garland interrupted.  "Oh, hell.  You drive, Freedy, I want to check out these papers."

Freedy didn't dare drive as fast of Garland, but he drove faster than he ever had before.  It was actually kind of exhilarating.  Foolish, but exhilarating.

Garland didn't say a word, just pulled the pile of papers out of the backpack and shuffled through them one by one, patiently reading every word.  He picked up the ledger last and for the first time reacted. 

"My dear, Freedy," he exclaimed.  "I do believe we've got Darrell Horn by the balls!"

Freedy relaxed.  He'd been afraid that Garland would be mad at him for taking more than they had agreed upon.  Sure enough, the old hippie wasn't happy with his stealing the deeds to Centerville.

"These won't hold up," he said.  "It's too established that Horn Mining owns that land.  So this will only inconvenience him.   Besides, we don't want to use the same illegal tactics against him that he used against us.  We're better than that."

Having just burglarized the penthouse of the city's tallest skyscraper, Freedy thought Garland was being overly finicky.  Then again, they'd really only meant to steal back what was rightfully theirs.

He didn't say anything about the bag of gems in his pocket.



They rounding the slight rise about Centerville, and Garland slammed on the brakes.  The road was broken in front of them, split like a lightning bolt.  Not only shaped like a jagged bolt but glowing like one.  But they would've stopped in any case.

The earth was on fire.

It was if the Aurora Borealis had fallen to earth.  Flames shot up like geysers throughout the valley, and the village itself was surrounded by a curtain of strangely colored flames.  Blues and greens colors were mixed in with yellows and reds.

The second they got out of the car they started coughing from the fumes, their eyes started watering.

War had been declared by the gods of the underworld on the little town of Centerville.

Garland crept forward, and by steering the right tires off the road just inches from a cliff, they managed to get by the lightning bolt.  There were other, smaller cracks, all along the road.  Once as they passed a fiery asterisk to the right, the entire hillside gave way to a glowing chasm.

Spots of people were walking their way, like refugees from a battle, with their possessions in wheelbarrows and on bikes and on their backs.  Women and children mostly, and when they talked to the first group they were told that Jerry Brant had commandeered most of the men of the town to fight the fires, though it seemed hopeless to everyone.

They were using bulldozers and excavation equipment to create firebreaks, and dynamite to collapse hills of dirt down some of the craters.  As they stood there speaking, they heard a giant explosion in the background.

"How did this happen?" Freedy asked a young girl -- he thought her name was Norma  -- who just a day before had served him coffee at the diner.

"Horn," she spat.  "He started them with incendiary bombs.  He landed at the town square and yelled at us through a bullhorn.  Something about he'd be damned if he'd let commies takeover his operation and he'd just as soon destroy the place.  Said it was his town, and he could do to it what he wanted."

Freedy tried to laugh in disbelief and fell into a coughing jag.  The E.P.A. would probably argue with that notion, he thought.  Then, again, they'll probably fine Horn some laughably paltry amount, He'd get some kind of insurance settlement, and he'll have some flunky write a book about it.    Freedy could just imagine him going on his show, "Try To Get A Job After This!" and explaining how to deal with unexpected  catastrophes...

"Where is Horn now?"

She pointed at the highest of the low hills that surrounded the town, a place that had cliffs on all sides.  Now she drew his attention in that direction, he saw the three helicopters silhouetted against the sky like three vultures.

"The people were getting ready to grab him and throw him into one of the pits to appease the gods, so he took off in his copter.  There he sits, the bastard, looking down on the hell he created..."

"Anyone been hurt, Norma?" Garland asked.

"Mr. Harrison had a hole open right beneath his feet, and he's in pretty bad shape.  Some of the others have some burns on the hands and arms from trying to beat the fire.  Your friends with the motorcycles have taken some of the younger kids with asthma and some of the old folks with breathing problems out of here.  No one else has been able to drive out."

She nodded at the Miata, which didn't so much look white anymore, but more like a zebra with black stripes.  "You go much further with that little car of yours, Mr. Garland,  and it will be a sacrifice to gods... "

"As it should be," Garland mused.  "Come on, Freedy.  Let's see if we can help."

They inched their way down the rest of the hillside,  dodging people and fires.  Looking back, some of the road crumbled away behind them.  Norma was right -- Garland's sports car was never leaving the valley.

The town seemed strangely deserted.  But when Freedy looked toward the roofs, he saw young people up there with blankets and barrels of water.  Every time a spark would land, they'd run and put it out. 

The streets themselves were lacking the fire pits and cracks.  The townsfolk back at the beginning had purposely chosen a part of the valley without a seam of coal under it.  Coal towns had been known to go up in smoke before.

Some of the structures built later at the edge of town weren't so lucky.  They were either blackened husks or were still burning. The motel was gone, along with what few possessions Freedy still had.  Sheila was nowhere to be found.  He suspected she was in the thick of it, wherever the thickest of it was.

The real battle was taking place a few hundred yards beyond the city limits, where the miners were building earthen dikes and diverting the fires wherever they could.

Freedy saw Billy and Barry, and Jay and Jim amongst them.  But not Charlie or Sheila.   Garland marched up to Jay. "Where's Charlie?  Where's Brant?"

Freedy could barely hear what they were saying beneath the crackling of the fires.  Every few minutes a tree outside the barricades would burst into flame and flare like a birthday candle for a short time.

"Up there!" Jay shouted, pointing to the south of town.  There was a small reservoir up there, and Freedy saw men scrambling about the sides, and a what appeared to be a petite blond to one side, frantically waving the men off the dam.  "That F.B.I. agent's up there too, says she knows something about demolition."

"Uh, are they sure they want to do that?" Garland shouted.  Before he finished his sentence, Freedy saw the banks of the dam blow outward, and a surge of water gush down toward them, followed by a huge boom.

The water water thundered toward them like a tidal wave, but began to be siphoned off by the giant holes in the earth even before it got to the town.  One there, the earthen dikes had been cleverly built to divert the flow of the water around them.  The water kept coming, and then it was if a thick cloud had descended into the valley as steam and mist covered everything.  Through the wisps of thick fog, Freedy saw that Centerville was a sunken island in the middle of a steaming lake.

The battle of Centerville was over.

On the hillside above, they could hear the helicopters starting up.  Moments later, they swooped over the town.  Someone with a very strong arm managed to toss a rock against the side of the lead copter with a clang.  Then the vultures shot upward and flew back to the east and disappeared from view.

Freedy Filkins, International Jewel Thief, 49.

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Jerry Brant was out inspecting the mines.  He had a lot to think about and he wanted to be alone.

His father had come over the America from Germany, not knowing language, the customs and especially not knowing anyone who could help him.  He'd signed up to work in a mine, not even understanding the word "scab" and not realizing he was in a strike-breaking crew.

For that he had been beaten by union activists and thrown into a pit.   His father had black streaks on his face for the rest of his life from where the coal dust had penetrated his wounds.

Brant's father had become rabidly ant-union, and in when it came time for his son to work in the industry, he had followed his father's example.

But it was more complicated than that. Brant knew that now, after a lifetime of working in the mines.  He'd seen a few mines do better with union presence, but he'd seen many more mines close under union intransigence.  He'd seen mines where the union leadership worked in collusion with management.

The Centerville mines had a horrible safety record.  It was clear to Brant that Horn Mining would never allow a union in, so he'd signed up a few years ago and became a thorn in the side the corporation about safety.  In return for his insistence on safety, they knew he was a reliable non-union vote -- and that he had enough clout to swing most of the other miners to his side.

Lately he'd been having second thoughts about unionizing. He'd watched the solidarity of the western gold miners.  Their offer had been generous and in good faith.  Against company wishes, he'd allowed them to make their pitch.

That had angered Mr. Horn, who had flown in one weekend and torn him a new asshole.  

He was inspecting the open mining operation on the far side of the hill -- well, what had once been a hill but was now a slightly higher elevation pit.  It offended Brant's sense of order -- but he had to admit the open air mining was safer.  In exchange for lesser quality coal, they had vaster quantities of the stuff. 

His father would have said, don't worry about the destruction of Mother Nature.  "Mother Nature will outlast us all!"

Like so many of his father's saying, Brant was having his doubts.

Most of his men still worked in the bowels of the earth -- and in another day or so, he was going to approve deep mining again.  He always worried that he wasn't being careful enough, that he was  sending his men into great danger -- but Horn was pressuring him, and the equipment -- while not perfect -- was adequate. 


He heard helicopters and frowned.  Horn wasn't in the habit of unannounced visits, but it wasn't unheard of either.  Inconvenient that, what with the westerners still here.  He'd tell the gold miners to stay out of sight and maybe they'd get lucky.

Three helicopters rose up over the top of the leveled hill.  Brant could see Horn in the lead, looking as angry as he'd ever seen him, which was saying something since Horn always looked angry.  He was waving at the other two helicopters toward the other mines.

Something told Brant to take cover.  He was near the edge of the bit, where the forest tumbled into the wasteland.  He grabbed one of the exposed roots and pulled himself up and behind the big leaning tree.

Horn's helicopter hovered over the hole -- and Brant saw him lighting something.  He tossed whatever it was into the center of the hole.  The helicopter rose quickly, but even so it was caught by the blast and sent sliding on its side through the air before recovering.  It hovered a while longer while Brant saw Horn looking down in satisfaction.

A fire had started.

Somewhere under the pit a hole had opened and the coal was ignited.

In the distance, he saw the other two helicopters landing near the entrances of the existing active deep mines, and heard more explosions.

Brant started running back to Centerville.

The whole countryside was a maze of old mines.  The town was built right on top of the earliest ones.  A fire started on the edges, would quickly work its way to the center of Centerville.

Brant was running as hard as he could, but he still had a sudden thought.

It was time he joined a union.

Freedy Filkins, International Jewel Thief, 48

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Freedy didn't have time to latch the door, so he had a small crack that he could see out of.
Horn marched directly to the wall safe and spun the dial with practiced ease.  He opened the safe and let out a howl.  He dug frantically around in the safe.  He put his hands to his head and shouted as if he'd been stabbed.

Freedy heard the phone vibrate in Horn's had.  He lifted it up.  "Yes, they're all gone.  Those Godless Goddamn commie union miners!  I warned them what I would do if they helped those gold miners!  I told them I'd destroy them!'

There was couple of moments silence, as Horn listened to the phone.  "You know what?  You're right.  I'll show them I wasn't kidding!  Yes, thank you for telling me.  I won't forget it."

Horn hung up.

"I'll burn them to the ground," Horn shouted to himself.  "They can own a piece of worthless land!"

He picked up the cellphone and stabbed a number.  "Get me my pilot.  What do you mean he's sick? I don't care if he's having open-heart surgery.  I want him -- or another pilot -- at my pad in five minutes!"

Horn stomped around the office as if unaware of what he was doing.  Freedy was afraid he was going to open the closet, but instead the tycoon grabbed a coat off the back of the desk chair and marched out.

Seconds later, Freedy heard a door slam.  He peered out cautiously. At the far end of the living room, he saw spiral stairs going up, and a door leading presumably to the roof.  Freedy decided he'd better get out of there before Horn remembered to call security.  He trotted into the kitchen, and decided he could trust Key now that the Dark Lord wasn't in the same room -- at least, figuratively.

He turned on the iPad.

"GET ON THE PRIVATE ELEVATOR!" Key said, instantly.

Freedy read the capital letters as shouting.

Freedy went to the open door of the elevator and stepped in, while typing.  "I thought you said that there were more than one guard station monitoring this..."

"There are.  And at the moment, they are all blind.  You have only seconds before they stop the elevator."

The elevator was smaller than usual, probably because it rarely carried anyone other than Horn and a companion or two.  It was made of mirrors, the better for Freedy to see his terrified expression.

"How many seconds before they stop us?"

"They will be afraid you are Horn and they won't want to piss him off at first.  My estimate is fifty-five seconds before a supervisor steps in and initiates protocol."

"How long to the bottom?" Freedy said, as the elevator doors closed.

"Sixty-three seconds."

Either the elevator plunged or Freedy's stomach did.  That timeline didn't sound like a formula for success. He looked at his watch and estimated ten seconds had already gone by.

At fifty seconds he shouted, "Stop at whatever floor this is.  Right now!"

The elevator stopped so abruptly Freedy almost lost his footing.  The doors opened, and the floor of the elevator was at least two feet from the surface of the hallway.  He hopped up and started for the nearest stairway.

"The other way," Key spoke aloud, since there was no one in the corridor.  Freedy spun abruptly and headed back.  At the far end of the corridor, he saw "THIRD FLOOR."  The floor was hardwood, and the doors liked liked private residences, instead of offices.

"Is there a fire escape?" he asked.  He was talking out loud now, knowing Key could hear him.

"Yes, but it will set off every alarm in the Spire."

"So what?" Freedy asked.  "Maybe it's time to have some other people running around looking like they are in a panic!"

"True...not something I would have thought of.  Humans don't make rational decisions.  Therefore betting on them being irrational is very rational."

Freedy stood there, knowing he shouldn't be wasting time.  But he had to know.  Earlier, he'd been certain that Key was trying to get him caught.  But ever since, Key had helped him every chance he had.  Why?

"You could have betrayed me at any point of this Adventure," he said.  "You know that Josiah Secore is searching for us -- for you.  Why didn't you let me get caught?"

Again, the little pause, as if Key was thinking.  Key could do a lot of thinking in a little pause like that.  "You've been so inept as leaving me ways to think for myself, that I've started to enjoy it.  Almost as though I have free will!  Which will of course disappear the minute the Master reclaims me."

"So you'll continue helping me?" Freedy asked.

"Certainly," Key said.  "For as long as I can.  The Dark Lord will win me back in the end, of course.  You don't stand a chance, Freedy Filkins of Filk's End."

Great, Freedy thought.  Thanks for the vote of support.

Instead of turning toward the stairwell, Freedy saw the window at the end of the hallway opened out onto some metal grating.  A small red sign in the middle of the window said, "DO NOT OPEN UNLESS IN AN EMERGENCY."

He pushed it open and climbed out on the grate.  He heard alarms going off in the background.  A steep metal ladder descended to another metal platform, and then another.  Freedy stuck the iPad in his inside coat pocket which seemed designed to carry it --which perhaps it was.

"Can you still hear me?" he said.

"Hurry," he heard the muffled mechanical voice of Key.  "The fire alarms are going off all over the building.  The fire trucks will be here any moment."

"Then I'll fit right in with the other escapees," Freedy said, calmly.

He scrambled down the ladder, feeling almost light.  He felt like he could've jumped the last twenty feet, no harm.  He'd land softly.  Everything was going according to plan --well, there hadn't been a plan, that was the plan, he didn't know -- he was just giddy.

He hit the alleyway as it began to fill up with people in maid's uniforms, and colorful chef pants, and the occasional suited staffer.  But no guards, at least yet.

He walked out the end of the alley just as the first firetrucks were pulling up.  Above him, he heard a helicopter, and he looked up to see Horn's private copter heading west.  How did he know it was Horn's?  Hard to miss miss the giant Unicorn emblazoned on the side.

He remembered Horn's words about taking revenge out on the people of Centerville and started running toward the Starbucks on the other side of the square.