Undisclosed Location
April 21, 2008, 11:45
p.m.
How did he keep doing
it?
Sometimes, Will could be as
stubborn as a jackass. His refusal to
just lay there and be beaten by McCaffrey was one thing. But a light seemed to be gathering for us at
the end of the tunnel. This time, he had
to deal with the machine that is Draco.
Things seemed to be falling into place for us, but I wanted to take no
chances.
Growling in frustration, I
picked up my phone and punched a number in.
As soon as the call connected, I started to speak.
“We need to regain
momentum. Leave the video at his cabin,
and call the county sheriff. Make
certain to leave no prints on them, and report back when you’re done.”
Hanging up, I sighed loudly
once again. If only he would just go
away, it would make my life that much simpler!
Residence of William
Prydor (Baltimore, Maryland)
April 22, 2008, 8:19 a.m.
Groaning slightly as he rolled out of bed, he thanked his
lucky stars that most of the pain he had endured in the last couple of days was
starting to dissipate. McCaffrey had
pushed him to his physical limits and beyond.
He was still troubled, however, about the landing she took when he
delivered the Immolation, and made a mental note to call and speak with her
later today.
Then there was the post-match beatdown by Vincent Kane
that he had shoved to the back of his mind.
There would be time later for him to exact proper revenge...right now he
had more important things to worry about.
That led to his opponent in a week and a half: Draco.
A little research in his off time showed that Draco had ties to about a
third of the NLW roster, and it seemed that they all ran in the same sort of
supernatural-based circle. He didn’t
know whether to chalk it all up to it being some sort of “emo” complex, or just
natural paranoid delusions...though he was leaning towards the former, if truth
be told.
Putting aside all of the attention-mongering that Draco
was throwing out, he knew from watching the match against Jackson that Draco was not an opponent to be
taken lightly. It was going to take a
lot of work to bring this contest to the conclusion he wanted...and he relished
the challenge.
Running his hands through his short hair, he turned to the
window. The panoramic view was just as
he always liked to see it, without the glare of early sunrise or late
sunset. Oriole
Park at Camden
Yards...Interstate 95...M&T Bank Stadium....Harford County police vehicles....
He almost did a literal double take as he watched one of
the aforementioned deputy sheriff’s vehicles enter his driveway, followed by a
second. Something must have happened
at the End of Nowhere if the neighboring county’s police are coming here. But what could it have been? I haven’t been there since coming back from Charlotte, unless...she
did something?
Opening the door as the two vehicles came to a stop, he
stood on the front step, uncertain as to what exactly was going on. Quite a few scenarios flashed through his
mind before one of the officers stepped out of the vehicle. He silently noted that the officer’s hand was
suspiciously close to his firearm as said officer began to speak. “Will Prydor?”
“I am. How can I
help you gentlemen today?”
“We’ve been asked to escort you to the station in Edgewood for questioning.”
“In regards to?”
“We cannot say at this time.”
“...very well. Let
me get my keys and I’ll follow you.”
Walking back inside the house, he shook his head. Of all the times to be putting up with this
sort of crap, this is probably the worst time of all. But, he knew the sooner he took care of this
problem, the sooner he could get back to the true task at hand.
Sadly, Draco would have to wait for a couple of
hours. Let emo-boy cry about that for
a bit, he thought as he exited the house and walked to his truck. Seems like that’s about all that he’s good
for anyways--crying, bitching and complaining...
\___(^)___/
Harford County Sheriff’s
Department, Southern Precinct Office (Edgewood,
MD)
April 22, 2008, 9:02 a.m.
He was escorted back to one of the interrogation rooms,
where he was met with a rather unpleasant surprise. On the side of the table farthest from him
sat Erick Adams, the sheriff for all of Harford County. To his right was Sheriff John Lincoln of the
Portland Police Bureau. Alarm bells
started to ring in his head as he sat down to face the two heads of
police. “Gentlemen...what seems to be
the issue today that requires my presence?”
“Mr. Prydor, these were found in your alternate residence
this morning. Do you know what they
are?”
“They appear to be DVDs, Sheriff Adams. I’ve never seen those before today.”
“What’s contained on the discs?”
It was all he could to keep from rolling his eyes and
snapping a retort back at Lincoln. “If I’ve never seen those before today, how
could I possibly know what is on them?”
“Have you left your house since returning from Charlotte?”
“Excepting one trip to the local grocery store, I have not
left my house at any time.”
“Have any witnesses to corroborate that?”
“I’m certain a video camera or two can confirm that, Sheriff
Lincoln. I suggest you get in touch with
the Mars Supermarket in White Marsh to verify my claim. What’s this all about, anyway?”
“We’re asking the questions here, Prydor. Have you seen or know of this person?” At this, Lincoln slid a glossy photo over to him, and
he took a quick glance down at it.
“I do.”
“And?”
“And what? You
asked if I knew the person. I do. That answered your question.”
“Look, I’m getting tired of—“
“John, enough.”
Sheriff Adams spoke calmly.
“Badgering him is not going to get any results.”
“Well dammit, he knows one of our prime suspects, and
isn’t saying anything? Surely that is
grounds for hindering an official investigation, isn’t it?”
“In Portland,
perhaps. Not here, though. Mr. Prydor, I think it’s time I came level
with you.”
“First good thing I’ve heard all day, sir. Go ahead.”
“These discs were brought to our attention by an anonymous
caller, who stated that she saw someone large walking towards your cabin with
these discs in hand. Ten minutes later,
she saw this same person, without the discs, get into an early-model pick-up
truck and drive away. Our initial thoughts
were focused on you, as everything seems to fit except the part that you don’t
know what’s on the discs.”
“I see. Gentlemen,
allow me this much. I have a contact
with the Los Angeles Police Department, who has known me for over a
decade. If you still suspect me--“ (this
said while looking squarely in the face of Sheriff Lincoln) “--give this person
a call and let her talk. I assure you
that whatever is going on, I had nothing to do with it. I have enough on my plate getting ready for
my next match at Uprising without needing any extracurricular activities.”
“Prydor, do us all a favor and stop lying to us! We know you’re the mastermind behind all of
this. I can prove it!”
That got the attention of both himself and Sheriff
Adams. “This should be interesting,” he
uttered sotto voce. Aloud, he
simply said, “Go on ahead, Sheriff.
Let’s see what ‘proof’ you have.”
“I’m also interested in this, John. I’d like to look at this as well.”
A wicked smile on his face, Lincoln hit the “play” button on a remote,
and the TV screen beside the table came to life.
It was some electronics store, at the front counter. The clerk was busy goofing off when another
large man came into the picture, wearing dark jeans and one of the
recently-made Phoenix
t-shirts that NLW had put into production.
A large sum of cash changed hands, and the man walked away, pushing a
trolley with five large-screen televisions on it. There was no identification of any other sort
that could be seen, except for the t-shirt.
As the screen cut to static, Lincoln looked at him, a Cheshire Cat grin on
his face as he exclaimed, “What do you have to say about THAT, Prydor?”
That was a good question, indeed.
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