Poole was waiting for him the next morning when he wandered into the coffee shop. How’d the date go? Great; I got myself drunk and made myself angry and then I apologized and whined until I gave myself a handjob. Typical then? I guess it’s shaping up that way, isn’t it? It would seem so. Listen, Hatchet lowered his voice and made a quick inventory of the surrounding patrons (one of the Dog Boys spat a bloody gob into a planter) if one were so inclined, where would one procure M18s? like old ones; that surplus joint is out of business. M18s? like smoke grenade M18s? Yeah, preferably yellow ones.
Poole had grown weary of this game they were playing and now, looking into an abyss of seriousness in Hatchet's face, he couldn’t think of a better moment to reveal the ace he had been hiding for days. Woody’s in the back smoking, Poole told him. Really? Yup, and there’s something else. Talk to me. I’m not supposed to tell you this but there is a vault in that church. Hatchet watched as Poole’s face turned to stone and became impossible to read. How do you know? Talked to the guy who installed the fucking thing online a few days ago; he and I had to coordinate on some computer issues, redundant servers. You talked to a guy? The guy. Sometimes I think you want in on this, Poole. Don't make this about me. What’s this guy’s name? Poole laughed straight into his face. Where’s he from? San Antonio. A vault guy in San Antonio who worked on the Calvary expansion, got it.
Poole cursed inwardly. Hatchet would later that week track down the guy who installed the vault and that conversation would lead to another man who knew all about sliding doors installed on drop chutes, doors with easy to manipulate springs on the latches.
Why are you telling me this? So you’ll see how stupid it is, how untrustworthy that little fuck is. How does this make it stupid? Hatchet, I think you’re being set up. You’re crazy. You can’t deny it’s a possibility; Marcus, why would he be helping you? he obviously has money, doesn’t he? I’m not aiming for the vault. It doesn’t matter and you know it; what matters is hitching the success of a heavy fucking crime to this untrustworthy little prick. It’s not a crime if you don’t get caught. Godammit, grow up, Hatchet! Keep yer fuckin voice down, man, okay, so there’s a vault there; maybe he just doesn’t know it’s there. Bullshit. Are you kidding me? you really think he’s setting me up? why? I wouldn't kid you; these guys, these Calvary people are ready to party; you’re not; you’re like a college freshman with a bottle of whiskey; these guys are coke whores in a New York hotel room. I’ll handle it. You’re not listening to me. I can handle it, he showed Poole a flat palm then rose from his chair and went to the rear smoking room to find Woody Hightower.
Poole had grown weary of this game they were playing and now, looking into an abyss of seriousness in Hatchet's face, he couldn’t think of a better moment to reveal the ace he had been hiding for days. Woody’s in the back smoking, Poole told him. Really? Yup, and there’s something else. Talk to me. I’m not supposed to tell you this but there is a vault in that church. Hatchet watched as Poole’s face turned to stone and became impossible to read. How do you know? Talked to the guy who installed the fucking thing online a few days ago; he and I had to coordinate on some computer issues, redundant servers. You talked to a guy? The guy. Sometimes I think you want in on this, Poole. Don't make this about me. What’s this guy’s name? Poole laughed straight into his face. Where’s he from? San Antonio. A vault guy in San Antonio who worked on the Calvary expansion, got it.
Poole cursed inwardly. Hatchet would later that week track down the guy who installed the vault and that conversation would lead to another man who knew all about sliding doors installed on drop chutes, doors with easy to manipulate springs on the latches.
Why are you telling me this? So you’ll see how stupid it is, how untrustworthy that little fuck is. How does this make it stupid? Hatchet, I think you’re being set up. You’re crazy. You can’t deny it’s a possibility; Marcus, why would he be helping you? he obviously has money, doesn’t he? I’m not aiming for the vault. It doesn’t matter and you know it; what matters is hitching the success of a heavy fucking crime to this untrustworthy little prick. It’s not a crime if you don’t get caught. Godammit, grow up, Hatchet! Keep yer fuckin voice down, man, okay, so there’s a vault there; maybe he just doesn’t know it’s there. Bullshit. Are you kidding me? you really think he’s setting me up? why? I wouldn't kid you; these guys, these Calvary people are ready to party; you’re not; you’re like a college freshman with a bottle of whiskey; these guys are coke whores in a New York hotel room. I’ll handle it. You’re not listening to me. I can handle it, he showed Poole a flat palm then rose from his chair and went to the rear smoking room to find Woody Hightower.
Edit 11.9.2018