[IC] The Poisonville Auditions

[Polyphemus]

"So, I want to know exactly what the hell we're dealing with," Roman Cunningham said bluntly. He was always blunt. Even in public, when he attempted to give off a charming and friendly air, he was notably plainspoken. Besides, a man with knife scars on his face and a patch over his right eye had some difficulty persuading people that he had always been a beloved figure. No wonder everyone's against me, was a sour thought that often crossed his mind. Not today, though. Roman Cunningham was cheerful today. All his problems were about to be solved.

"We've got several arrivals coming in today," Hickey informed him. Hickey was a big man, with long hair and beard, who looked distinctly uncomfortable in the shirt and tie he wore. Hickey was used to denim and leather. Hickey was used to a lot of things that were no longer in his life. For one, he was used to being in charge, but things had changed in the last year, and he now answered to Roman instead of calling the shots for himself. It was probably for the best. As far as anyone was concerned, anymore Hickey was just an office worker at Cunningham Transport, not the man who had been run out of Rapid City. The big man cleared his throat, went on. "Our man at the airstrip just called and said Honolulu just arrived. Pittsburgh, Buffalo, and Oklahoma City have been here. Los Angeles, Cheyenne, Chicago, and Rhode Island all said yes, so they ought to be rolling in shortly. We're still waiting to hear from Las Vegas and New York, and we still have a pile of invitations to send out for, uh, the party."

"Start sending them out," Roman said tonelessly. He swiveled his chair, had a look out the office window. There wasn't really a very impressive view. Other men in his position had a penthouse office, a city to glower down upon. He just had this trailer, inside his fenced compound. Just outbuildings and a few trucks to look out. The mountains were visible, blue and indistinct in the distance, and maybe you could see movement if you looked the other way, towards Personville. A little town in the middle of the wilderness. Like an island in the ocean.

Roman frowned as he saw the slightly yellowish gas venting from the locked warehouse beside his trailer. One one hand, it meant the cook was going according to schedule. On the other, it made it too obvious what was going on. No wonder word had started to get out, people had starting speaking against him in the town, cops had come sniffing. And the bastards come up from Vegas, looking to buy him out. As if. The money was nice, sure, but this was his. He owned it. He owned this town, and every tweaker in five states. And nothing, no one was going to take that from him.

It'd be their funeral if they tried.

"We've waited long enough, Hickey," Roman growled. "Send out the lists. They know the score, we explained it in the email. We're offering a seven-figure salary, we ought to have the best answering. Let's see just how good they are." He rubbed irritably at his eyepatch, an annoyed tic he often displayed. "Let's start the auditions."

---

In the town of Personville, in planes in the air, in rental cars speeding along Interstate 90, the message was received. Laptops and mobile phones blinked to life, the secure and encrypted email received. Despite the layer of cybersecurity, it was still carefully couched in euphemistic language- you couldn't be too careful these days. The message was read, heads nodded, work began.

RE: The Audition Process

Thank you for your interest in this role! As a word of warning, expect this process to be highly competitive- this will be one of the hot new plays of the season! We are pleased to host actors from LA, Providence, Pittsburgh, Chicago, Cheyenne, New York, Buffalo, Oklahoma City, Las Vegas and Honolulu, among many other cities. Keep an eye out for your competitors- remember this show only has one opening!

The following are characters we'd like you to read for. Any resemblance to actual people in Personville is purely coincidental, of course.

1. Joel Crenshaw, alderman, City of Personville
2. Sigurd Lindquist, editor, Personville Herald
3. Joanna Carver, principal, Personville High School
4. Elizabeth Nguyen, DEA agent, Denver Field Office
5. Harlan Kohler, rancher and entrepreneur
6. Arkady Gorschibov, teamster. Cunningham Transport
7. Samuel Twentykiller, captain, Montana Highway Patrol
8. James Bachmeier, pastor, Personville Lutheran Church
9. Justine Schertheim, blogger and e-journalist
10. Giacomo Salviati, "olive oil salesman", Las Vegas

Good luck and have fun!

All the best,
R.C.

[DR_TRAPEZOID]

Cheyenne smiled as the message came through, a simple tune ringing out from her pocket. Of course, she couldn't answer it from her motorcycle, but she was just under a mile out from Personville. She swerved back and forth slightly as she drove, fatigue almost getting the best of her. But for now, she couldn't waste time. Not when this hunt had such high stakes. As soon as she could see the welcoming sign over the horizon, she pulled over to the side of the road, grimacing as her bike bounced over the buzzer strip.

Stretching out a bit as she dismounted the motorcycle, before pulling out her phone. She quickly read over the message, lingering over the list. She frowned, before deciding to pull out a small piece of paper, upon which the names and professions were quickly scribbled. Upon memorizing the list as well as she could, she snapped the phone in half, stuffing the remnants into the exhaust pipe of the motorcycle. Taking her sweet time, she removed a rather large saddle bag, checking the contents briefly.

Satisfied with her work, Cheyenne removed a bottle of whiskey from the bag, tossing it carelessly onto the road, contents spilling across the pavement. After waiting a brief moment, Cheyenne violently struck the bike with her leg, the light craft tipping over rather easily. She took one last brief look before walking away, headed towards the city. She made some distance before hearing a loud crash behind her. Though she flinched a bit, she showed no other reaction. Surely enough, a vehicle had not noticed the motorcycle until too late, and ended up in an unfortunate wreck. Though the body of the biker wouldn't be found, the spilled beer would be proof enough to the police that this was nothing more than a drinking and driving incident.

Cheyenne took out her list once more, to take a look at the targets, Why waste time, when she could get ahead? That is, assuming no one else had gotten around to killing before her. The list showed a promising candidate- Principal of the high school? Plenty easy to track down, probably easy enough to put a hole through.

Though looking a bit out of place, Cheyenne strutted into the high school as if she belonged. She only hoped that she had made it before the principal could leave. Most of the walk over she had been rehearsing her story over and over. This mark would be easy enough to take out, as long as she played it safe. How embarrassing would it be to fail so quickly, after all. So, when she asked to speak with the principle, and entered that all too sweet smelling office, she had a gentle smile on her face, a rarely seen expression.

"Hello there, is it Joanna? Mind if I take a seat?" She asked, not really waiting for an answer to sit. "Alright, I know that it's late in the school year and all, but my family has only just moved here, and we wanted to see if we could get our sweet boy enrolled. I know, we should've called a lot earlier, but this has all been very sudden, and my sweet Giacomo insisted we wait until our arrival." She said, voice coated with honey. "Now, I'm going to leave you with my husbands number, and he will be in Friday to speak to you about this. Does 6:00 work for you?" Cheyenne asked, talking quickly, so as to not give the principal room to respond. "Anyways, I'd love to stay and chat some more, but I've got to get going. New town, new jobs, you know how it is. Oh by the way, my husband's name is Giacomo Salviati, so you know who to look for. Alright, I'll let you get back to your work now. Buh bye!"

Without another word, Cheyenne left, strutting away with a peppy confidence in her step. Yes, this would go all too well, so long as the name of Salivati went unrecognized. That had been a spotty part of her plan- she knew nothing about the man. Another target, but labeled Las Vegas? Her employer didn't drag her out to the middle of bumfuck nowhere just to send her back out somewhere even further, did he? Still, these thoughts were quickly wiped away by a swig of booze. Now, she could wait.

[MrDidact]

Los Angeles received the message on his phone as he drove into Personville in his inconspicuous rental car. The man's eyes, hidden by shades, pored over the message as he drove. He shut his phone off after memorizing it and continued driving into the town. Los Angeles pursed his lips as he considered the odds. They were almost a dozen assassins on the job and only ten targets. He'd have to thin the herd if he had any chance of winning.

This town in the middle of nowhere was an unlikely choice for such a competition but a lot of blood was going to be spilled before this was all over. He just had to make sure that none of it was his. Los Angeles considered the blades on his person and found himself confident in his success. But who to target first? About a third were government officials, and some were placed in areas were collateral damage would draw a lot of attention. The "olive oil" salesman was an unknown quantity and so was his own competition.

The time it would take to scope out the tougher targets or try to find his rivals would put him too far behind. He'd pick an easy mark. Somebody he could get close enough to stick a knife in without too much difficulty. The good father it was. He looked at the passing mountains and trees. They were beautiful, sights he rarely ever saw. Too bad they'd be the sight of so much carnage. Los Angeles wondered what his mother would think of him killing a priest. Poorly he thought, but then again the target was a Lutheran so he couldn't be sure.

Los Angeles drove through the small town, watching the streets and landscapes that were so different from the city he knew. He checked into his hotel, only stopping to briefly hydrate and concealing some tools. He then checked on the storage container he rented to stow some supplies and equipment. Los Angeles got back in the car and drove off to the Church. He parked a few blocks from the Church and put on a simple jacket. He checked his hidden blades and hid his pistol within the shoulder-holster, then strapped on his hold-out near his ankle. Los Angeles left the gloves but decided to keep the shades on. No point in scaring anyone even more.

The assassin steadily made his way to the Church and calmly walked in the door, holding off on removing his shades for as long as possible. He kept his hands by his sides as he found the nearest church worker, not bothering to cross himself as he entered. Those days were over. It wasn't Sunday so it wasn't too crowded or busy. Los Angeles did not smile but kept a polite expression, "Hello. I'm new in town and was just looking around for a place that my family and I can attend service. Is there anyway I can meet with the Pastor to discuss the congregation?"

Los Angeles was perfectly calm but kept a look-out. After all they said great minds think alike and Los Angeles was an excellent assassin. Perhaps one of the other players was here as well. He was watchful for someone that didn't look like they belonged in this folksy small town. If there were any here, he'd have to kill them along with the Pastor. But quietly and without much fuss. If he played his cards right, the Pastor would get a quick death and there'd be nothing leading to him.

He idly wondered what is was about James Bachmeir that made Cunningham want him dead. Perhaps the Pastor was the real deal and he wanted to rid the town of the likes of Cunningham? Los Angeles was curious but he knew it didn't matter. What mattered was that he completed the job and stayed alive. But perhaps it wouldn't hurt to do some digging as well.

[Orchestratic]

When her wrist and phone rang simultaneously, Silva swerved in her black SUV slightly and clumsily, being startled by the two types of ringing and vibrations. She blushed a bit, embarrassed for seemingly no reason - as no one else was with her in the vehicle - then carefully removed the left gauntlet and placed it atop the steering wheel so she could read while she drove. She read the list and saved it all onto the drive within the gauntlet with a few taps on the screen, then deleting the original copy. She figured she'd have time to encrypt her own list later; not that she'd ever been hacked before.

While the list hung in front of her on the wheel, she wondered where to start since she was already in Personville. It'd been a year since she'd taken out her last mark, so a nice, easy, and quiet test for her seemed the best. Sliding her finger along the virtual list as she watched both the screen and the road, she highlighted the pastor's named with a quick swipe. Well, it's a good thing I'm not religious.... Silva thought to her self with a small giggle, which almost made her feel a little guilty. She sighed out her tension and took a deep breath, accelerating slightly, not really considering being inconspicuous. Like it mattered; there weren't many large black SUVs in a small town like this, so stealth went out the window earlier than anticipated.

She turned on her GPS on her gauntlet, still attached to the wheel, locating the church with relative ease. She passed it without slowing down, quickly scanning the outskirts for anyone or anything out of place; this was an easy target, so she was prepared for competition.This'll have to be quick, then, she thought, not that she really worked any other way. After rounding the block a couple times, she parked at a nearby truck-stop, behind it's building and next to two semi drivers who were still sleeping from night shifts. Hopefully she just looked like she worked there, or was running her own errand and needed rest as well. She giggled as she realized that in some way, she kind of was running an errand of her own.

Swiftly, Silva attached her gauntlets and loaded the top and bottom launchers variously; even though there was no sign of her competitors, there would likely be a sign soon enough. After all, she couldn't be seen in her place, either. Dawning her grey cloak, she walked out from the SUV with the hood down and let the gentle breeze push the jacket against her ankles,, masquerading her trademark as a simple trench coat. After checking the streets to make sure she was alone, Silva dashed toward the church,and stood against the wall by the entrance, Her back to it as she used her gauntlet to active the cloak, light suddenly bending around her body, rendering her simply a part of the world's background. She was about to take a few steps inside before she realized she was just a floating head.She blushed and quickly pulled the cloak over her head, ducked it down, and nimbly stepped inside, [i[Nine minutes, forty nine seconds, [/i], she read off of the timer on her wrist, shutting the door silently. She moved quickly behind the pews toward a cracked-open doorway, hoping no one would notice the gap widening slightly more.

"Hello. I'm new in town and was just looking around for a place that my family and I can attend service. Is there anyway I can meet with the Pastor to discuss the congregation?" The words caught her attention, but his appearance did not. Was he competition, or was this simple coincidence? Luck or life-threatening? Silva slipped through the cracked door and found a set of nearby stairs, ascending to the upper pews to watch from above. Once she was up top, she grabbed a seat and deactivated her cloak into a simple trench coat once more and grabbed the bible from the pew in front of her to blend, just appearing to want to be alone up top looking for a little faith... and out of the mans line of sight. Assassin or not, if he's getting to the pastor, I'm going with him...

[Polyphemus]

The High School

"Just one moment, young lady!" For such a petite woman, Principal Carver had a booming and strident voice. Twenty-five years in Tacoma's public schools had done that to her, she had seen the worst, she knew all the tricks, and she had stood stalwart against delinquents and outside influences. Fast talking and a quick departure were not enough to pull the wool over her eyes.

The principal stormed after Cheyenne, catching up with her just outside the doors. "This is an alcohol-free campus, young lady," Carver said with scathing disapproval as she snatched the bottle of whiskey from Cheyenne and slipped it into the pocket of her own blazer. "I've already had the displeasure of meeting Mr. Salviati. I know exactly who your husband is. And for that reason I will not allow your son enrollment in my school." She scowled more. "I am responsible for the safety and welfare of five hundred students. If you think that means I will consider for one moment allowing a mafioso like Giacomo Salviati to settle in Personville and endanger my students with drugs and the promise of illegal employment with Cunningham's thugs, then you are deeply mistaken. I am sorry, but your son is not welcome at my school." Carver lifted a walkie-talkie off her belt, held it threateningly close to her mouth. "You have one minute to leave this campus or I will have you escorted off the premises."

The Church

The worker gave Los Angeles a long, critical stare before nodding mutely and leading LA down a side hallway to a glass door marked "Pastor's Office." The worker knocked and opened the door. "Pastor James, gentleman here to see you."

The pastor, a florid and balding round-faced man, got up from his desk with a smile. "Nice to meet you, he said with a hearty handshake. "Thanks, Mike, you can go," he said, dismissing the man who had ushered LA in. The gaunt custodian vanished silently. "You'll have to forgive Mike," the pastor said apologetically. "He means well. Unfortunately, not every newcomer to this area has had the best intentions. I'll be frank with you, this town isn't quite what it once was. Mike's wife has developed something of a drug problem. Very sad thing, such a nice woman, too. But it's been happening so often lately." The pastor sighed, and for a moment LA could see the tremendous weight on the man's shoulders. "We're trying to do what we can about this, this unholy epidemic. But there's only so much we can do." The pastor caught himself, smiled brightly once again. "Forgive me, I was rambling there. What can I do for you today?"

Meanwhile, in the balcony pews, it was becoming apparent to Silva just how beat-up this place was. The building had probably been constructed in the Thirties, but well-maintained, up until a few years ago. Paint peeled on the walls, the once lovingly polished wood lacked luster, rust peeked through on metal fixtures. Tithes had stopped coming at some point, this much was obvious.

Silva heard a delicate cough behind her, turned to see the custodian, Mike, standing there. "Something I can help you with, Miss?" he asked.

[DR_TRAPEZOID]

Cheyenne grimaced, losing any calm she might've had earlier. She didn't do subtle often, but she had given it an honest effort this time. She stared the principal in the eye for less than a second, before taking action. Though Cheyenne certainly was no Hercules, her years of hard labor on a ranch gave her the strength to overpower the rather old principal. A quick sweep of the arm, and the walkie-talkie was on the floor. "We could've done this the easy way." Cheyenne muttered, kicking up her leg. Out from her boot slid the bowie knife, metal smoothly running across leather. Though it might've been a rather difficult maneuver, many bored nights had been spent practicing it, and it finally paid off. In the split second it took to do the motion, the knife was already in her hand.

It was a quick death for the old woman, even merciful in consideration of what others might do. The oversized blade sunk deep into her neck, a spurt of blood quickly covering the terror on the old wrinkled face. Cheyenne walked away, blade easily sliding out to accompany her. A sigh tumbled out from her lips, as she began to wipe the blade clean, before shoving it back into her boot.

'That could've gone better.' She thought to herself. She really had thought her plan had been rather clever, and it would've gone off without a hitch. Perhaps people here were simply far more harsh than she had expected. Obviously, she would have to adjust her style, or be left in the dust. She could only imagine how the others were doing- more likely than not, the rest of the list had been crossed off by her competitors. She began to curse herself for the carelessness of that kill, unable to even savor the fact that she had accomplished it so quickly.

It was then that she remembered the bottle of whiskey- That wasn't exactly something that she wanted left there. So, after quickly ducking back to remove the evidence, she continued a hasty, but not quite suspicious walk away from the corpse. As she walked, she pulled out her list, crossing off the name of the principal rather quickly. All in all, it hadn't gone too badly, after all. Cheyenne had managed to get some good information out of the Principal, along with the kill. Giacomo must already be in the town, which was good. But, that mafioso comment was unnerving. Though she hadn't really understand a man who would put a hit out on a principal, she also hadn't expected to be dealing with members of the mafia. Of course, perhaps it was simply an ethnic slur. Of course, she had been clear with the statement of drugs. A rather disgruntled look on her face, Cheyenne scribbled the word 'mafia' on the list, next to Salviati.

A swig of whiskey rather quickly shifted her thought process. It was at that moment that she was walking past the church. For just a brief moment, she remembered the pastor being on her hit list. But she didn't linger. A religious woman, she did not need that murder on her mind. Let one of the others be responsible for that one. Cheyenne shook her head a bit. Who in their right mind would even commit a murder in a church, no matter what the price on the mans head?

[MrDidact]

"David Flores, it's a pleasure." Los Angeles smiled briefly but remained standing, leaning back on a wall to listen to the pastor.

Los Angeles nodded in understanding, "There's no need. I can understand what he's going through and I'm not exactly the picture of friendliness myself." He allowed himself a brief, rueful grin and for a moment he felt a twinge in his heart. He'd seen stories like this dozens of times over. Honest, hard-working, decent people struggling to survive. And the compassionless puppetmasters and puppets who rob them of that.

This man was a good man. The kind of man that might have saved Los Angeles when he was younger. But those days were past. Los Angeles was not a good man. At this point he was hardly a man at all, just a cluster of organs, brain functions, and the occasional flash of emotion. This moment spurred one such flash of Humanity. It was snuffed out almost instantly. The high road was the hard one. And it was often cut short. Los Angeles made a commitment to make it quick and painless.

Los Angeles adopted a grim expression and reached into his coat withdrawing a slim black wallet-sized object and flipped it open revealing a very convincing fake DEA badge, "That's actually exactly the kind of thing I want to talk about, I just needed to get you alone. Special Agent David Flores with the DEA. I'm part of a joint FBI-DEA Task Force investigating Cunningham. We need to put a stop to him and I think you can help us."

He walked forward and replaced the badge in his jacket drawing out a piece of paper and a digital voice recorder. He placed the piece of paper and slid it forward while activating the recorder and placing it on the table as well, "These are a list of people we believe Roman Cunningham is looking to kill." The paper listed all of the targets except for the pastor himself, "You're a pastor. You have your fingers on the pulse of this community." Los Angeles went back to the door and locked it and closed the shades into the office.

Los Angeles poured the traces of empathy and compassion he had for this man into his eyes as he looked at him, "I know it's a risk but we're willing to offer protection. And if you can tell us everything you might know about these people, we could use it to better protect them. We could save lives. And anything you can tell us about Cunningham: anything at all, even rumors it'd be a great help." Los Angeles placed his hand on the pastor's shoulder, "We need your help. You have a chance to bring down the forces that are destroying this community."

He kept the recorder on and let the pastor talk. Whether he told him or not, he listened in full. After the pastor was done speaking he turned off the recorder and recovered the list and device before saying, "Thank you James you've been a big help. Just know we're going to get this guy." Los Angeles placed his hand around his shoulder again and walked behind him. A knife flashed into his hands from the sheath on his forearm. Long, flat, and sharp it was made for thrusting deep into flesh. He drew it by the handle and flicked it in his wrist so the business end pointed at the man's skull. The hand on the pastor's shoulder rushed to cover his mouth while the knife flashed forward.

The blade sank into the Pastor at the base of the skull and before the first vertebrae. It happened with such speed, the knife and hand were a blur as they rushed into the Pastor who barely had any idea what was going on before he died. His spinal cord was severed and his breathing and heartbeat stopped instantly. Los Angeles' hand remained over his mouth on the off chance he made any noise as he silently dropped forward.

Los Angeles retracted his blade and carefully sat the Pastor back up in his chair, closing his eyelids. It might have looked like the Pastor was taking a nap. Los Angeles took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood off the knife before putting it back in the sheath. Once upon a time he might have said a quick prayer but no more. The way the whole kill occurred would have to do.

After the quick but grisly business, Los Angeles activated the man's computer if it was locked he left it alone but if it was open he plugged in a small but high-storage USB to copy any interesting files. Then he gave the office itself a quick once-over, looking into any drawers or containers but staying as quiet as possible. After pocketing anything that might assist him in his mission he looked back at the pastor and shook his head.

In another world, in another life this man would have been a hero. Now he was a casualty. Los Angeles unlocked the door and quickly but calmly strode out. He quietly closed the door and looked for a back exit before getting out of the church and taking a long way back to his car while keeping a lookout for anything suspicious. He made it back to his car and got in before going over the list on his phone. He crossed off the pastor before looking for another target.

He decided to stick to the easy marks and thought Sigurd Lindquist was a likely candidate. He calmly drove off to the Personville Herald, taking his time and keeping an eye out for any tails. He found the building and took a nice drive around to scope out the building and its details. It was the middle of the day and the building was likely to be busy. Los Angeles parked a nice distance away from the building and strolled on in with an average air about himself.

Los Angeles eyed his surroundings while he approached the front desk. He smiled at the receptionist, "Hey. Is Sigurd Lindquist in? I think I might have something that he'd be interested in and I'd like to have a meeting to discuss it."

[Orchestratic]

Silva watched carefully as the large man was lead to the pastor's office, her position from above making it very easy to stay inconspicuous. As they got further away and into the office, they were well out of earshot. Swiftly, she ducked under the balcony's railing to move a few pews closer, still gripping the bible. Now activating the goggles so the ear pieces power on, the range of "earshot" extends to the door where the two are talking idly. Hearing the voices clearly, Silva begins to fake her interest in the Holy text again, but it's not long before the door is shut and her technology becomes useless. With a loud sigh, she touches a button on the side of the goggles and powers the device down again. It'd have been nice to get some information beforehand, but it'd be fine -- she'd just have to get closer to the door. The custodian that the pastor had called Mike seemed to be the only other variable these hours, and she highly doubted the man would prove to be much to maneuver around.

Ironically, that's when Mike's voice startled her from behind, cutting the silence and crashing through her thoughts with a jolt. She frowned as she stared down at the bible, confused. Was it not good enough to pretend to fit in here? Granted the cloak next to her and the goggles made her stick out a bit, and according to the pastor the man was quite paranoid of new people. He had good intentions, so SIlva's plans almost made her feel bad. She knew the man would be alright, however, assuming all went well. With a sigh, she turned toward him with a not-so-practiced plain face. "Um, no, I'm fine, sir... I just thought I could use some extra faith tonight... I'll be on my way." Silva reached into her cloak as if to put it on but instead snapped on her left gauntlet. She smiled at the man one more time before letting her smile fall apart, pointing her arm at him and letting two paralyzing darts fly at his neck and chest respectively. Whether they hit or not, she swiftly stands and dawns the cloak in a very practiced move, staying low and pulling the hood up as she darts down the stairs. When on the stairs themselves and out of sight, the cloak activates and lets her image melt into the background as she slowly moves toward the pastor's office.

The door opens again lightly as Silva arrives at it, causing her to stand still and press against a wall, rendering her back the same paint-chipped color as it to hide her presence. The man was already leaving, and doing so alone, searching for and taking the back exit. Did he just...? When the man was out of sight out the back door, Silva made a swift few steps to the door and cracked it open, seeing the pastor's lifeless body slumped on the ground. Fuck, he IS one! As aggravated as she was, it did make things very interesting.

Gritting her teeth, Silva ran as swiftly as possible to the back door, then cracked it open and slipped through -- her cloak was twice as effective with the assistance of darkness. After locating the man within the alleys, she realized his size made it very unlikely she could win a fight from this position. Even if she were to load him with paralyzing darts, there's no guarantee a man who was so quick and effective with an unidentified method of attack couldn't handle them. Silva decided in her current position it was best if she were to just track his location -- which she achieved when they finally made it to his vehicle and she shot one of her small trackers into the grill before escaping toward her own vehicle. She used the road to quickly backtrack, turning off her cloak as soon as she was out of sight. She had only four minutes and thirty-nine seconds left, anyway, so it was good that she let the cloak recharge.

In her SUV again, she clipped the left gauntlet to her steering wheel again and turned on her GPS. The game of cat and mouse began as Silva watched the location of the rental car move along the streets on the small screen, eventually following from several streets behind. Eventually, she the target began circling the Personville Herald, making his target obvious: Sigurd Lindquist. She had to beat him to it this time... she had to. Silva was not about to be outdone twice in a row. However, having a little insurance couldn't hurt. After the car parked and she was certain the man had entered the building, Silva parked four spaces away and swiftly stepped out and made her way to the man's rental car. Take my kill, I'll take your power... could use it anyway. She giggled quietly, then in one swift move opened the hood and unhooked the battery. Flipping out her small knife, she popped the two front tires and moved away after shutting the hood quietly, putting the battery in her own car. Later on, this battery could be used for powering her suit in an emergency.

Inside the building, she looked around for the man. The timer on her gauntlet read almost nine minutes -- almost a full refill. With her cloak appearing to be a jacket again and her hood down, her gauntlets were covered and her goggles were in her pocket. She was desperate to fit in and find the male assassin before he made his move. She even slipped her taser-gloves into her pockets in preparation... I don't know who you are, mysterious assassin, but you will NOT take this one for me. Suddenly, the target's life even seemed irrelevant; Silva didn't even realize what this game was doing to her already, and this was just the beginning.

[Polyphemus]

The Pastor's Statement

If Los Angeles bothered to replay the tape at any point, he would hear the friendly voice of James Bachmeier. The man had talked briefly but efficiently.

"We don't really know a whole lot about Roman Cunningham, to be honest. Some people think he came up from New Orleans, others from Kansas City, other people say the Czech Republic or Britain. Nobody really knows for sure. All anyone knows is that about a year back he showed up and deposited a couple million at the Savings and Trust, then took out loans to build up his trucking company."

"At first everyone was excited- the mine dried up back in the Fifties and there wasn't much work to be had. The trucking company meant jobs, right? That's the way everyone chose to look at it. And sure, some people here in town ended up getting jobs. But most of his employees seemed to come from out of town. Thugs and toughs from all over the country, a lot of them with gang tattoos. Some complained, but ultimately they kept to themselves and seemed happy to spend money here in town."

"Then the drugs started coming in. The meth was getting sold at the high school, at the bowling alley, at bars, everywhere. Ordinary, decent people were getting hooked, they were selling their cars and furniture just to be able to buy more. And Roman just seemed to be getting richer. The police didn't seem to care. Dealers would get busted once in a while, then given a slap on the wrist. Just keeping up appearances. The mayor did nothing. Finally, it seemed like only me, Harlan, Joanna, and Sigurd cared at all. We got ahold of some folks in Helena, and they sent out Captain Twentykiller to have a look around. And now the DEA! Prayers really do come true."

The Street

Cheyenne heard the screeching of brakes next to her. A Crown Victoria slid into the curb at speed. Normally, there are three different users of Crown Vics: police, senior citizens, and rental agencies. This particular car belonged to the last category. That fact might normally be of some comfort to Cheyenne, except for the man jumping out the door and the Smith and Wesson 442 dangling from his hand atop the door frame.

"So, lady, did someone rip the S section out of your dictionary?" he called. He was a thirty-something Asian man, his eyes hidden behind expensive sunglasses. Dressed in a flashy sharkskin suit, it was clear he had money to burn. "Because you don't seem to know the meaning of 'subtle'. Killing the principal right in front of the school took some guts. I like guts, but it takes more than that to get by in this business."

As if on cure, a siren started to sound in the background. "See what I mean?" said the man with a wry grin. "Tell you what, you want to hop in, I'll give you a ride and bend your ear a little. I've got a line on Harlan Kohler, but it looks to be a two-man job. I get you away from the Five-Oh, you help me out, we see where it goes from there. Win-win, right?" The man known only as Honolulu grinned ear to ear as he invitingly opened the passenger side door of his rental.

Cheyenne was faced with a choice. Taker her chances with the police, or take her chances with Honolulu.

The Herald

The receptionist wrinkled her nose at LA's request. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lindquist is out on assignment at the moment. I really can't say when he'll be back. Could I maybe take a message for you, sir?"

Silva, hanging back and watching in the lobby, could see the mysterious Hispanic man hanging out by the front desk. That was one advantage to this contest taking place in such a small town, especially one in Montana- anyone who wasn't white or Native American would stick out like a sore thumb.

As if to punctuate that thought, another man came into the lobby, one who was very hard to miss. Maybe it was his height of 6'5", maybe the shaven head and walrus mustache, maybe the thick arm muscles. Maybe it was the fact that he was the only black man Silva or Los Angeles had seen in this town so far. Or maybe it was his yellow and black Steelers hoodie.

Whatever it was, it made him immediately noticeable. Everyone in the lobby seemed to be watching this man as his long legs carried him up to the front desk. "Is Sigurd Lindquist in?" he asked in a deep, rumbling voice.

The receptionist shrugged. "Like I just told this gentleman, no, he's out at the moment. May I take a message for either of you?"

The big man didn't respond, instead turning to look at LA like a bear looks at a salmon. "You were asking after him too, eh?" the big man asked slowly.

[MrDidact]

Los Angeles had been in this game a long time. He'd survived because he'd been cautious and aware of his surroundings. Years of dodging people who were out to kill him cultivated a kind of six sense for being followed or watched. Right now that sense was flaring. He couldn't be sure of it but his gut said he was being tailed by somebody. He couldn't even be sure of who this presumed tail was. There weren't very many cars on the street but he thought he might have caught sight of the same SUV once or twice.

The man decided to exercise caution as he listened the receptionist. He was about to say something when the door opened and one of the biggest men he'd ever seen in his life walked in. Los Angeles' predator mind took in all the details quickly and methodically. The man has a head on me and quite a bit more weight. Probably a bruiser but capabilities and weapons unknown. Likely the Pittsburgh operative. Do not underestimate. Los Angeles started calculating ways he might kill this man.

None of them would be easy. While he watched Pittsburgh he noticed a girl wearing what seemed to be a concealing jacket. It was much more... expansive than one really needed and hid her face as well as her hands. Either she was an extremely socially awkward person or she was one of the competition. Perhaps she was the one who was following him? Pittsburgh didn't indicate any interest in him at first but he got a different feeling from her. Los Angeles didn't get too good a look at her because he simply gave her a casual sweep of his gaze, not telegraphing any real interest.

Los Angeles looked at the receptionist and said, "Yes. Just tell him that I'd love to give an interview about the local trucking industry. Here's where he can reach me." He slid a card with the name of Francisco Montes and a number to a burner phone. Los Angeles turned to face Pittsburgh who was eyeing him like a hunter. Los Angeles kept his stance neutral but strong, looking him in the eye and broadcasting his claim to Alpha male.

Los Angeles didn't reach for any weapons. In this public space that'd be a rookie mistake, "Lindquist is one of the best journalists in town so I heard. I just wanted to give him my two cents about a story he's working on. What's your interest?"

[DR_TRAPEZOID]

Though Cheyenne could clearly see how badly this could end, she spent very little time thinking over the proposition. She had a hard time believing that she would get much sympathy in the courts, and without her rifle assembled, she wouldn't be able to hold her own. (Not that she would do much better with the gun). A bullet to the head from this man, no matter how immodest, would be much better than being held back behind bars, estranged and isolated.

Wordlessly, she quickly crossed the car, hopping in the passenger seat. She disliked the grin on the mans face, and met it with little more than her usual scowl, though her eyes were lighter, reflecting enough gratitude to be seen by the watchful. She quickly closed the door upon sitting, and pulled her bag out, to rest it on her lap. She slightly ignored Honolulu, until her bag was open and she was rummaging around the contents.

"So, which one are you?" She asked. After receiving an answer, she carried on. "Yeah, it didn't go how I had hoped back there. But, the job got done, and from how this is going, it looks like one murder that will go unsolved for the time being. The start of a great relationship." She muttered. As she spoke, her hands flew quickly around just beneath the dashboard. Though it wouldn't attract much outside attention, it was clear that she was assembling her rifle. She stopped rather quickly, leaving off the longer parts, before stuffing the mostly-assembled gun back in her bag.

"So, Harlan Kholer? Haven't thought much on her. Where the hell do you find a... rancher and entrepreneur?" She asked, having to pull out her list and check the names.