Wednesday 27 March 2013

Simmer


Carefully, with gloves on, I place the cheap, disposable phone into a clear plastic bag.  I take the knife from the hob, it's blade glowing dully in the half light of the evening, and use it's heat to seal the bag shut around the phone.  It's important that there is no way to trace it to me, no DNA evidence left behind.

Back to the hob, I gently stir the liquid in the large stock pot, being careful not to displace any onto the hob itself.  Despite using the largest pot I could find, it's still dangerously full.  With the greatest of care, the liquid is spooned laboriously into small bottles about 10 centimetres high, each capped with a small immersion heater.  Strapped to the side of each of the bottles are the bare bones of another disposable phone, wired into the heater.  At the moment, the phones are off; after all, safety first.

At my laptop, I peruse the map I have already committed to memory, running through the route in my mind for the thousandth time.  Lobby (bin); hallway (plant); bathroom (cistern); office (ventilation); elevator (up one floor); second hallway (bin); break room (cupboard); stairwell (up three floors); balcony (don't jump).  Carefully, I close all the open files, delete them from the memory stick, remove it, and smash it under foot.

"Whoops."

Time for bed.

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"Mornin'!" the guard at the office.  He always was too cheery for my tastes.  I smile politely, and throw what appears to be an old sandwich packet into the bin. 


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The wind is in my face.  I take a long draw on my cigarette, and toss the butt over the balcony.  I make the call, tear open the plastic bag, and let the phone fall to the alleyway below.  Unsurprisingly, it smashes.

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