There is nothing better than bad weather

Written in response to: Write a story where it’s raining men, literally or metaphorically.... view prompt

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Adventure Fantasy Fiction

Sitting in the bar gets boring, and for the regulars, our appearance here is suspicious. Irene says she hasn't been to the movies in a long time. A movie is a movie. I found a horror film, the kind I don't watch myself and don't recommend to others, not without love scenes, of course, who'd be surprised. But we safely made it to the finale.

It was raining the same, shallow and boring rain outside. Visibility is poor, like through a veil.

- Why are you sad?

- I'm not sad. Why should you say that?

- I can see it. 

You can hear the water trickling down the sewer maintenance holes. I don't know what kind of mood you're in.

- Let's go for a walk.

Irene takes me by the arm. From afar, there's a couple walking and talking nicely.

- Aren't you going to take a look at the lair?

- Why not? - She answers a question with a question. - It's quiet, no passersby, it's late, no one will disturb us.

- That's how you put it. You just can't know it for sure.

- And how do you know that?

- One BBC told me.

I don't mind taking a walk, and we move slowly toward the facility. The façade of the three-story building faces a narrow alley, and the approach is one hundred percent visible. It is impossible to approach unnoticed. And as I am inclined to assume that the guards are awake, it is not advisable to get any closer. For the first reconnaissance of the terrain is enough. We act according to Sun Tzu's admonition: "When confronted with the enemy, one learns where he has an abundance and where he has a deficiency. We have yet to learn more about these shortcomings at our leisure.

The pale drizzle, behind which you cannot see not only the sky but also the nearest houses, is worthy of watercolour, but I am not an artist. I am an artist of the detective genre. And the water is good here, I must say in any quantity and for free.

- And why do you think what we're after is here?

- Because.

Whatever the question, that's the answer. We both silently conclude that we share a common but fiery passion. We do not talk about it, do not discuss it, but we are professionals. We must understand each other at a glance. Besides, I tend to believe Irene. She's an old-timer in this town compared to me. And we all have our secrets in the closet. I hope it's true that she hasn't gotten to my secrets. 

- Look...

- Where and for what?

- The attic room. The windows are curtained, but there's light coming in.

- Beautiful, my dear. But you're not raising any alarms. Someone's been working late, working overtime, that's all. 

- Think about it. Why would anyone want to work so late?

- Well... Mahjong lovers are not only mahjong lovers but also businessmen, I suppose. As far as I know, they have a decent turnover, a chain of stores and hotels, cafes and bars. It's possible that they have security guards on duty, a break room for the guards.

- On the top floor? I think that's where they keep the secret archive.

Oh, those women. Who's pulling their tongues around. You could just think to yourself and say nothing. But the rain's getting heavier, and the umbrella won't save us. It's time to go back. I gallantly, as a man and a gentleman should, escort Irene home, wish her good night, graciously accept a friendly kiss on the cheek, - and then wet, but happy, I scramble to my native door, where I, of course, welcome, where I will be warmed and fed with warm milk, and perhaps even give a lick of sour cream. 

How nice it is to have a home of my own! And to sleep under the roof of my own house.

Waiting is an art, and we cats have it to the full. Cat breed, what do you want. Our hours-long expectations are not always met. After flanking the building last night, which Irene and I viewed from afar at dusk, I'm convinced we're on the right track. I'm sure that's where Batman keeps his secrets. It now remains to ambush, figuratively speaking, of course, and wait. Sit and wait, how I hate that! Take your machine gun at the ready - and go on the offensive. Banzai! 

That Irene had the courage to lead me to see the attic room, where the light was accidentally flickering, thank you. For if there is an attic in a building, there must be an attic hole, simply put, a hole through which one can get in. I won't explain that to her: competition is competition on Ceres. And the fact that, as I see it, she and I are two rival organizations, no two ways about it. Yes, we cooperate for the time being. That's all. 

Yesterday's walk in the rain cost her a slight cold. Irene is in bed, naked, as a sick woman should be. As a gentleman, I delivered a variety of medicines to her home, even offered to massage her back-she thanked me politely for trying, but at the same time, I was glad of the turn of events. Now I could examine the area of the proposed landing in the attic a little more closely without interference from the outside. After all, Irene's appearance in my life represents a lucky star, an accident. But if you know how to wait, it is not an accident at all, but a reward. 

There was no time to lose. Irene might recover, and I didn't want to tell her the details of my plan or reveal my other-self. Life had taught me not to trust any man. I looked through binoculars at everything in sight. In the attic room, all the windows are tightly barred. To go down into the roofs and get into the archives with climbing equipment? - It is problematic, we would have to saw through the iron shutters, and we don't want to make any noise. We can't get into the building bypassing the guards through the main entrance in the daytime—Irene's right. And with guards around the clock, the chances are more than slim. But my idea is simple; it is not without reason that they say that all cats (and cats, of course) are gray at night. And one more, not the last obstacle - the actual safe. Here without Mr. Dimitrov, no way, at least kill yourself. Dimitrov is a weak link in the whole chain of my reasoning, and he can and should be properly pressed. Not only work, but money also makes a man free, and above all from morality and the pesky obligations imposed on us by all kinds of working instructions devised by management. I will help him to free himself from his stale moral fetters. But we must hurry, for I cannot guarantee that Irene will not get out of bed prematurely and do something stupid that will make the whole operation, which cost me a great deal of effort to prepare, go to waste in the final stages.

September 18, 2021 02:02

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