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The Ahmen checked out of the Hyatt and drove to the local Best Buy on La Brea, just below Santa Monica Boulevard. He parked underground and took the elevator up to the retail level, walking past the Target discount store to the lofty specialty-retailing cathedral of consumer electronics, personal computers, entertainment software, and appliances, decorated in yellow and blue.
He walked down the aisles, dodging the discount tables and ignoring the sale stickers tempting him with incredible savings until he arrived in the personal computer section of the store. Once there, he talked to a helpful man wearing a headset. Together, they selected two HP laser printers on special for the next six hours. His third purchase was a motorized projection screen, sixty inches wide. They stacked the three boxes on a dolly and wheeled them through checkout and down to the elevators to the parkade.
The Ahmen opened the back gate of his Lincoln and waited for the man to load the three boxes into the back. When he finished and turned to him with a big smile, the Ahmen knocked him out with a blow to the side of his head. He dragged the man to a spot between two cars down the aisle from his own car and then tossed the dolly into the back of his car.
He drove out the exit, using the free one-hour parking credit on his ticket. He had to admit the entire shopping experience was convenient, satisfying and economical. It was the best of America in one city block.
The Ahmen stopped at the Subway sandwich shop at Highland and Franklin and picked up three foot-longs for himself and his companions, then slipped into the Starbucks next door for coffees and three date squares. He turned onto Franklin, drove east to North Beechwood and headed north into the hills surrounding the Hollywood Reservoir.
In a city as large as Los Angeles, it is difficult to find an isolated spot where one could organize an arsenal of weapons to prepare for a major assault on a fortified urban building. However, there are a few. The Ahmen had traveled every curvy bend in the roads around the reservoir and higher, all the way to the Hollywood sign. He stopped at a lookout just south of the dog park beneath the sign, looking back over the majesty of the reservoir and the city shrouded in fog beyond. He unpacked the sandwiches, giving Chac the meatball marinara, Dr. Kipling the turkey breast & ham and keeping the steak and cheese for himself.
For the next half-hour, they sat in the car with the air conditioning on full, eating sandwiches and drinking coffee. A light breeze rippled the water in the reservoir. A few dog owners drove by. A tourist family stopped next to them, stepped out of their car, looked around, and then left, heading up to the Hollywood sign. It was a gorgeous day, perfect for almost anything one liked to do. The Ahmen savored the moment, drinking the calm around him as he pictured the future in his mind. It was a special day for him and he wanted to remember every moment.
Today he was quitting his job.
The Ahmen drove into the subdivision behind the reservoir, finding a dead-end street butting up against the canyon wall. He backed into the far end of the turnaround and raised the trunk lid of the Lincoln. He unloaded the two printer boxes, removed the printers and Styrofoam packing, setting them on the hillside behind him. He pulled the projection screen from the third box and tossed it in the bushes. He then carefully loaded the three boxes with his equipment. The first printer box held the Snakeskin helmet and backpack, handguns, grenades, and ammunition. The long projection screen box held the assault rifle, shotgun, and the tear gas gun, along with the ammunition and more smoke grenades. He knew he needed lots of smoke. He packed the other printer box full of grenades, hooked together to explode with one rip of the cord connecting them together.
His last preparations would wait until later. His personal collection of poisons included a quantity of sarin, a chemical poison. It attacked the nervous system, deadly and nearly instantaneous.
He planned to adapt several tear gas canisters to mix in the Sarin, making the irritant deadly.
He laid the three boxes in the trunk side by side and laid the dolly on top. Beside the dolly, he placed the sniper rifle, wrapped in a blanket. Now, he would wait until dark, steal a delivery truck and wait for the hungry bastards in the Archer building to order pizza.
The Ahmen climbed back into the driver’s seat. He turned to his companion and smiled.
“All set for tonight?” asked Dr. Kipling, nervously.
“Yes,” he said, looking at his watch. “We have a few hours to kill. What would you to like to do?”
From the back seat, Chac snorted, clearing dried skin from his nose.
“Oh dear,” he said, looking back at the armadillo. “You need some fresh air and exercise, Chac! Let’s see, there’s a few hiking trails off Mulholland Drive. Why don’t we do that? You can dig in the dirt. Roll around in it. I know it feels good on your skin, Chac. How about it, Doctor? Feel like a bit of fresh air?”
“You’re the expert. What do you usually do before you kill people?” asked the spirit trapped within the shrunken vessel of skin.
The Ahmen looked over at the small head of the Discoverer and smiled, “I see you didn’t eat your sandwich. Mind if I have it?”
He put the Lincoln in gear, one hand on the wheel and the other holding the turkey breast and ham. The car moved down the quiet road, past the expensive homes overlooking the reservoir. The Ahmen slipped the Gypsy Kings into the CD player. He turned up the sound, shaking his head to the rhythm guitars.
He headed back towards the Hollywood Freeway, down Canyon Lake Drive.
“Didn’t you hear me?” asked Dr. Kipling. “I asked you what you usually do before killing people.”
The Ahmen bit into his sandwich before answering, “I do whatever the fuck I want.”
“You’re insane, you know that?” said Dr. Kipling, turning his head away.
The Ahmen tossed the sandwich out the window, leaned over and opened the glove box. He took out a handgun and pointed it at Dr. Kipling’s head.
“If I’m insane, I would blow your head away right now!” he yelled.
“Then do it, just do it!” screamed Dr. Kipling. “Save me from your future. Your delusions, your insanity that bleeds a river of innocent blood! I want no part of your sick destiny!”
The Ahmen shoved the barrel of the gun into the back of Dr. Kipling’s head. “Turn around and look at me!”
Dr. Kipling turned his head and looked directly at the barrel of the gun.
“Go ahead. Pull the trigger! Pull it, damn you!”
The Ahmen paused, dropping the gun into his lap. “We are one, my friend. Together we are invincible.”
“You’re pathetic. You’re a coward. You will fail. My son will kill you. I have seen this. It is your destiny to die at his hands. Ask your gods about that.”
The Ahmen turned up the music and drove down the dusty canyon road. He kept his eyes on the road. From the left, an eagle flew across the road, swooping low and then flying high over the trees. The beautiful bird looked once at the car, directly at him behind the wheel.
Yes, it was a sign. The gods were watching over him. The Discoverer was wrong. His words meant nothing. His spirit clutched at him, testing his will. Yes, that was the role of the Discoverer. It was why he knew he had to trap his soul in the head beside him. The man had power, able to corrupt his destiny if set free. He reached out and turned down the music.
“You just want to save your son, my friend,” said the Ahmen. “It is what fathers do, and I respect you for it. However, your son will die tonight.”
“My son will prevail. You will die tonight. He will kill you.”
The Ahmen looked at the shrunken head smiling at him, the eyes sewn shut but staring at him, taunting him with doubt. It was then that the idea came to him and he slammed on the brakes.
“What? Why are you stopping?” asked Dr. Kipling.
The Ahmen reached over and picked up the head. He took out his knife and slit the thread, sealing the eyes shut. He reached over the seat for his medicine bag full of poisons.
“Why are you opening my eyes? What horrors do you want me to see?”
The Ahmen shut out the voice of the Discover as he worked on the head. It would capture his power and be irresistible, his last defense in the battle against this warrior son. The eagle crossed his path to warn him.
“Be silent, my friend,” said the Ahmen as he worked. “We will not speak again. You will live in darkness. When you awake, you will see a father’s greatest horror. You will see your son die.”