Log edited with Logedit 2.6.6pl on Mon Oct 20 19:12:14 EDT 1997
Using configuration file /turquoise/homes/ammer/.logeditrc
Editing out: arrive/left @mail ANSI tf-messages
Regexp stripping: Queue, Semaphore, ^Huh\? +Type, ^I don't see that
Word-wrapping at 72, 0, 2
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Holden shifts his packages around a little and makes his way through the
stacks, heading for the General Fiction section.
The bookstore has more activity than any of the clothing stores, but
less than the food court and arcade. Two girls, about thirteen, stand near the
fiction section, giggling. A middle-aged businessman walks down the line of
new releases. A small boy, about seven, is next to the young-adults books. A
thirty-something woman with short brunette hair is talking to him.
Eochaid walks through the archway, his everpresent duffelbag hangs
nearly empty on his back. He looks a little harried, perhaps by the sheer
amount of people in the mall, as he quietly peruses the store to see what kind
of bookstore it is.
Holden has his head slightly tilted, as if he's trying to read the
titles on the book spines as he passes. W, T, L... his quest down the alphabet
of authors eventually brings him to both the front of the alphabet, and the
two giggling girls. "Excuse me, passing through to the C's."
The bookstore, which is a B. Dalton, epitomes the suburban American
bookworm haven. No rare tomes or truly controversial novels in evidence here.
The two girls look up at Holden and whisper furiously, giggling again. They do
move up the row, next to the new age section. The young lady behind the
counter catches sight of Eochaid. Her look is openly appreciative, though she
doesn't drool. Bad form to leer at the customers.
Eochaid finds his way to the music section, oddly enough, curiously
perusing the titles there. He seems oblivious, or perhaps politely indifferent
to the stare of the store clerk.
Holden drops his various packages to the ground, and uses his foot to
guide them into a little out-of-the-way gathering near the side wall. This
frees his hands for a moment, long enough to pluck a copy of Douglas
Coupland's _Microserfs_ from the shelf.
There's a small muffled sound from the back, too soft for the front
woman to hear. A few books thump, apparently hitting the floor.
The girls take their books toward the front, not turning around.
Eochaid looks up curiously at the thump, but shrugs, dismissing it.
Holden, near the back already, glances over his shoulder. One finger has
marked the middle of this new book (Shampoo Planet, and still Coupland)
that he's skimming, to keep his place.
A minute goes by. Then the woman earlier seen talking to the young boy
in the back comes from behind the shelf. She carries the tow-headed child in
her arms and has a distracted, worried expression. The child seems to be
asleep, or ill. His eyes are shut and he breathes from his mouth.
Eochaid looks up again, distracted by the somewhat odd scene. He purses
his lips thoughtfully, and looks over his shoulder to see if anybody else is
around before his attention turns back to the woman and child.
Holden steps slightly to the side, giving the gathered packages at his
feet another nudge to move them out of the way. An espresso maker tumbles out
the top of one overstuffed package and thumps onto the floor. "Is your boy
all right, miss?" he asks, in a politely concerned and definitely curious
tone. "Do you need any help?"
The woman seems edgy, understandably. "My son has these...fits. I just
need to get him home." The brunette doesn't pauses, though she does slow as her
eyes go to her eyes go to Holden's face. The girl behind the counter frowns,
but does not immediately react.
Holden isn't one to stand in the way of a mother with her child. He lets
them pass, though not without getting a good look at the two as they step
past.
The woman steps briskly forward. The girl behind the counter calls out,
tenatively, "Mam? Do you need an ambulance?" The woman turns on the
girl, eyes blazing. "No. If you'll just let me get home, he'll be fine. Just
fine! If not, he's going to die and it'll be you people's fault. Is that what
you want? Is it?" The girl, obviously not expecting an attack, shrinks back.
Eochaid turns at the outburst and smiles benignly at the woman. "Of
course not, miss. We're just concerned for the welfare of the innocent."
Despite his calm demeanor, to those more observant can see that inside there's
a touch of uneasiness.
Holden pushes the Coupland book back up on the shelf, scoops up the
packages (including the wayward espresso maker), and follows the woman toward
the front of the store. "If you'll forgive me for intruding," he begins,
eyeing the kid once more as he gets closer, "perhaps you're not in the best
state of mind to be making decisions at the moment. Your child seems hurt. Is
there something to make him well at your house? How far is it?"
The brunette totally ignores Eochaid, rounding now on Holden. "It's a
family issue. Just butt out." She then turns to walk briskly away, jogging the
unconscious child as she strides. The sales clerk watches her
helplessly, then looks to Eochaid and Holden with a bewildered expression.
A dark expression passes over Eochaid's features before he quickly hides
it. He shifts the weight of the duffelbag to a more comfortable position
before putting the book he was holding away and following after the woman.
Holden shrugs a little at the clerk. "Don't look at me, I'm not the one
who works here," he says, on his way out. He pauses just outside the store,
ostensibly to readjust the balance of items within the bags, once he
notices that Eochaid also seems intent on following this woman. Without making
any immediate move to follow, he waits for a convenient opportunity to trail
Eochaid.
The woman is walking briskly, but is slowed by the child's weight. She
gets a couple of curious glances, but no one else seems to see anything
suspicious.
Eochaid is following, trying very hard not to look like he's following
her. This distracts him to let the concerned and wary expresion surface.
Holden, similarly, trails after Eochaid, though a bit closer than he'd
normally feel comfortable with; he wants to keep the woman close enough
in view to catch occasional glimpses, in the event that Eochaid loses her.
He's in his element here, obviously well-accustomed to such covert operations
in urban settings.
The convoy heads for the main exit. The woman has a little trouble with
the door, until a young man in camoflauge pants pulls it open from the
outside. She mutters something to him, and he scowls, staring after her.
Eochaid's expresion doesn't change a bit as he figures he's been
spotted. He contiues on to the main entrance, reaching for something on the
inside pocket of his vest.
Holden could be just another shopper, bustling out of a busy mall before
the Friday afternoon rush hour gets started. His Suzuki Sidekick is even
reasonably nearby in the front parking lot. That's not where he's
headed, though, as he continues to trail along after the woman, the boy, and
Eochaid.
The young man doesn't pay attention to Eochaid, instead coming in the
mall. He mutters under his breath, "Dumb bitch." The woman is clearly headed
toward the rows of cars.
Eochaid's step slow for a second as he listens to something. He looks
over a shoulder, scanning the crowd before his eyes rest on Holden. His hand is
removed from the inside pocket empty and motions for him to hurry up
after a quick glance to the trio heading to the parking lot.
Holden does step a little quicker; if Eochaid hasn't attracted attention
yet by the motion, then his moving up to join the man won't either.
The young man in camos moves past. The mall walkers, not unsuprisingly,
seem to be viewing everything through a SEP field: Someone Else's Problem.
The woman continues toward the cars.
Holden shifts a bag from one hand to the other as he draws into step
next to Eochaid. "Another nosy bastard, eh?" he comments to the stranger.
Eochaid nods quickly, once. "Aye, sharing a similar concern, I'd wager,"
he hints. With that he picks up the pace to follow the woman once again.
"What do you suppose she is?"
Currently on this gusty and cold winter midafternoon in the general St.
Claire area, it is 34 degrees Fahrenheit (1.1 degrees Celsius). The wind is
coming from the northwest at 14.1 mph. The ground is snowy. Skies are cloudy
with a definite chance of precipitation.
Holden glances over at Eochaid, and gets a fair amount of sizing up the
man done for one look. "Is? Possibly just a distraught and stressed mother.
Certain oddities are worth pursuing... and my car's this direction,
anyway."
The wind is biting after the inside. The woman seems to be again having
some trouble with doors, and so the men are able to catch up into sight
distance before she gets in her car: a green Buick Limited. She is bent over
the passenger's side as the pair reaches the row of cars, apparently
buckling in the unconscious boy.
Holden seems quite happy to stroll on past. It is not coincidence that
he has to pass by the rear of the car, and the mounted license plate, as he
does.
Eochaid nods slowly to the other man, walking with him, peering at the
sun. "Lead the way."
The woman doesn't even look up. Shutting the boy's door, she walks
jerkily to the other side. Now that the pair are quite a bit closer, they can
see the source of her trouble. Apparently not only was she hampered with the
boy, but the cold conditions have frozen her locks with the sleet sticking to
her car.
Holden stops two cars past the Buick, next to a fairly new white Grand
Am. It's not his, but then again, the owner isn't around to argue. Careful
not to actually touch the card he walks around toward the driver's side door,
and keeps an eye on the woman and her young charge as he does.
The brunette struggles with her door, jerking hard to loosen it. Finally
it pops open. She sits down in the seat, turning the key and closing her
door. The engine comes to life, a little shakily. This is obviously an older
car.
Eochaid walks over to the passenger side of the car, taking his queue
from the Walker. "She's not a vampire," he states, talking soflty across the
top of the car. "There's too much sun, unles they've learned a way around that.
What's she doing?" His back is turned to the woman and child, facing
Holden.
Holden is thrown mentally off balance by that comment. "Cranking the
engine," he says, while he pantomines searching through pockets for car keys.
Eochaid stuffs his hands in his pockets, and nods sagely. "Ah. Well, I'm
Eochaid O'Donnell. We'll do formal introductions later, if it pleases
ye."
The green Buick begins to back up, slowly over the snow-packed parking
lot.
Holden has, by this time, checked out the car enough to note a lack of
motion alarms, at least. He sets one of the bags down on the sleet-covered
hood. "Holden Crivello, networks and security consultant," he says. "She's
moving out. I think, at this point, trailing her further would be overkill."
Eochaid purses his lips. "I'm not so sure. I don't know what she's going
to do with that child once she gets back to wherever she's going. Did you see
them enter the bookshop together?"
Holden shakes his head slightly. "They were there when I got there, in
the kid section. Besides," he adds, still fumbling around for keys, "I doubt we
could keep up with them in this car."
The green buick stops at the end of the row, then turns left toward one
of the main exits.
Eochaid sighs, shifting impatiently on his feet. "I see. The last
vampire I've had to deal with only liked small children. She used my home town
back in Ireland as her hunting ground. You were lucky if you saw all your
children grow up."
Holden gives up the farce of unlocking the car, the Buick already on its
way out the exit anyway. "Look, that's a nice story, but you'll excuse me
for not following up directly on every oddity I run across." He reaches, now,
for a jacket pocket. "You'll also excuse me for having no idea who the hell
you are, which, I'll admit, makes me just a wee bit twitchier than usual."
Eochaid leans against the car and smiles disarmingly, "Eochaid O'Donnell
Fianna Galliard, called Heartbreaker by those who know me better, and a
member of Blackwatch."
Holden is far less open with his introductions than Eochaid, paranoia
from the previous night's meeting still running high. "Holden Crivello,
ragabash of the Walk, and new in town. I've heard your name," he admits, though
the implication is that this in no way will grant the Fianna immediate
trust. From a pocket, he withdraws a memo pad and a pen, and uses the latter to
jot a note down in the former. "I'll get someone to run a check on the plate
this weekend. I'd rather not go rushing off after suspicious sorts, with
someone I don't know, and otherwise by myself. Not that I'm a cruel bastard, but
it's potentially one kid in the balance of things, and even that is just
potential."
Eochaid nods slowly, "Aye, but its..." He stops hismelf before he starts
to argue with the other man, and glances at the sky, checking for
something. He doesn't find what he's looking for and shakes his head, not
trusting himself to talk.
Holden slaps a hand down onto the car's hood, twice. "Besides which,
this isn't even my car. Let me check on a couple of things, and I'll get back
with you. No doubt people will know how to get in touch."
Eochaid nods slowly. "Aye, they do. Usually I'm at Sound Bites Studios,
finishing up my work there."
