Rouben Waletzko scuttled out of the side door and onto the damp street.
He knew where to go. He had prepared for an emergency such as this. He had known that Tatjana, who was a woman, and that simple Cyril, would fail. Peaceful Protest: what the fuck was up with that? Rouben Waletzko began to pick up his pace towards the garages, and allowed himself a small shiver. Anyone from the City knows that nobody does things peacefully round here.
Rouben began to run. Within minutes he had reached the garages where he used to work. He pulled his hood up and went round the back, and got out the key to his garage. Reaching it, he opened the metal door and opened it. It was here that he'd hidden it.
Ten minutes later, the lone broken security camera watched a hooded figure with a large black box sprint out of the garage area. Rouben Waletzko kept to the shadows, though he knew that none of the cameras worked. The shadows were for him the safe zone, where he had lurked at the end of school with a gun, and threatened the smaller kids in his class for their money, possessions and weapons.
He knew these streets better than anyone. He knew when to freeze when someone walked by, to size them up for their possessions, real or imaginary. He knew where to hide so that someone walking by wouldn't see him: he was, after all, the famous Rouben Waletzko. But fame didn't amount to much, reasoned Rouben, if you do fuckall towards the Revolution.
Bunch of pop stars, he thought as he neared his destination. It was all that Cyril Fietznyak's idea. He was trying to water down the Revolt.
Here he was. The Police Station loomed ahead of him, foreboding and massive. This was not the little Station that Rouben and his friend had set fire to, when they had instigated the first glorious fight. This was a proper City Police Station, built for Police only. Lights beamed down from the small windows.
The Station was in a comparatively bourgeois area of town. The streets were wider and were lined with streetlamps, and cars were left on the side of the street. Since Rouben's visit here was unplanned, he spent a moment deciding how to get into the high gate. He looked up and saw a sentry. Hiding in the shadows, he tried to think his way to get in, to the cars inside.
The gate was an ordinary lock one, but would be automated. He could try to pick it, but he'd be found out. He looked up, and the sentry had gone. Loosely guarded, this place, he observed. This was definitely a nicer part of town. People probably got insulted if there were police on the street.
Rouben looked up and down the street, and began to scale the wall. He'd scaled many brick walls in his lifetime, and knew how to do it quickly. He couldn't see in the poor light, but it looked like there weren't any alarm wires in the barbed wire. Well, then, this was easy.
He cut through the barbed wire with his standard clippers, which he drew from his pocket of weapons, which held two knives, a pick, and a key. He was over before the idle sentry had turned around. He abseiled the wall, and then hopped down into the shadows of the Police car park.
He found the poshest car. It was a sleek black one, heavy and gilded. Rouben opened it with the pick, and, though he had prepared for a siren, there came none. He was getting too good at this game, he thought. He had picked car locks since his early teens, and it had finally paid off.
He opened the boot door and put the suitcase inside. He looked around for sentries and then opened it. He set up the bomb, and then heard a movement from within the building.
Rouben was determined not to be sloppy. He stripped off a glove and dropped it on the floor. Carefully, he set the timer for...five minutes. That should be enough time. He could almost hear the talking of the Police officers as they made for the door. He picked up his glove, shut the suitcase, and patted it.
–Do your duty, baby,– he muttered, shutting the boot, and then was off towards the wall.
The sentry was facing the opposite way when, for a split second, Rouben was on top of the wall and visible to all. But he jumped down the other side, and was on his way.
He didn't get too far. Slowly, the expensive Police car rumbled off, and Rouben had to duck into an alleyway as it passed him. He then began to run all the way back home. In his head, a little scene was playing.
–Well, we've had a good night, Officer,– the Police Official, the owner of the car said as the two men were chauffeured from the Police Station.
–Oh, yes, sir,– said the Police Official's aide. The two sat in well-fed silence as the car rumbled down the street. They both begcame gradually aware of a gentle ticking, like in Bond films. Both looked at the other.
–Sir,– said the Police Official's aide, –What is that?–
Both looked at the back, and lifted the board up.
The bomb's timer ran out.