P.S.I. - Episode 2, Part 1

P.S.I. - Paranormal Security Institution
Jim B.

Episode 2: Maxwell's Demon

"In the demon-haunted world that we inhabit by virtue of being human, [...decency, humility, and community spirit] may be all that stands between us and the enveloping darkness."
- Carl Sagan

Part I

Chesapeake Auctions and Appraisals
Chesapeake Beach, Maryland
Wednesday, March 12 - 12:17 A.M.

Okay, I've got the right wire, got the jammer... now I just have to do this without getting shocked or caught. Please God, let this work.

Sweat was pouring down Maxwell Reese's forehead in spite of the chilly midnight breeze. Under his black ski mask, his face and ginger hair were completely damp. This was the biggest heist he'd ever attempted, and the most risky. Any other small-time crook would've thought trying to break into the classy auction house alone was practically a plea for a hard sentence. But Max was determined to do this solo; he wouldn't have to split anything or worry about an accomplice ratting him out. Besides, he'd done all his homework for the job. He'd spent weeks casing the house, learning the layout and security measures and coming up with ways to get past the system. Once the intel was gathered and the plan set, he just had to wait for a good time to hit.

Max checked the auction house's website every day to see what would be in the upcoming sales. He wasn't going to carry out the job unless he was certain the loot he could make off with would bring in a lot of cash. For a while it seemed like that day wouldn't be coming anytime soon, with nothing but furniture and lousy paintings scheduled for the next month or so. But when he checked on Sunday, he knew that the moment had arrived. The lots for this weekend's auction were high-end goods: gold and diamond jewelry, rare collectibles, a few first-edition books, even a couple of museum pieces. All of that would fetch a high price, even from the shiftiest fences. Nothing would stop him from getting that swag.

His left hand, which held the thick grey cable that served as the auction house's phone line, was starting to tremble. He tightened the grip of his right palm on the telephone pole, feeling the rough wood scratch against it through the vinyl glove. Dammit, I need to get a hold of myself! he scolded himself. Max took another deep breath as he removed his hand from the pole and grabbed the wire cutters from the compartment on his toolbelt. After another moment of hesitation, he finally gathered up the courage necessary and severed the line.

The night remained calm and quiet, but Max knew that now he was racing the clock. He estimated that he had eight, maybe ten minutes before someone from the security company responded to the silent alarm, so he had to get this next part right or he'd be screwed. Dropping the cutters, Max opened two more pouches on the belt, pulling out a small black box, a pair of wire-stripping pliers, and a roll of duct tape. Now for the hard stuff, he mused: ace this as fast as I can. At a near frantic speed he located the wires he was looking for poking out of the severed cable, one red, one green. He grabbed the tip of the red line and scraped away at the insulation with the pliers, revealing the thin copper strand within. After doing the same to the green line, he fumbled with the box until he located the two small holes on one end. Max steadied the copper wires into a position where they could be inserted side by side and slipped them into the holes of the headbox. After that was done, he held it up to the pole with his arm so his hands were free to pull the tape. Once the roll was started, he stuck it onto the box and wrapped it around the pole twice to make sure it would stay put. With a quick flip of the switch at the bottom, the transmitter was active. If he set it up properly, anyone calling the auction house would hear the fake dial tone it generated and assume the security system was still intact. And it had better work, considering how much he shelled out for it.

He started to grin beneath his balaclava; still no sign of security, and it only took him a little less than two minutes to hook up the transmitter. I think I'm really gonna pull this off! he happily thought. But it still wasn't clear to go just yet. Max scooped the cutters up off the ground and ran across the street, ducking behind a thick bush. Counting off the seconds in his head, he peered up from behind the hedge every so often to see if the guard was coming earlier than expected. Two minutes passed, three, four; the road was still barren. After five minutes, doubt started to set in again. What if they had a back-up system he didn't know about? What if the goods were alarmed? He grunted in frustration as he shook off his worries. Stop freaking out, dammit. This isn't some high-tech museum in a lame heist movie. This is gonna be my best score, and I am not backing out! He only hoped that his resolve would stay strong.

Another two minutes went by and still no sign of anyone else. Max was rubbing his arms to fend off the cold that was starting to penetrate his black leather jacket. Aside from the chills, his knees were getting sore from kneeling for so long. He stood up to take the pain off, but only got to rest them for a few seconds before ducking back behind the shrub. Two faint lights had appeared at the end of the street, and he could hear rumbling of an engine gradually growing louder. Peeping through a small hole that wasn't obscured too heavily by leaves, Max saw the silver compact bearing the Flying Camp Security Company logo pull up in front of the auction house. A heavyset guard wearing a drab beige uniform got out and stepped towards the doors.

Max crossed his fingers as he watched the guard look over the building. He prayed that the rent-a-cop wouldn't find anything suspicious and blow everything he'd worked for. The officer took a cursory glance over the doors, seeing that they hadn't been damaged. He blew into his hands to warm them up, ran one of them through his thinning hair, then he took out his cell phone and dialed a number. This was the crucial moment: would he hear the dial tone, or would the transmitter prove to be a piece of crap? Max held his breath in apprehension as he waited for the guard's reaction. He still had the phone to his ear, lowered it, hit one button, then a few more. Then he raised it again, speaking after a few seconds had passed. "Hey, Weber checking in." The guard's throaty voice carried across the street so that Max could hear him loud and clear. "Responded to the alarm at Chesapeake Auction house. False alarm; everything's intact. I'm heading back."

Snickering uncontrollably, Max struggled to hold in his joy as he watched the car drive off into the night. As soon as it was gone he jumped up from his hiding place and exuberantly shouted "Thank you, God!" Immediately he was on guard again, realizing that he could've given himself away. His eyes darted across the street to see if anyone else was out. Still clear. Max let out a sigh of relief and ran to the other side of the road. Time for the next phase.

Approaching the door, Max was at a heightened level of alertness. The streetlight by the auction house left him fully exposed. He considered it to be a lucky break that no one came around when he was tampering with the alarm, but would his luck hold out? He needed to be quick again. Max had sized up the glass doors earlier. Breaking the glass would've been the easiest way in, but he ruled that out since he wasn't sure if the panes were wired to another system. Picking the lock would've bypassed any backup security, but a basic pick would take too long, and he couldn't get a hand on any faster-acting pick guns. The only option left was to get rid of the lock itself, and that shouldn't be too much of a problem.

Max grabbed a pair of needle-nose pliers from his belt and started working the tips into the groove around the deadbolt. Even though he'd filed down the nose so that it could better fit, it was still a struggle getting them into that unbelievably narrow space. It took a little force, but he managed to get them into the groove. Grunting as he squeezed the grip, he strained to pull out the cylinder. The pressure was killing his hand, and every time he gave another twist, it felt like his wrist was going to break. After about two minutes, he finally yanked it out. Max rubbed his wrist, thankful that the pliers didn't slip out or cause him to lose his grip. Oh yeah, this is definitely my lucky night. With a devilish grin beneath his mask, Max turned the knob and entered the auction house, closing it behind him to make sure it didn't look out of place. He didn't look back once, but if he had, he would have noticed the silver compact car coming back up the road.

Max made his way down the center aisle of the auditorium, glancing at the chairs on each side. He estimated there had to be about 200 of them, each one waiting for some snooty, elitist, arrogant prick with too much money to plant their ass down in them and blow their cash on useless trinkets. He snickered a bit, knowing that those snobs would be really disappointed this week. Coming up to the stage, he hopped up on it and pushed through the curtain at the back, finally arriving in the room where the items up for auction were stored. Pulling out a penlight, he walked over to one of the tables and shone the light on the glass display case. When he saw the bounty in that dim circle of light, he was ready to jump for joy.

The display case held dozens of pieces of exquisite jewelry. Brilliant stones in a rainbow of colors set in sterling silver and golden ring bands, necklaces, and bracelets. It gave Max a mental high; the reward for all his work and planning was better than he could've imagined. An index card was also mounted inside, bearing the lot number and explaining that they were from an estate sale. "Probably belonged to some rich old broad," Max murmured. "Hell, she probably had more than this buried with her when she kicked."  The eager thief grabbed two more pieces of equipment from his belt, a hammer and a large plastic grocery bag he had crumpled up in the compartment. A quick smash shattered the glass top, the shards brushed aside as he scooped up the jewelry and dumped them into the bag.

Once he'd cleared out the case, Max swung the penlight to the right to get a clear look at what the next table had to offer. There were a few pieces of pottery resting on the large tabletop: cups and plates, jars, vases, and others in shapes he wasn't familiar with. They were all covered in deep hued glazes that gave off a weak metallic shimmer in the light. Max figured that these were the museum pieces. Curious, he stepped over and eyed the ceramics. I bet I could find some crazy collector who'd shell out big bucks for one of these things, he greedily thought. Course, that depends on if I can take any of them with me. Didn't think I'd be dealing with swag this big. He noticed a piece that looked like a wide, purple teapot and grabbed it by the handle to get a closer look at it. Holding up the light to the pot with his other hand, he saw strange symbols etched into the clay; weird designs and words written in a foreign language. He also noticed that for some strange reason, the hole at the spout had been sealed up, and the lid at the top had been fused to the opening with more clay. It couldn't be opened, and nothing in it could be poured out. "Weird... did they make this as some kind of ancient practical joke? Or was the guy who sculpted this just a total reta-"

"Down on the ground!" The loud, gruff command startled Max, causing him to drop everything he held. The dull clinking made by the hammer, jewels and penlight as they hit the carpet were drowned out by the louder crash of the pot bursting into pieces. The voice called out again. "I said get down on the ground! Hands on your head, now!" Max obeyed the order, slowly getting on his knees and putting his hands behind his head, shaking nervously the entire time. As he assumed the position, his nose was suddenly assaulted by a horrible burning odor. It smelled like someone had lit a ton of charcoal right under him. The fiery stench made him start coughing wildly and his eyes watery. Through the tears, he thought he saw thick wisps of smoke rising up from the fragments of the broken pot, but he figured it was a trick brought on by the darkness and... whatever the hell was making that horrible smell. The overwhelming cloud started to lift rather quickly, making it easier for Max to breathe and see clearly, so he was able to make out the familiar figure that had walked in front of him and was now glaring down. It was the burly security guard who checked the auction house earlier, a scowl on his face, a flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other - both pointed at Max's head.

"Did you really think I wouldn't see that gizmo you strapped to the phone line?" Weber asked in a rigid voice. "Word of advice, kid; they sell transparent tape. Helps hide things you don't want people to notice."

"Son of a bitch!" Max howled when his mistake was shoved in his face. How could he have made such a rookie screw-up?

The guard started to chuckle heavily. He was clearly enjoying the young burglar's anguish. "I knew something was up, but I wanted to catch you in the act. Don't know if you were there when I first arrived, but I gave a fake call to the security center. Called 'em again after a couple of minutes and let them know what was up. So until the police come, why don't we get to know each other." Weber took a quick whiff of the air and let out a disgusted groan. Smelled like burning tires in a dirty bathroom. "Good god, kid, what the hell were you smoking?"

"Oh man..." Max shook his head in frantic disbelief. "I am screwed, I am so screwed. It's all over..." Under his mask, he was starting to cry. The knowledge that he'd been caught and would now be spending years in some hellhole prison were breaking him down. If Weber could have seen the tears, he probably would've gotten more pleasure.

"Now dear lad, don't be so pessimistic." A new voice cut through the air. This one had a dignified, yet gravelly inflection to it. Weber, caught off guard, quickly turned his flashlight in the direction it came from. The beam revealed an elegant-looking Arabic man who appeared to be in his mid-40s. He had a chisled, tan face, slicked-back black hair, narrow brown eyes, and a thin goatee framed by a robust jaw. The stranger was wearing a deep crimson suit, with a black shirt underneath and a deep red necktie. For some strange reason, though, he was completely barefoot. He started to step towards the guard and his captive. "If you allow a slight setback like this to shatter your spirit, then success will always elude you."

Weber didn't know where this nut had come from, but he relished the chance to bust another intruder. He raised his gun at the newcomer. "Can the motivational pep-talk and join your friend on the floor, buddy."

The stranger didn't pay any attention to his demand. Instead, he feigned offense. "Sir, it's rather rude to respond when you're not addressed. I was speaking to the young man you were intimidating." He looked over at Max and gave an unsettling grin. "Is there anything I can help you with, my boy?"

"Help me?" Max was confused and still shaking, but if this freak could get him out of this, he wasn't going to pass up the offer. "Yeah.. yeah, you can help me. Get rid of this joker."

The stranger's smile twisted into an even more sinister position. His response was dripping with a disturbing malice "As you desire." The man turned to face Weber, and in the light, the security guard could see the weird man's irises change from brown to a glowing blood-red. The intruder waved his hand and the overpowering burning smell returned, even stronger this time. It began to overtake Weber, who started hacking uncontrollably.

Weber wanted to ask the man what he'd done, but he wasn't able to speak through the harsh coughs coming one after the other. Then he started to feel uncomfortably warm. Sweat started to pour down his face and pits, and his breathing became more labored. Another painful sensation of heat came after that, but he felt this one inside of him. The guard clutched his stomach and doubled over in pain, glaring at the strange man who had somehow done this to him. The last thing he saw was the look of sadistic satisfaction on his face. Weber screamed as the fiery sensation took him over before streams of flames shot out from his mouth and eyes.

Max looked on in horror as he saw his would-be captor turned into a human flamethrower. He scrambled backwards to avoid getting hit by the blaze, then stood up when he was at a safe distance. Miraculously, Weber was still standing upright as the jets of flame burst through his orifices, and his loud screams of anguish were also continuing. The shrill beep of a smoke detector added to the ruckus, and water began to stream down from the ceiling as the sprinkler system was activated. Finally, the fires died away, and Weber's body collapsed to the floor.

The surreal scene that Max had witnessed left him conflicted. He wanted to run out of there right away in full-blown panic, but the terror he felt kept him from moving. His fear increased when he noticed the man in the crimson suit walking towards him. "Please don't hurt me!" he pathetically screamed. "Please." Incredibly, the man just put his hand on Max's shoulder and gave him another reassuring, yet discomforting smile.

"Fear not, my friend. No harm shall come to you. I am here for you." The stranger kept his calm, stoic tone, which Max considered a miracle after what had happened. "You asked me to get rid of that guard, and so I did. Next time, you might want to specify the method. Can't have too many messes like this." He let out a dry laugh, making Max more uncomfortable. "What else can I do for you?"

"Get me out of here. Please." Tears were streaming down his cheeks. If he didn't leave this madhouse right now, he'd freak out. "Just take me home."

"Why of course. Simply tell me where you live, and homeward bound we are. But first, we'll take leave of this damp mess." The man's eyes changed color again as thick clouds of smoke materialized around them and enveloped the two. Seconds later the smoke cleared, and Max and the strange man were gone. All that was left for the police to discover when they arrived were a drenched carpet, burglar's tools, discarded jewelry, broken pottery, and the corpse of Henry Weber - his eyes, tongue, teeth, and as the autopsy would later reveal, all internal organs - reduced to ash.

(To be continued...)