Chapter 6: There Are Sixty-Five Synonyms For Surprise

(Z: If reading this is anything like writing it, this is a horribly depressing chapter. And heads up, it's also crazy-long.)

Time moved on (as it tends to do) and life in Appaloosa Plains was beginning to resemble something slightly normal for the little Snickerson “family.” Yes, Altin didn’t exactly have a nine to five job. And yes, instead of a doting wife and loving kids, he had a zebra and...whatever Bolt was.

Hey, I said slightly normal.

Work with the Organization was everything Altin remembered from before his incarceration and more. He was climbing the ranks quickly enough – this wasn’t his first rodeo, after all – and he was finally starting to make some decent money. Even Bolt, now as big as his mother, had fallen into the daily routine. All in all, things were beginning to go fairly well.

In retrospect, he should have guessed that wouldn’t last long.

She teased him about being a guy and never calling, and he teased back, without mentioning that the reason he never did drop in and see her was because of how thoroughly she had turned him away when they parted. So instead they both ignored the unspoken questions and pretended they really were two distant friends catching up on missed time.

“I thought you retired from the glamorous life of crime,” Altin asked as they watched Spot harassing a stray dog who didn’t value his survival nearly as much as he should. “What, did Appaloosa become a vacation hotspot and no one told me?”

“I guess I missed the glamour too much.” Kirk shrugged. “The Grey Meadow branch of the company is so large, they always seem willing to toss a few freelance jobs my way here and there. I manage to keep my hand in.”

“Still hiding from your dad, then?”

“He passed last month.”

“Oh.” The conversation stalled. “So...you’re here for the SimCentral Banking job, I bet? Oxendine was going on about the boss calling in teams from out of town for it. Is it really that big of an assignment?”

She nodded. “We’re hitting five branches at once. Lots of planning, and lots of people. My team alone has four people in it, all from Grey Meadow. We’ve been practicing for tomorrow for weeks.”

A thought occurred to Altin. “Does this mean you’re maybe moving back to Appaloosa Plains? I mean, since the reason you moved away was...well, you know.”

“I was going to. I mean, that was the plan originally. But I kind of...settled down. I can’t uproot my family, it wouldn’t be right.” (Z: Awwww.)

Altin stopped trying to sneak a hold of Kirk’s hand. “Settled down? You got married?”

“What? Noooo, no way.” She looked slightly panicked at the thought. “No, not married. But I have a kid now, a little girl. Elsie.” A slight hesitation, then she added. “You’d like her. She’s...well, you’d like her.” Standing up abruptly, she dusted herself off and turned back to Altin. “Listen, I have to report in, and I think you’d better break up this catfight or zebrafight or whatever before you have to explain to Animal Services why you’re burying someone else’s dog in the backyard. After the job, though...can we maybe talk? I can call you when we’ve wrapped it up. I’ve got a couple days before I have to head home, you could give me a tour of what’s changed in Appaloosa since I left.”

He grinned and stood up. “Changed? In Appaloosa? Short tour. But yeah. I’d like that.”

Their parting was less painful this time, with the promise of new possibilities tomorrow.

In the morning, Altin had it all figured out. He called in sick to work with a brilliant impression of severe food poisoning and spent most of the day meticulously planning a tour path that would take them past all the most romantic places in town and with a little luck, “coincidentally” end outside Kirk’s motel room. He spent the rest of the day waiting for what had to be the best phonecall any guy had ever received from a girl.

It never came.

That was alright. The office got a little crazy after a big job, and an impromptu celebratory party always seemed to start up. Something about the adrenaline, he thought. Kirk probably got dragged into that, he’d just call her instead.

The office receptionist picked up after the first ring, and sounded almost disappointed when he identified himself, but when he asked for her to get Kirk Ripley on the line, she acted outright confused. But she gave Altin the expected “please hold,” so he didn’t question her on it. But when the phone picked up again with Sage Oxendine on the line instead of Kirk, he thought maybe he should have.

“Uh, hi, Ox. Listen, can you grab Ripley for me? I don’t think whoever’s working the front desk today remembers her. Or if she’s busy or something, can you remind her we had plans and ask her to call when she gets a chance?”

At the mention of Altin’s day off, Sage’s tone switched abruptly from annoyed to surprised, with a touch of horrified. “Snickerson, what are you doing, you know damn well — oh my Watcher. You were home today, weren’t you? You really don’t know. Oh, boy...Altin, the SimCentral job went sour. Badly. The boss is flying into town tonight to clean up the mess Ripley’s team left.”

An alarm switched on in the back of Altin’s mind. “The mess? Arrests? How many people did we lose this time? And...who did we lose this time?”

Oxendine sounded like she’d rather be in prison herself than taking that phonecall. “There were some arrests, yes...both of the thugs got taken. And their safecracker is in pretty rough shape, we’re trying to get him out of the hospital before someone manages to station guards on him.”

“See, thugs are overrated. We should be focusing on subtlety on the job, not muscle. I told you that last week.”

“It wasn’t at the bank itself, Altin. They had already gotten the cash, but the safecracker had gotten all jumpy – he’s just a kid, that was a bad pick for the assignment – so they left in a hurry, and took a turn too fast, and the car flipped. Altin, Ripley didn’t make it. The EMTs didn’t even get a chance to take her to the hospital.”

The mental alarm became an emotional punch to the gut, and it took Altin a while to realize Sage was still talking, and he managed to miss most of her awkward attempt at consoling him. Her social duty fulfilled, Sage switched back into business mode with audible relief. “Listen, Snickerson, we just finished clearing out her computer privileges on the network, and there’s a file you should probably see. Check your email. And, uh...take some time off or something. You’re a lousy thief when you’re distracted.” She hung up just as abruptly as she started.

Altin sank into his office chair and powered the computer up in autopilot. The cheerful ding of a new message seemed especially obnoxious today, but he pulled up the email anyway and opened the attachment, not sure what to expect. He anticlimactically realized it was a letter, a proper letter designed to be mailed, with an included address and everything. His address, actually. But the date on the letter didn’t make sense. He realized with a start that Kirk had written it almost a year earlier but never sent it.

Dear Altin,

I’m kind of glad you never took me up on that offer to visit. Not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed it, because I would have. But if you had, I wouldn’t have been able to go on pretending I didn’t have to tell you this for as long as I did.

I have a daughter. That’s not right, no. We have a daughter. You have a daughter. I’d like to think you remember the night before I left town...anyway, there it is, I finally said it. Or wrote it. Her name is Elsie, and she’s like a little you in a lot of ways. She’s always getting into trouble...the fun kind of trouble. And she always manages to find her way out of it.

I know it hasn’t been fair of me to keep this from you. And soon she’s going to be at the age where she starts noticing things, like how she doesn’t have a dad around and how all her school friends do. But I don’t want her to end up like us. I don’t want her to ever be on the run, or to treat other people like targets instead of people. We aren’t parent material, and I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t know what to do here, Altin, but I do know you at least deserve to know, even if I’m too afraid to tell you.

With love,

Kirk


(Z: Cece, you're right, you didn't have to kill her.)

Chapter 5: Departures

(Z: Shorter and more filler-like than I intended. Next "real" chapter will be up tomorrow.)

Altin's puppylove was to be shortlived. 

"Look, Altin, you're a great guy and all, but don't get attached, okay? I'm leaving town for a while...and I don't really do long distance stuff."

"What? Why? We haven't had any jobs go bad, I would have heard if anyone was on the run from the police. It's kind of my thing, remember? Why do you have to leave?"

"It's not a work thing. My dad's getting old, and he's not managing too well on his own anymore, you know? And he doesn't know about the Organization. He thinks I'm a teacher. If he finds out I spend my days committing grand theft, it'd break his heart...so I can't exactly just move him in with me here."

"You think you can hide it from him any better in...where are you even moving to?"

"Grey Meadow. It's on the other side of Bridgeport. And no, I don't. I'm retiring. Maybe I really will become a teacher." And then Kirk dropped her bombshell, one that didn't leave any room for negotiation, or cajoling, or bribing with a lifetime of sex and magical stolen diamonds. "And, uh...I'm kind of leaving tomorrow. I just have to get my final paycheck from the office."

Altin tried again the next morning anyway, as he was getting ready for the carpool and she was getting ready to break his big klepto heart, but she intercepted his intended embrace with a step backward and a reluctant smile. 

"Hands to yourself, Altin. You won't change my mind." Kirk arched an eyebrow at him and with a touch of accusation added, "I told you not to get attached..."

"Too late."

After a bout of pleading, Kirk finally consented to a ride -- literally, with the horses -- to work, which Altin dragged out as long as he could, walking her to the door of the office, where their whirlwind twenty-four hour long "relationship" had begun.

"So...are you flying to Grey Meadow, or...I could give you a lift to the airport..."

She gave him a Look. "Really? Flying? And what, Eastwood will be my carry-on bag?"

"Oh. Yeah. I guess that doesn't make sense...I could give you a ride all of the way. It could be a roadtrip! That'd be fun, I could take off work and--"

"Let it go, Altin. It's not going to happen." Kirk's voice went soft. "We're not going to happen. Stop trying to make it work, and just promise to drop by if you're in the area some time, okay? That's what normal people do in these situations."

"Normal people? You're a getaway driver named after a male space captain and I'm a dashing convicted felon on the run from the law, who is, might I add, incredibly handsome and an excellent catch and definitely worth living in a backwater rural town for..."

"Altin."

He hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. Okay. I'll look you up if I'm ever in the neighborhood. Alright? Right answer?"

"Right answer." She shook the fringe of hair out of her eyes and smirked. "Maybe we'll go for another ride, hm?"

"Oh, absolutely," Altin agreed. "I mean, you got to hang out with Spot, but I've barely had any time at all with Eastwood, and I think I'd be pretty good with a mustang, since Spot is basically a wild horse with stripes, right?"

Kirk just laughed and typed in the doorcode.

"Wait...what were you talking about? Did you mean riding with the horses, or...hey, Kirk, seriously, did you mean we could, uh...hold on, where are you going?"

"Goodbye, Altin."

Chapter 4: Arrivals

The Organization wasn't your typical workplace. It was isolated, regularly dangerous, and of course illegal, and everyone lived in fear of attracting the attention of the police, or worse, the boss. So Altin's arrival at the office wasn't particularly fun at the best of times...and certainly not when he was running on two hours of sleep while nursing a nasty set of bruises, apologetic as Spot might be.

But today he wasn't the only one sneaking into the office late after an exhausting weekend.

Altin recognized the pretty redhead as one of the getaway drivers Oxendine kept on staff for more complicated jobs. It seemed like she was trying and failing to remember the door combination through what appeared to be a hangover of truly impressive proportions.

"Someone had a fun weekend, huh?" Altin teased as he leaned past her to type in the code. The driver smirked, and looked like she was trying to decide whether to groan or laugh. "Oh, you have no idea...Snickerson, right? The decoy? I'm Kirk, Kirk Ripley."

"Thief, actually, I'm just...new. Ah, Kirk...?"

"My dad lost a bet. Long story, but I need to be drunk to tell it right. So what's a fine, upstanding businessman like yourself doing getting to work an hour late? I mean, I've got an excuse, but you..."

"I don't think the boss would see 'drunken revelry' as an excuse."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I'd better tell her I was in jail..."

It was only much later, as they were debating the relative merits of Kirk's mustang Eastwood compared to Spot (Eastwood won by virtue of not being a sadistic hand-eater) while entirely ignoring their dual tardiness that Altin realized he really, really liked this girl. 

He liked her a lot. She was funny, and gorgeous, and she agreed with some of Altin's more harebrained schemes instead of suggesting he might be a little bit crazy. And she wasn't about to call the police on him for escaping from prison, and thought it was hilarious that he had stolen a zebra "because it was looking at you funny," as she put it. Yes, she was probably his perfect woman--

"Nah, I wasn't always aiming to be criminal scum. My family and I were originally all trainers for problem horses."

Cancel that. Definitely his perfect woman.

"Hey, how about we blow this popsicle stand and you can show me some tips back at your place to get Spot to stop eating my newspapers?"

Altin was never so glad to see someone agree with him in his life.

When they got to the Kirk house, he was accosted almost immediately by a big brown puppydog of a stallion.  This had to be the overly friendly Eastwood.

"Why do all the horses in this town want to eat me...?"

"Oh Altin...if you're done playing with the pretty pony, there's a pretty girl who'd like her turn..."

Instant cure for horse-related distraction, that was.

"...and that concludes the tour, ladies and gentlemen. Please remember to tip your tourguide on the way out."

"Some tour," Altin quipped as he leaned back against the frame of the bed. "You only showed me the bedroom."

"Yeah, but that's the part that counts!"

"I can work with that logic," he murmured, leaning in.

They never did get back to work that day. 

(EDIT: This is Kirk, when she's not making weird faces or standing in profile)

Chapter 3, part 2: In Which Our Hero Traumatizes His Behind

(Z: Continued from part 1, broken for length.)

And then, just before sunset, after Altin had found himself on the ground yet again, a strange thing happened.

Spot took pity on him.

"This is another trap, right? You're just trying to give me an even number of missing fingers."

"This is going to end up with me in pain, I just know it."

And then Spot shut him up. He winced as he felt her muzzle brush against his ear -- his precious, hopefully-still-intact ear -- and then...she didn't bite him. In fact...she didn't seem to be trying to hurt him at all. It was almost like she was trying to be affectionate...

Confused, but not wanting to miss the opportunity, Altin slipped the bridle over her head, but waited expectantly for her to shake it off of herself again. And waited. 

Spot shifted her weight a bit, as if she were considering it, but left it in place. 

Altin made his attempt...

And nearly fell back off from surprise. Spot waited uncharacteristically patiently for Altin to settle himself.

"Ah...go?"

And they set off.

Altin hadn't had the energy or free time to really explore Appaloosa Plains before now, and he found himself surprised by how much beauty the little country town had to offer. And how much wealth. Between the two, if he ever managed to work his way back up into theft, he could be very happy here for a very long time.

He let Spot meander her own way into town, too concerned with staying in the saddle to mind.

Once they reached the city center, she picked up speed, thundering past City Hall and Appaloosa's few office buildings. Altin was...less than thrilled.

And then he saw where she was headed. Appaloosa was cowboy land, so he knew they were fond of their horses, but he hadn't realized they were fond enough to have a formal training center set up. Spot must have found it when they first arrived in town, during one of her disappearing acts. She made a beeline straight for the dirt racetrack, and Altin let her have her fun as he got more comfortable in the saddle.

Or tried to. After several laps he was reminded of how inexperienced he was at riding by the pain in his thighs and the rubbery feeling in his knees. He tried to dismount and they buckled under him. Looks like he'd be taking a taxi home. Besides, it was almost daybreak and tomorrow he had to "go to work," as the law-abiding citizens say.

Spot nuzzled him again, and pressed her head into his chest for a moment, then nickered and ran off. But that was okay. Altin was surprised to realize he wasn't worried. Somehow he knew that after today she'd come home when she was ready.

Chapter 3, part 1: In Which Our Hero Traumatizes His Kidneys

(Z: I challenge you to claim with a straight face that this building doesn't make you kind of maybe like rabbitholes at least a little bit.)

It wasn't long before Altin got the call from Oxendine. She always did manage to get the job done like that. Oxy didn't bring the greatest news, though. "Look, you're in, but like I said, it's real low-level stuff. They'll let you try your hand at being the decoy on a couple of their smaller jobs, that's all. And they only agreed to that because there isn't much of a chance for you to blow it, so count yourself lucky and keep your head down."

At least it was paying, that was the important thing. Without any work for so long, Altin had become an accidental vegetarian, surviving off his little garden while--

That was it! This was where he drew the line! Spot would not turn Bolt into another demon beast in horse form that would follow him around every time he stepped foot outside, waiting to strike. He was going to march over to that zebra right now and remind her which of them was the horse and which was the sim! In fact, by the end of the day, she was going to let him ride her, and this time it wouldn't wind up with him getting thrown to the ground in some distant town!

Altin could bribe her with carrots, right? Horses love carrots!

It was at that point that Altin discovered that while horses might love carrots, zebras preferred the taste of human flesh. If he was going to have to work this hard to get a bridle on Spot every time he wanted to ride her, he'd be in trouble. He only had so many fingers, after all.

(Z: Also, I've learned that caught-in-a-net thought bubble is EA's way of telling Altin "It's a trap!")

Tacking up completed, with more than its fair share of blood, sweat, and tears (mostly blood), now came the easy part. Altin just had to jump up onto her back like he did at the zoo, and everything would work out fine. 

He was beginning to expect that Spot only liked having him around when she needed zoo fences cut.

But Altin was determined, and he was fed up, and he was lucky, so he was pretty sure she wouldn't succeed at outright killing him. Minor limb damage, maybe, but the Grim Reaper could content himself with miscellaneous stray dogs today. He hoped.

Oh, that's not a good thought bubble...

...ouch.

Well, that was undignified. 

Altin pulled himself to his feet and brushed off the giant dirt-colored hoofprint on his shirt -- although the considerably more bruise-colored one underneath his shirt would be sticking around for a while -- and reassessed the situation. Maybe if he...

Oh, come on.

...no, that wouldn't work either.

They continued in this vein through most of the afternoon, with Altin spending more of the day laying on the ground than standing on it, and Spot showing him the handy trick she learned of twisting herself out of the tack and making Altin start all over again. He didn't dare take the chance to break for dinner (although Spot did), because he was afraid he wouldn't have the willpower to go back to getting kicked in the gut on a full stomach.

She was pretty keen on recycling.

(Z: Continued.)