Speedoo

[Northern Cooperative Unions]

COASTAL MENDIAK, 10:57 PM, ASAJUAN HARBOR, 5/NOV/1956

In the late hours of the night two men speak over telephone in guttural Mendiak.

"It's simple man, you get outta the truck and then we talk about payment. How's that sound, huh? It's a simple system, and you just act like you saw two foreigners steal it. How about it?"

A muffled voice speaks through the other end of the phone. Ion Ibai casually twirled the cord on his telephone and smoked a cigar as he spoke, smooth - he was pudgy and large, balding. He had a Tiburan Catholic cross latched firmly around his neck and a striped bowler shirt with rich loafers. He was a wiseguy. A Mendiak antolakuntza.

"Shit, man... what if my boss finds out? I don't want to lose my job, man! You know how shit this economy is."

Ibai sneered a bit, answering back loudly through the receiver. "You'll make more money with us than you'll ever make trucking. You agree to do it this way or we can talk face-to-face about this, alright? I'm tryin' to cut you a deal here. A nice deal, one without trouble."

A trembling voice answered from the other end. "I'm not doin' this shit, man. I got kids to feed. I can't do this, okay? Just leave me alone." The caller on the other end hung up, and Ibai casually coasted the phone back to its position on the rack. He took another swig of his gin and heaved another puff of his cigar.

Ibai yelled out to his crew.

"Get ready, guys. Motherfucker won't budge."

 

[Northern Cooperative Unions]

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COASTAL MENDIAK, 8:30 AM, ASAJUAN HARBOR, 6/NOV/1956

[/FONT]"Edorta Arrats was a veteran, he was a no-nonsense veteran of the Youth War who had seen the horrors of both trench warfare and mobile warfare. He was the age of fourty-five, he had four kids and a wife, and he managed to secure a job as a truck driver after the war. Arrats had trouble over the past few days with a few guys he had seen in the union meetings a couple weeks ago. They took special interest in the meetings, and often met privately with some of the bosses. He thought he might know who they were - but he didn't want anything to do with it.

Arrats pulled out of the harbor with a shipment of fur coats and assorted clothing. He'd been looking over his shoulder - earlier in the night, he'd been called by one of the guys from the union meetings. They wanted him to pull into a rest stop and leave the keys in the truck. They were going to steal it. Arrats was honest and saw no reason to play a part in the scheme. He'd let the guys at the other end of the route near the capitol know that he might be followed to the end destination or he might not make it, and to call the Gendarme if it happened. Arrats had called them himself, and they claimed they'd send a unit to get a statement. He waited an hour and nobody came, and calling them up again didn't result in anything.

Arrats carried a pump-action from the war in his truck's cabin normally, but tonight he felt he should drive with it on his lap.

At 2 AM, Arrats left the harbor for the capitol playing SWR imported music. At 2:15, he noticed several cars on the county roads following him - witnesses corroborated that their were cars - but he assuaged any worry due to the narrowness of the road, and he had taken a different route regardless. The reason we know this is because he tried to send out a hail over his new radio, but he was inexperienced and it didn't reach anyone due to the signal in the mountains. At 2:30 AM, Arrats was forced to stop. A car was broken down in the road up ahead and blocked his way.

Before Arrats could even interpret what was happening, one of the guys from the meeting hopped onto the truck's step stone with a sawnoff shotgun in his hand, planting it firmly on the window.

Arrats' mind raced - and he instinctively reached for the pump action in his lap.


That is when the man at the window pulled the trigger and killed Arrats. That's when they dumped his body onto the side of the road and drove off."

Gendarme Captain Gotzar Patxi licked his mustache as he finished. The multiple detectives at the meeting table nodded in confirmation to the compiled collective narrative. Another casualty of racketeering, and another cold case. Gotzar sipped his coffee with a sigh and cigarette in his hand.

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