Ep. 2 - The Switch – (One shot)
Oct 31, 2014 17:41:18 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Oct 31, 2014 17:41:18 GMT -5
Set on Week 1, Day 1, at roughly 8:30am!
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The truck sat against the opposite curb.
It was nondescript and grey, a big Ford 150 extended with a heavy steel workman’s toolbox built into its bed. It sat in front of a row of neat houses, just beneath the dappled shade of a small maple tree. From its position down the street it gave the four men inside it a decent view of the big red–brick building that they had been contracted to work on.
Two workmen sat in the front seat of the cab, and two in the back. Piled on the back seat were three lumpy black duffel bags and two metal tool boxes. The rest of the cab was tidy, clean.
“Good thing it’s a Sunday,” said the driver.
The man beside him grunted. He wore a T–shirt and Carhartt jeans beneath a safety vest, and heavy electrician’s gloves. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. Without looking away from the building he held his cell phone up to his ear.
“We’re in position,” he said. “The janitor is still letting us in through a maintenance door?”
The other three men in the truck were unable to hear the answer.
He nodded. “And the work order went through? They think we’re here to repair the heat pump and furnace?”
A vague buzzing from the phone.
“Yes, we’ll be sure to leave both in working order. What about team two? Are they in position at the hospital yet?”
More buzzing.
Whatever answer he got seemed to satisfy the man in sunglasses. He nodded to the other men in the truck, who all subtly relaxed.
“Yeah, we’ll get on it now,” he said. “Tell the boss to expect the other end of his switch to be up and running by ten hundred. Eleven hundred if the janitor gets nosy. We’ll keep the hospital team updated on our status as we progress. Talk to you in an hour and a half.”
He disconnected the call with a touch of his thumb and rolled his wrist over until he could see his watch. His expression was unsmiling as he gently pressed a dial on it, setting its timer.
“All right, let’s go, gentlemen,” he said. “We’re now on the clock.”
All four of the truck’s doors opened. The electricians stepped out. They carried the tool boxes with them, the duffel bag slung over their shoulders. As a group they strode with purpose across the street towards the red–brick building, after looking both ways for cars. But it was a Sunday, and the busy street was now quiet.
The tool boxes clinked and rattled with each step as the tools inside shifted back and forth.
The duffel bags did not.
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The truck sat against the opposite curb.
It was nondescript and grey, a big Ford 150 extended with a heavy steel workman’s toolbox built into its bed. It sat in front of a row of neat houses, just beneath the dappled shade of a small maple tree. From its position down the street it gave the four men inside it a decent view of the big red–brick building that they had been contracted to work on.
Two workmen sat in the front seat of the cab, and two in the back. Piled on the back seat were three lumpy black duffel bags and two metal tool boxes. The rest of the cab was tidy, clean.
“Good thing it’s a Sunday,” said the driver.
The man beside him grunted. He wore a T–shirt and Carhartt jeans beneath a safety vest, and heavy electrician’s gloves. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. Without looking away from the building he held his cell phone up to his ear.
“We’re in position,” he said. “The janitor is still letting us in through a maintenance door?”
The other three men in the truck were unable to hear the answer.
He nodded. “And the work order went through? They think we’re here to repair the heat pump and furnace?”
A vague buzzing from the phone.
“Yes, we’ll be sure to leave both in working order. What about team two? Are they in position at the hospital yet?”
More buzzing.
Whatever answer he got seemed to satisfy the man in sunglasses. He nodded to the other men in the truck, who all subtly relaxed.
“Yeah, we’ll get on it now,” he said. “Tell the boss to expect the other end of his switch to be up and running by ten hundred. Eleven hundred if the janitor gets nosy. We’ll keep the hospital team updated on our status as we progress. Talk to you in an hour and a half.”
He disconnected the call with a touch of his thumb and rolled his wrist over until he could see his watch. His expression was unsmiling as he gently pressed a dial on it, setting its timer.
“All right, let’s go, gentlemen,” he said. “We’re now on the clock.”
All four of the truck’s doors opened. The electricians stepped out. They carried the tool boxes with them, the duffel bag slung over their shoulders. As a group they strode with purpose across the street towards the red–brick building, after looking both ways for cars. But it was a Sunday, and the busy street was now quiet.
The tool boxes clinked and rattled with each step as the tools inside shifted back and forth.
The duffel bags did not.