Ready
"Thank you, Mr Mizer." A self-satisfied smile clung to Mr Burns' face, for that dance was his favourite, his Swan Lake. He was a master of dark arts and if he could be said to love anything, he loved the gallows dance best of all. "I must say, your policing skills are first rate."
Mizer's eyes glinted mischievously. "Just doing my duty, Mr Burns. "Keeping the streets safe and all that."
The two exchanged silent gazes for a second before Mizer burst out laughing and Burns grinned wickedly.
"Let's get rid of that," Burns said, stooping down and grabbing the lifeless corpse by the feet.
Mizer grabbed the shoulders and with a strength belying his stature, lifted the lifeless corpse from the ground. Together they moved it into the gatehouse. Mizer searched the man's pockets, took out a set of keys and weighed them in his open palm.
"You know, Mr Burns, an idea strikes me." He looked up at his companion. "This warehouse might make an excellent," he stopped as though searching for the right words, tasting them before making a selection. "Correctional institute."
Burns nodded. He could see the appeal. Nobody, so far as he was aware -and he was aware of a great deal- had been inside for months. It had no security, no cameras.
The warehouse and the defunct Keppler Logistics were a front for a particularly nasty gang of criminals. The type who made the world worse, not better like Mr Burns and Mr Mizer. Purposeless thugs driven by avarice.
He smiled. "Your mind really is a wonder, Mr Mizer."
Mizer, ever the brains of the operation, puffed up like a pigeon. He acknowledged the compliment with a nod, stood up. "I assume we don't want the contents of this van?" He left the gatehouse and pulled the door shut behind himself.
"Your instincts would make the old bill jealous," Burns shot back. "If you were caught with that lot, you'd spend the rest of your life back in prison."
"That would be inconvenient," Mizer said.
They approached the van, took the keys from the ignition and Mr Mizer opened the rear doors. Inside were plain, cardboard boxes. He opened one of them and found they were filled with packages wrapped in brown paper. "What have we here?" Inside the packages were suspicious brown powder blocks. "Oh dear, oh dear. Someone has been very naughty."
It took them only a short while to empty the van of boxes, piling them up inside the gatehouse atop their previous owner. When they had finished they stood back to admire their handiwork.
"That should keep until they come to collect." Mizer pulled the door closed again.
Burns produced a piece of white chalk from his pocket, proceeded to walk around the wooden gatehouse drawing an uneven chalk circle. When completed, he put the chalk back in his pocket. "Let's go," he said. "We'd best prepare for visitors."
When their van failed to return, the people who owned it would be afraid. First they'd send scouts. The scouts would find their product, watch it closely. Then another van would appear, hurriedly take back their stock.
Then they would cut ties with Keppler logistics like rats fleeing a burning building. They would not come inside, of that he was sure.
The image of the warehouse burning sent a little shiver down Burns' spine. One day, perhaps.
The thrill was beginning to rise up in him, the one that told him danger was near. He knew the opponents they faced were possibly the strongest they had ever faced. But he also knew that together, he and Mizer could do anything.
Could change the world.
They headed for the warehouse, the rusty sign swinging in the light breeze a timpani to their march.
The keys Mizer had found unlocked the padlock and allowed him to slip inside the gates like a shadow. Grass and weeds grew so thick within the fence that recent events hadn't made much of a difference.
Mr Burns squeezed himself into the van and started the engine. His companion pulled the gates open and he drove it inside and around the back of the warehouse.
A rusty, old carport made the perfect parking place and he left the van hidden there, keys in the ignition for later use.
He returned on foot to Mr Mizer, who was trying various keys in the warehouse door. Eventually the door opened and they fled from the daylight into the comfortable, murky darkness.
If there were windows, they were covered. But neither man was constrained by anything so mundane as needing light to see by. They had other senses.
Shadows and spider-webs clung to the corners of a large, empty space. A faint sliver of daylight came through the bottom of a loading dock door. They would have to take care of that. Faint tyre tracks led to the middle of the room.
Signs of many feet clustered around where vans had been parked. Burns could see it all. They had parked two vans next to each other and moved goods from one to the other.
"This place is perfect, Mr Burns. You know all the best haunts." Mizer stepped into the middle of the room, surveying the warehouse. "Oh this will do very well indeed," he muttered. Where others would see only decay, he saw the future.
He began to trace lines in the dust at his feet but grew unsatisfied with it. "Might I borrow your chalk?" he asked.
Mr Burns handed over his chalk and stood back. He knew not to disturb Mizer when he worked. They were practically of one mind at this point, speaking aloud to each other only out of habit.
He watched as Mizer drew a large circle on the floor. This was followed by an even larger one around it. He began to draw strange, intricate little symbols between the circles. The work was slow, meticulous. Burn's did not so much as blink whilst Mizer carried it out.
When he was finished Mizer stood up, stretched his back and stepped back.
Burns reached into his inside pocket and removed a small vial containing a glimmering, silver liquid. He held it up, squinting at it. Without a sound he walked around the circle, dripping a single drop into each symbol.
When they were finished, the moon was high in the sky outside. He could feel it. The two lines had begun to glow with the same silver shimmer as the liquid.
"Ready, Mr Mizer?" he said.
"Ready, Mr Burns." Mizer replied.