Evertaster

Chapter 1 - The Heist

 The vault was supposed to be impregnable.

And it was — for the most part. Mr. Italo Arrivederci had made sure of that. It had stopped dozens of would-be thieves over hundreds of risky years; though no one knew exactly why it was so effective.

That night, things would change.

Epiglottis pushed his mop back and forth across the marble floor of the outer hall. A guard in a dark blue uniform nodded to him as he passed, the click-clack of his footsteps echoing between the ivory columns as they did every night. For all the familiarity it brought with it, Epiglottis hated the sound. Epiglottis had waited for years, posing as a lowly janitor, casting aside his true self, enduring a Scavenger’s life. Tonight it would end.

He adjusted the miniature camera housed discreetly inside the pen stuck in the left breast pocket of his coveralls. It was a direct video feed to the man with the pencil-thin tie — another source of frustration.

            “Take up your position,” crackled the voice through the microphone hidden in Epiglottis’ ear.

“Already there,” he whispered, irritated, as he ducked behind one of the two massive, polished white columns that flanked the five-hundred pound, double wooden doors. He wished the Arch-Gourmand were giving the orders. He would appreciate the magnitude of the task at hand.

The guard had turned the corner by now. He wouldn’t be gone long. Epiglottis looked at his watch. Now, he thought.

There was a splintering smash, then a crack, and the doors tore from their hinges and crashed to the floor. Two huge men, each at least a foot taller and twice as wide as Epiglottis strode through the empty door frame. Their chests were bare and their bellies hung over their loose, wooly gray pants. Executioner’s hoods covered their faces, except for the eyes and mouth.

            The guard was back in a flash, his gun drawn. The two hulking brutes each plucked a huge door from the floor and swung them in front of the guard like a shield; he fired. There was a pop! Pop! as the bullets shattered the surface of the wood.

            The first brute heaved the door on top of the guard, knocking him to the ground. And then it was quiet.

            Epiglottis stepped out from behind the pillar. He was impressed. He’d heard that the giant brutes could not taste or smell — but it was their brawn that was useful.

“This way,” he said, leading them down the hall. More guards would certainly come soon, so they had to work fast. They descended a steep stair that led underground. At the bottom was a locked door; this one steel. He’d never been through it; he wasn’t given clearance for that. He pulled a stolen badge from his pocket and swiped it through the sensor. The lock clicked and he pushed it open.

“We’re in,” he said activating the microphone in his ear.

            “Good,” said the man with the pencil-thin tie.

The dark corridors were lit by candle. The first brute shined a flashlight on his palm. It was tattooed with a map of the inner chambers — he had probably been raised and trained just for tonight.

The brute struck out to the right. In a matter of minutes they would have what they came for. So much for impenetrable defenses!

That’s when the most wonderful aroma struck Epiglottis like a mallet. It was chocolate, pure, sweet and rich as a milkshake or a slab of fudge. It filled his nose and then, like a mug filling with cocoa, his head. He bolted after it to the left.