Fi acquires a gun, her way
Chapter 11
People get high in different ways.
Gamblers get high after that one win, convinced they are on a winning streak. Alcoholics get high from that one drink that will give them that light-headed buzz. Shopaholics get high after purchasing an item on sale that they've decided they cannot live without.
And for Fiona Glenanne, getting a high meant adding one more weapon to her arsenal.
So it was with a sense of happy anticipation as she prepared to purchase a new firearm in order to recapture mob henchman Sid Bailey. He had skipped bail the last time she brought him in, so his bail bond had been revoked and he had been sent to prison. She thought that would be the last she would hear of him. But then she received the news that Bailey had escaped from prison this time.
She was going to have to bring him in again.
Although her Uzi would get the work done, she decided to use a little more finesse to catch him. And more finesse meant getting her hands on something a little more portable.
The new "incentive" she would be using on Bailey would come from Seymour, her favorite arms dealer. Their secret rendezvous location was scheduled at the usual secluded sandy beach.
Fi was first to arrive. She watched as Seymour drove up. He was right on time.
Seymour popped out of his car, arms outstretched in a joyous welcome, jubilant to see his favorite customer.
"Fiona! My sweet Fiona!" he shouted her name with glee as he got out. The tails of his shirt billowed in the wind, alongside his unkempt wavy locks and beard. Despite his crazy weaselly looks and nefarious job dealings, Fi always thought Seymour was harmless. But then in her world, wasn't everyone?
"Seymour," she acknowledged, when he was close enough to her. She evaded his bear hug by adding, "Let me remind you again; hugs and guns don't mix."
Seymour smiled knowingly at her as he gave a big wink.
"Oh, saving your affections for someone special, I get it, I get it."
Fi knew he had been referring to Michael. Seymour seemed to have a strange fascination for Michael.
Michael. She hadn't given him a thought in the last...five minutes. Fi sighed regretfully. As much as she hated to admit the fact to herself, she knew capturing bail jumpers and purchasing illegal weapons were not enough to fulfill her life. But enough of this; back to the business at hand.
"Seymour, let's just complete this transaction."
"You know, Fiona," he said as he walked with her around to the trunk of his car, "Since I last saw you, I've been thinking of changing my name!"
"Oh?" said Fi, not really interested, but she had to fill up the empty air with words while he got his trunk open.
"Yeah, 'cuz I figured the name "Seymour" sounded like a guy who got beat up on the playground a lot, right? I've been giving this a lot of thought, you know. I want a tough-sounding name like 'Butch' or "Duke". Something that sounds kick ass! What do you think?"
"...As far as tough names go, Seymour, I've always liked 'Razor'," Fiona casually volunteered, more interested in watching the key being inserted in the lock of the trunk. She didn't add that "Razor" was the name she would have selected for a dog, if she ever got one.
Seymour stopped as he contemplated the name.
"Razor... Razor. Yeah, yeah, I like it! Sounds like a real killer, that one! It's a winner! I'll keep 'Seymour' for business purposes, but for my good friends like you, I'll be known as: Razor! Love it! Thanks, Fiona!"
Fiona wasn't going to tell him that she planned on calling him Seymour forever. But until she gets her new gun in her hot little hands, Razor it will be.
Seymour popped opened the trunk. Fi's eyes sparkled at the vast array of artillery weapons available.
While she appreciatively admired the selection, Seymour was busy looking up, over and all around the beach, as if he was expecting for someone to suddenly appear. Fi's eyes settled on a small Beretta 3032 Tomcat. It would suit her purposes perfectly. Compact yet effective.
"So, Fiona, where's my main man? Where's Michael?" Seymour asked with hope in his eyes as he continued looking about.
Fi had hoped she could get through this transaction without Seymour mentioning Michael. Beretta or no Beretta, she did not wish to discuss her personal life with her gun dealer.
Seymour, like her, had to get over Michael Westen.
"Seymour- I mean, Razor- Michael is not showing up here today. And personally, I think you need to get over your man-crush of him."
Seymour feigned surprise.
"Man-crush? Man-crush? What are you saying, Fiona? Get real! I know it's hard for you to see, but even someone of my chosen profession wants to see a happily ever after between my fave lava-hot couple!. 'Cause, I'm telling you, Fiona, the two of you are like two heat-filled fireballs colliding into a complex explosive mass!"
"Very poetic... but can we just get on with business, please?"
Seymour crinkled his forehead, looking puzzled at her avoidance of Michael-talk. Someone with Seymour's simple thinking could only come to one conclusion.
His facial expression turned to one of desperation.
"Oh no, Fiona! Oh no, no, no! Don't tell me...please don't say you two are having troubles!"
"Seymour..." began an impatient Fiona.
That's why he's not here, isn't it?" he looked distraught, "God! Noooo! I wished it wasn't that! Don't let it be that !I wouldn't be able to handle it if you two broke up!" Fi could swear she saw tears surfacing in Seymour's eyes.
Fi wanted that Beretta. She just hope she wouldn't be tempted to use it on Seymour. No, I can't just shoot everyone who irritates me, she thought, I don't have enough bullets.
If there is one thing she learned from Michael, it was that sometimes you have to use words instead of weapons to get out of a situation. Michael. There she was, thinking about him again.
"Seymour..." began Fi, in a forced calm manner, "You could not be more wrong. Michael is waiting for us at the ice cream shop once this business is completed. He remembered how much you love your little smoothies, am I right? He wants to treat you."
She wondered at times why she was so soft-hearted. She guessed purchasing firearms did that to a woman.
Seymour's tears suddenly evaporated. "For me? Wait! Hold- the- train! Michael said he's going to buy me a smoothie? A smoothie for me? A special smoothie for me? Did he actually say my name? Did he say 'Sey-mour?"
Fi nodded.
"I'm going to make mine mango," decided Seymour, " and you know what, Fiona? Maybe he'll order mango, too!" The idea overwhelmed him, as he looked ready to keel over with happiness.
They were interrupted when a black SUV suddenly appeared from almost nowhere and skidded to a halt near them on the isolated beach.
Two men got out, each threateningly holding tire irons in their hands.
Seymour's eyes bugged out as his hands flew to his mouth.
"Oh-no! No! No! I know those two dudes! Fiona! They're bad news! A gun deal gone bad!"
Fi looked back at Seymour and then down at the firearms in the trunk.
"Are any of these weapons already loaded?"
Seymour looked puzzled and scared.
"W-what? Why, of course not!" he said, "loaded weapons are an extra charge!"
Fi rolled her eyes.
The two men were getting closer. Fi had to think quickly.
"Do you know how to fight, Razor?"
Seymour face expressed pain just hearing the question.
"Fiona, I'm a lover, not a fighter!"
Damn, thought Fi.
"Then," said Fi, as she quickly closed the trunk, "Get in the car, Razor. I'll drive us out of here!"
The men started running to prevent the escape.
Seymour nervously threw Fi his keys as she went to the driver's side of his car and he rushed to the passenger side. The keys were thrown too short for Fi to reach and it landed on the soft sand. Fi wasted precious time picking it up.
One of the thugs was waving the tire iron in his hand as he yelled out.
"Seymour, you motherf*cker, you are dead, I swear, you're dead!"
With the keys in her hand, Fi grabbed the handle of Seymour's car and swung the door opened. The extra time it took for her to retrieve the keys cost her. Unexpectedly from behind, a tire iron whacked her shoulder. Her body dipped as pain imploded in that area.
"Get in Fiona! We gotta roll!" Seymour was already on his side as the goon on his side was hitting the window of his locked car. The two thugs were also cussing at the top of their voices.
Fi was now on the inside of the car door and attempted to close her door, but the guy was on the other side, trying to keep it opened. They were playing tug-of-war with the car door.
She leaned back, using her entire weight into the pull. But her weight could not counterbalance the strength of Thug #1.
Thug #1 held onto the car door with one arm as he brought up his other arm with the tire iron. With full force, he hammered the window with all his might.
Kaaaa-shhh!
The car window on her side exploded.
Fi quickly turned as glass shattered and sprayed everywhere. Still leaned back, she used one heel to kick through the shattered window, smashing her foot and glass pieces directly onto Thug #1's face. He groaned in pain and his grip loosened, allowing her to shut the door.
She put the key in the ignition. The engine turned over.
Just then the window on Seymour's side of the car shattered.
Kaaaa-shhh!
"Jesus H. Christ!" yelled Seymour as he plastered himself against the headrest while Thug #2's tire iron came flying in through Seymour's side window. The tire iron of Thug #2 was headed towards Fi' face and she lashed out her arm to block it. From behind her, she felt a sharp blow connect on the back of her neck from Thug #1's tire iron. There was a numbing pain.
She shifted into reverse quickly with tires squealing. Thug #2 leapt in through Seymour's window.
"Help! Help! What- do -I -do?" screamed Seymour, eyes bugged out, as he pointed to the struggling goon who had his upper body halfway in the car. The guy's legs were dangling outside the car window.
"Get him out of the car by any means possible!" commanded Fi, as she looked behind her shoulder to see a bloodied-face Thug #1, making exaggerated steps in the soft sand as he chased after them.
Meanwhile Thug #2 with half his body in and his flailing legs out, was trying to strike Seymour with his tire iron. Seymour tried to flatten himself more against his seat. Meanwhile, Fi was trying to drive out of the situation.
"Uh...hello, Fiona?" Seymour exaggeratedly pointed at a thrashing Thug #2, "He's still... um...here. Help, please?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Razor!" yelled Fi as she maneuvered the car while at the same time she leaned to her right and gave a sharp elbow to the nose of Number 2. He let out a huge agonized cry as he held onto his nose. His grip eased up and he fell back onto the soft sand.
Fi was able to shift into forward and they made their escape.
"Yeah! Yeah!" yelled a victorious Seymour with a fist-pump, once they were away from the beachfront, "Fiona, babe, you are an awesome ass-kicker!"
She looked forward as she drove on.
"…so I expect you to give me a discount on the ammunition for the Beretta, Razor," announced Fi composedly, as she drove on.
"…fifty percent discount for a lifetime, baby, a lifetime!" Seymour was still elated.
Fi smiled. She loved when she got a good deal on bullets.
.
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(I've always liked the lightness of Seymour's character-may even write a whole story on him! Maybe...)
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