CHAPTER 7 - LITTLE DROP OF POISON PART 1
Cadiz, CA
April 5, 2007
Rico turned his journal back and forth, going over his notes on Bernadette. Her Stand, Gimme Shelter, was a tricky little power. It depended not on its own strength but of the power of its User. Having seen her prowess in the fight against Wallace, he was well convinced that the gloves were designed to be a multiplicative strength enhancer.
The shield was a bit harder to figure out, but he considered it to be alike to the way Jazz Funeral expelled energy. It would craft shields dependent on what the User required, but had limitations regarding size and duration.
Unfortunately, Bernadette was tied up with work, so the time needed to further examine the full extent of her powers was dwindling. She was dead set on staying in Cadiz and keeping to herself. Any attempt to breach this discussion was promptly shot down. So Rico spent his days sitting at the bar, sipping in cold drinks. Every night, he contacted the New York office and reported his findings. His contact, Cedric, said the main office considered his work satisfactory, but to have her in direct contact would be a better option. Having her come to New York would be the best.
He was thinking about what he was going to do when he got back home, when Bernadette came up and deposited a glass of red wine in front of him. "On the house. For keeping me company this week."
Rico was genuinely surprised by this generosity and held the stem of the glass so the wine danced and reflected in the California sun. "They say the Hamon masters of old could take the oxidation within wines and weaponize it. Liquid that cut like blades and burned like embers." He sipped as though he was a sommelier and placed the glass on the bar. "Thanks for the drink. Who knew a place like this could have so many bottles and brands."
Bernadette rested on the backbar and scanned the rows of spirits. "You inherit a place like this, and people come to expect a certain quality upgrade. When Leo sold me the bar, it was a bit of a dive. They had three beers on tap, and a bowl of nuts. One Bachelor's in Hospitality later, and I'd say this place looked a little better."
"You went to college for hospitality?"
"You know, when I said the wine was on the house, I didn't guarantee you'd get to finish it."
Rico took a quick swig. "No no. It's a... good major. Good major."
Their conversation was held up as an entourage of travelers came in from the heat. They ordered up and took a seat at one of the wooden tables. One of them, dressed in a straw hat and too much suntan lotion, went over to the jukebox and selected a tune. The dulcet tones of "Norwegian Wood" entered the room.
"Good song. You don't happen to have any rare CDs or records in the back, do you?"
"I mean, I do have a collection, like everyone else. Any reason?"
"Well, it concerns Puttin' On The Hits. You see, it has something to do with lyrics."
"Well, I'll definitely take a look on the off hours."
"Thanks."
Bernadette returned to her other patrons with their orders as Rico preoccupied himself with some card tricks. He unsheathed a fresh pack and set about shuffling them. He learned to do this trick in his spare time when not taking lessons from Lisa Lisa and set about perfecting it with Hamon. Lining the cards up, he stacked four in two standard upright formations and laid another card on top. Then, utilizing a grazing touch from his pinky finger, he zapped the construct with Hamon. He performed the same formation three more times, each construct getting a touch of Hamon, and moved onto the upper tier until there were two cards left to top the pyramid. One final Hamon shot and the tower was complete. Breathing deep into his gut, he raised his left hand and chopped down towards the stack at full forces. As predicted, the tower held firm against the strike and caused a dull pain in Rico's hand. He had gotten better at perfecting the Iron Fusion Overdrive, his strategic variation on the Life Magnetism Overdrive. Bernadette came over to see Rico clutching his hand.
"What happened to your hand? Get overexcited at your pyramid?"
"You could say that, sure. Try and knock it over."
Bernadette casually laid into the counter and breathed softly on the paper to no effect. She exhaled again with more force. Still, the cards held. Bernadette reached under the bar and drew a bar spoon, a puzzled look turning to confidence. She wound up and slammed the spoon into the cards with such force, the metal bent and vibrated in her hand. Rico grinned with a sinister notion and was rewarded with a quick smack from the spoon on the top of the skull. "Ow! Take a joke, Bernadette, would you!?"
"You owe me a bar spoon and an explanation. Lemme guess. That Hamon nonsense?"
"Yeah, yeah," he said, nursing his head. "A technique I've been crafting for quite some time now. Going on four years now. Basically, I flow a bit of energy from my Hamon into two objects, then ripcord the energy back out. The result is forced fusion The science is a bit fuzzy, but in short, I'm taking the the solid atomic structure of the playing cards and hitting it with supercharged energy, then removing the energy leaving the two objects to reform together."
Bernadette's interest was growing as the explanation went on. "Are you telling me you can infuse stuff on the fly? A lot of my customers are the... shall we say, they shoot straight and drink straight. But then you get some weird order and let me just say, hell freezes over when I can't fill that drink order. Some people can't just drink a beer. They want a cocktail, and not just any cocktail. They want a cocktail they had three years ago in Tampa on a cool 60* by the botanical gardens of their alma mater. They want that recreated scene in a dive bar that, while perfectly acceptable by locals and proud of it, is in the dead of California. You see where I'm going with this?"
"Read you loud and clear. I suppose I could learn to work with fluid dynamics, but sadly cold fusion is still long off. And you don't have to be a bartender to know nobody wants a cocktail at the wrong temperature."
"...Rico, I feel like you've been trying to sell me a story of snake oil with Stands and Hamon, but that is the truest shit you've said all week."
"I try."
Rico pulled out a box of matches and was about to try and pull the same trick without igniting the match heads when the careening screech of tires could be heard from the parking lot. Everybody stood up as if there had been an accident, but the sound wasn't followed by anything more. The doors shut and steps could be heard as dress shoes clicked across the asphalt. The saloon door opened and there was a click that Bernadette had heard before and feared every time.
"GUN!"
She ripped Rico from his chair, slamming his knees into the end of the bar. Above his head, the sound of tommy guns soared across like stealth bombers across an empty sky.
