Two Years Later
Crankurt's Irish Pub
London, England
Aaron Feng clutched a frosted beer mug between his hands, filled with golden nectar topped with an inch of foam. He watched the bubbles the size of pinheads rise to the top as the heat from his hands slowly warmed the glass. He took the moment to savor the beer with his eyes, preparing his taste buds for the next impending wave of indulgence, ignoring the other bar patrons who celebrated loudly around him.
It'd be best for him to keep a low profile, though he wasn't one for boisterous celebration anyway. Aaron wasn't supposed to be here. The rehabilitation guys sure damned strict with their rules from what kind and how much of food to eat, and what exercises to do on what day and for how long, right down to the second. Sure, he'd appreciated their efforts and it was because of them that he was now feeling healthy and able enough to sneak out of the compound and enjoy his first round of beer in over two years. Now, even when he raised his arm to signal the waitress for another glass after having downed the first without realizing it, he felt his shirt sleeve stretch against the muscles of his upper arm. As far as he was concerned, rehab was done; he was getting his energy back and he was filling out his clothes nicely.
The waitress, a strawberry blonde woman smiled in acknowledgement and before Aaron could even finish his thoughts, was back at his rustic wooden table, sliding a pint of Guinness that stopped in front of him so that he didn't have to reach for it. He looked up at her and winked in gratitude, while her face in turn flushed as red as her hair. The waitress grabbed his glass and walked away with it, returning him to his thoughts.
Sure Aaron felt fine enough to break the rules and if the waitress's reaction to him was any indication, he must have looked fine too at the very least. But there was the gap in memory that had been gnawing at him since becoming self aware. It wasn't a gap, on second thought, but a void in which all knowledge was sucked into, never to be seen again. It was as if he had only come into existence as a grown man two years ago. But he knew that wasn't possible, because as much as he wanted the void in his memory gap filled, he didn't want to go through the random flashbacks.
A scent, or a sound, a colour - the flashbacks struck without warning and there was no pattern or logic behind them. They would make his body seize to immobility with tension while his brain unleashed itself into full panic mode, all over a subconscious trigger. The worst part was after the panic attacks, he was no closer to understanding what the flashback had meant, or to understanding who he was.
The second glass of beer was empty now, and Aaron started feeling a little surprised at how quickly he was demolishing them. He looked up and raise his arm again to signal for a third glass, but instead of the strawberry blonde waitress this time, his gaze met with that of the bartender - a fiery haired man with an intimidating build, glaring at Aaron angrily through green eyes while he polished glasses.
He looked the angry bartender up and down and decided he would be able to handle the man if things got out of hand, but didn't want to give it a reason to. Aaron ignored the look and spoke to the bartender, "Another round, please." To his surprise, the bartender complied and broke their gaze with a grim nod, and got to work filling another glass. Aaron blinked. Maybe it wasn't a menacing glare after all. Maybe the two beers were hitting him harder than he thought - like it did to most Asians.
The wooden chair Aaron sat on screeched against the floor as he stood up to use the restrooms. And that was the moment he got confirmation that he was indeed, buzzed off two pints of Guinness. He took a moment to stabilize himself before heading off to the restrooms but felt a grasp on his elbow, stopping him before he could take the first steps. It was the bartender again, with the third beer that Aaron had ordered, setting it onto the table.
"Please have a seat," he said politely. The tension in his tone however, could've been sliced through with a knife. Aaron complied slowly with deliberate movements so as to not upset this stranger who clearly had some mysterious bone to pick with him. The bartender seated himself facing him and motioned to enjoy the beverage he'd just delivered.
"There a problem, buddy?" Aaron asked, hesitant to touch the glass. He was on alert now, his full attention on the stranger.
"You haven't done anything wrong in here," came the reply, "and I don't want to cause a scene. But I want you to enjoy that drink, and leave immediately after and never come back. Consider the three beers on the house."
Aaron was taken aback at the unprovoked aggression, displayed on his face with his mouth agape. He responded, annoyance tinting his tone. "Well it's nice to fuckin' meet you too," he spat, trying to keep his anger in check. "Listen, I don't know who you think I am, but I just came here for a couple of cold brews and a bit of relaxation. I don't want any trouble."
"Then you will leave," the bartender said, matching his tone. "Don't make me repeat myself, or I promise you there will be a problem."
"I don't know who you think you are, if this is how you go about treating your patrons ..."
"I'm the guy who runs this goddamned place."
Aaron paused, not expecting that he was talking to the owner of the bar. "Y ... you're Crankurt?"
He nodded in confirmation, then continued. "This innocent act you've got going on won't fly with me. I came to you trying to be reasonable, but you're really starting to test my patience."
Aaron held his hands up in defense, finally deciding to concede if it would avoid making a scene with this asshole. "Look man, I'm sorry about the waitress. I didn't mean anything by it, just a flirtatious wink."
Crankurt stood up angrily from his seat, placing both hands on the table. He jabbed a finger at Aaron. "This isn't about her and you know it. Why are you really here? Because you've really got a pair of balls by showing your face around these parts ..."
"I said," Aaron hissed, "I just wanted a cold brew. So if you're going to continue to humiliate me, a paying customer to your place of business, then I want to know what's going on and why."
"The scar on your chest -"
Before Crankurt could elaborate further, Aaron saw a large hand come down on his shoulder. The newcomer caught both of their attentions and instantly, he recognized the man as Colonel Wolfman, leader of Delta Red - the same man who periodically checked in with his rehabilitation progress. Aaron fully expected Crankurt to give the Colonel a solid right hook but realized that he too recognized the man and the aggression seemed to dissipate instantly.
And then the realization hit him like a freight train. If Wolfman was here, that meant the rehab center noticed Aaron was missing and had sent a search party out for him. He had broken the rules before the program was scheduled to be completed which meant he more than likely had to start over again once he was returned to the center. "God damn it," he cursed quietly under his breath.
Wolfman whispered something into Crankurt's ear for a few seconds. Aaron didn't know what he was saying but whatever it was, it had calmed the pub owner down greatly. He left the two of them to be alone, parting with a venomous gaze towards him before leaving.
The good Colonel, contrary to how Aaron had expected him to react, gently motioned for him to retake his seat at the table, joining him in the seat that Crankurt had only seconds before occupied. For the second time that night, he cooperated hesitantly, this time afraid of what Wolfman was going to say and what that meant for his immediate future after having discovered him blatantly disregarding the rules of the rehabilitation program as dictated by MI6. The same strawberry blonde waitress appeared and slid a glass of red wine in front of the Wolfman and scuttled away like a mouse without even so much as a second glance at Aaron, who spoke first in confusion.
"What the hell was all that about?"
"You're not supposed to be here," Wolfman stating the obvious angrily.
Aaron sighed with exasperation and propped his elbows onto the polished wood surface, covering his face with his hands. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I just had to get out of there for the night. I've been thinking about how much there is that I don't know about myself, and why nobody's telling me. It's just too damned much. I know ... you want to wait until I'm ready to hear it and you want me to just keep on keeping on in the meantime but I can't go on without knowing anything." He realized he was blabbering, but that didn't mean his feelings about the situation weren't real. "You're not going to make me restart the program, are you?" Aaron grabbed his third glass of beer and began chugging it down.
Wolfman smiled. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. You've bounced back in record time, and well ahead of schedule." He took a sip of the wine before continuing. "Under normal circumstances you would be required to restart the program but ... you've proven to be quite an exception."
Wolfman's assuring words had allowed him the luxury of thinking of other, immediate but less pressing matters then. "Crankurt," he said, trying to word this thoughts in a logical, professional manner, "it seemed like he's got a grudge against me. Does he fit into my past? Is he somehow involved?"
The Colonel put a hand over his knuckles, telling him to stop talking. "All you need to do right now is focus on your healing," he said. "Crankurt is just getting you confused with someone else."
"He mentioned my scar, sir."
"Forget about Crankurt," Wolfman urged. "You have more important things to worry about right now."
"About breaking the program's rules ... I'm sorry. Please, don't make me -"
"Let me finish," Wolfman insisted, earning him a sudden silence from Aaron. "Like I said earlier, your progress has exceeded expectations from our physical therapists and I think we're ready to move on with the next step with you ... despite the delinquency behaviour you've displayed tonight."
"The next step?" Aaron asked. "I didn't think there was one."
Wolfman cocked an eyebrow at him. "What did you think was going to happen after this?"
"Well ... I thought I would get better, and then you guys would release me to build a life for myself."
The Colonel chuckled and shook his head. "Under normal circumstances, you're more or less accurate in your assumptions. But we've been grooming you from day one, Feng."
"Grooming me ...?"
"You're a six foot three inch wall of muscle," Wolfman elaborated, "and damned near peak physical condition - you think it would be that easy to sneak out of an MI6 compound?"
"I ..."
"It's true, in the beginning you were recovering," Wolfman said. "But the rate of your recovery was nothing like any of us had ever seen - so we wanted to see how far you could go. The kind of exercises we're putting you through now aren't meant for physical rehabilitation patients, Aaron. They're meant for Olympic athletes."
Aaron took a moment to soak it in. It made sense to him - come to think of it, he had no idea what being rehabilitated consisted of. It was never made clear to him what kind of goals he was trying to reach before the program could be considered done. All he knew was that it was a three year program. But it occurred to him that at least on a subconscious level, he didn't want to ask. If he did graduate from the program, where would he go and what would he do? At least Wolfman was hinting some answers now.
"Grooming me ... but what for, sir?"
"For a position in Delta Red."
Aaron struggled to get out a response, but the words caught in his throat as his mind changed with every little new piece of info. But then realized he didn't know what his answer was going to be. He had to think on it but Wolfman seemed to understand.
But one thing was clear to him though - no matter what his answer would be, Issei was dead.
Wagner's Apartment
Los Angeles, California
The late spring sunshine was so bright that it had woken Wagner up before his alarm clock did. He stretched his arms above his head and gave a great yawn, knowing there was nobody there to see him. After a few satisfying seconds of yawning, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat upright, the bare skin on his back and shoulders immediately registering the impending heat of the day. Before he could groan in anticipation of the weather forecast, his nose perked up at the scent of a freshly cooked breakfast being cooked in the kitchen. It smelled like bacon and the sweet hint of pancakes and his mouth suddenly began to water.
It had to have been Juli. Since she'd come into his bachelor inclined life, she had introduced luxuries that he otherwise would have never even hoped to experience, like waking up to a beautiful woman in his bed who had just spent the night with him, a clean kitchen, and prepared meals. He'd never felt about anyone else before the way he felt about her. Not only did she provide companionship over the last two years, but she had out of her own feelings for him, made his life easier. He grabbed a crumpled white T-shirt lying on the top of his dresser and pulled it over his torso, and proceeded towards the mirror to smooth down his bed head from having been knocked out for the last twelve hours after a night spent with her.
When Wagner had successfully patted his blond hair down not without a little help from his own saliva, and deemed himself presentable, he walked out of the bedroom and headed towards the kitchen following the scent of the breakfast he was about to enjoy. After rounding the corners of the hallway however, Wagner was surprised to see that Juli was nowhere in sight. Instead, he spotted Kenny looking like a perfect gentleman fully suited in his school uniform - a white dress shirt, gray pants and a striped red tie, peering over a frying pan of eggs at the stove completely unaware of his presence.
He glanced over to the dining room table to find piles of pancakes topped with a generous layer of whipped cream and fresh blueberries, and a full plate of creamy, scrambled eggs and crisp, cooked bacon hot off the pan, not unlike a breakfast buffet at some high class hotel.
"Where's Juli?" he asked, ignoring the plates of food that partially obscured the view between him and Kenny.
"She's about to arrive any minute now," Kenny replied, not taking his eyes off the over-easy eggs that would burn if left unattended any longer. "She left after last night, and phoned earlier this morning while you were still asleep so I told her to just come on over. Hope you don't mind."
"O...of course not," Wagner said, befuddled. "So if she didn't make all this food, then ..."
"I did, Wagner. Melissa's coming over for breakfast too."
"Melissa?" Wagner asked, unaware that his little sister was planning for a visit. "Isn't she supposed to be in school right now? And come to think of it, aren't you too?" He motioned at Kenny's attire.
"Easter," Kenny replied. "Good Friday and Easter Monday are both holy days according to the Vatican - so us private school kids get a four day weekend while the rest of you suckers get three. I forgot, and got up early this morning to get ready for school. But by the time I remembered, it was too late and I was up so ..." He motioned to the food on the table, plating the eggs and placing them onto the dining room table. He casually wiped his hands off on a kitchen towel and slung it over his shoulder. Wagner took a seat at the table as Kenny nodded to the plates of food, placing a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in front of Wagner. "Eat."
Wagner did as told, filling his plate with a generous serving of scrambled eggs, a few strips of bacon, four slices of freshly browned toast, and a handful of hash browns. He placed the first bite size serving of food into his mouth and his eyes widened in surprise at the depth flavor.
"Damn, Kenny," he said through a full mouth, "this is pretty damned good. Where did you learn to cook like this?"
Kenny looked toward the floor in humility while smiling. "Cranky says to season every layer, subtle flavors first," he admitted humbly, then shrugged. "Pair flavors together, not against each other. It's a dance floor, not a boxing ring." Upon hearing Kenny's admission, Wagner frowned in sympathy and stopped eating and focused on the teen. During his stay, Kenny had been responsible, polite and well behaved. But he'd always harbored the understanding that there was something troubling him below the surface and try as he might to get to the root of the problem, Kenny had always pushed him away for the sake of what Wagner understood as exhibiting good behavior. But it was a sorry excuse for what lay below the surface.
"You miss him, don't you?" Wagner asked.
Kenny paused, opened his mouth to reply, but quickly turned around and busied himself with the next batch of eggs. The next words out of his mouth were of a completely different subject matter.
"Sorry about last night," Kenny apologized with shame. " I guess ... I just had a bad dream. I didn't understand what was going on and I sort of freaked out. Sorry about your coffee table."
"You mean sorry about my whole damned living room," Wagner added, forking a mouthful of eggs and hash brown into his face. The walls of the living room were cracked in numerous places. Shards of porcelain from the lamp shade, splinters of wood and glass from the coffee table had been swept up into neat piles on the tiled floor - Wagner assumed it was Kenny who had started cleaning up before he woke up this morning because it sure as hell didn't look like this by the time the fisticuffs were done.
Kenny pulled up a chair and joined Wagner at the dining table with just a coffee in hand. "Please don't tell Cranky." Wagner chuckled, taking a sip of juice, ignoring the urgency in Kenny's tone. "I know you think he speaks in figures of speech, but I'm telling you he will fly halfway around the world to beat my sorry ass."
"No," Wagner replied, wagging a finger at him. "Cranky has to know about this one - it's important."
"Wagner - look I'm sorry if I pissed you off," Kenny began, sounding a little more desperate now, "But I ..."
"That's why you started cleaning up the mess?" Wagner interrupted. "That's why you cooked this de-fucking-licious breakfast? Well damn, Kenny. I thought it was because you wanted to, not because you were scared I'd call your brother."
"He doesn't have to know - "
"I'm not pissed off," Wagner insisted. "It was a flashback. I've seen them before, Cammy went through her own. Kenny, it's not your fault ... but if you're not okay, Cranky has got to know about it."
Kenny buried his face in his hands in frustration. "But I am okay. So my psyche decides to slip up once in awhile - it's nothing I can't control."
Wagner cocked at eyebrow at him, challenging Kenny's statement. "So my living room getting smashed up last night - that's what you call under control? Kenny - I had your wrists in one hand and my other arm wrapped under your chin. I had to suffocate you to get you to calm down - could've probably killed you if you didn't. And then who's ass do you think Cranky would be flying down to kick?"
Kenny sighed and grasped the coffee mugs with both hands, looking into it deep in thought. "This is just so fucked up," he said. "I thought I was adjusting well to the normal life. I'm going to the most prestigious private school in town, colleges are showing interest, I've got a roof over my head, friends to hang out with on the weekends ... and all of a sudden these flashbacks come and ruin everything."
"You know," Wagner began, "if these flashbacks are the only thing from your past haunting you, as traumatic as they can be, that's all they are - a part of the past. That's a damned good sign that Shadowlaw is really gone."
"I've had them before too, you know," Kenny admitted, "earlier when I first moved in."
"I know," Wagner nodded. "I heard the whimpering. Begging your father not to do something, then screaming bloody murder. Then crying for your mother. And realizing she's not there, crying out for Cranky."
Kenny's face flushed a deep scarlet. "I ... I didn't realize you ..."
Wagner placed a reassuring hand on Kenny's shoulder. "It's okay. You can't control them, but you have to accept that they are a part of you. And then choose how they fit in your life."
"Well ... I know they're involuntary, and there's nothing I can do when I'm going through one."
"But would you say you're in control of everything outside of them?"
Kenny paused, thinking carefully, and then nodded. "Yeah, I'd say so. I mean, I've worked hard for these grades and this social life. They kind of make everything easier to deal with ... to the point where Shadowlaw is basically a distant memory, apart from the flashbacks."
"Then hold on to that," Wagner said. "Look at everything you've accomplished, and the next time one of these flashbacks occur, use them to give it the good old middle-finger. Life will always find a way to try and bring you down, and nothing will ever be perfectly all right. But the key is to succeed in spite of it all."
Kenny smiled. "So just give life the good ole 'fuck you' and keep doing your thing just to troll it?" he chuckled.
Wagner joined him in laughter. "Yeah, I guess that's the most accurate way to put it."
"If I was paying hundreds of dollars for a therapy session and you threw that shit in my face, I'd be asking for my money back." Kenny stood from the table with mug in hand, and headed towards his backpack, producing a manila envelope from it. "And speaking of spending hundreds of dollars ..." He walked back towards Wagner and handed it to him.
"What's this?"
"My report card," Kenny replied, "needs your signature ... but more importantly, a letter from MSU that I want you to read."
Wagner picked up the envelope and pulled out both documents, opting to read the university letter first. "Dear Mr. Feng, we are happy to inform you that your application to the Michigan State University Law Program has been approved, as has your scholarship for ... Kenny, this is awesome news! You've been mailing out applications for months now. "
Kenny nodded, "I know, pretty cool, right? It's kind of a relief that at least now I know I have a place to go to after graduation, even though it's not my number one choice."
"You're thinking you're gonna hold out on this one for a little while?" Wagner asked.
Kenny shrugged. "I wanna shop around for a bit. I still want to hear back from Stanford and Yale - chances are probably no but ... I still want to try, you know?"
"Have you told Cranky?" Wagner asked.
"Not yet. Why?"
"Because his seedy-ass little bar is gonna have to be pulling in a lot more coin to be putting you through school."
Kenny exhaled long and slow. Wagner was right. Cranky had always told him to study hard and get himself into a good school, but not if he realized what that would actually mean. Now that Kenny was in the running for three of the top ten law Universities in the country, tuition, room and board, and food was not going to come at an affordable price. It would bankrupt Cranky ... and Kenny would never be able to live with himself if he allowed that to happen.
"Maybe I'll go to school in Sweden," he offered, half jokingly. "At least education there is a basic human right. The plane ticket would be much cheaper than a semester's tuition at Yale."
"I think you just need to talk to Cammy first," Wagner said, rising from his seat and patted Kenny on the shoulder. "Thanks for breakfast, Kenny. I've gotta get cleaned up. Juli should be here any moment." With that, Wagner headed to the sink to deposit his empty plate in the sink before heading toward the bathroom.
"Don't forget to sign my report card!" Kenny called after him, and headed outside for the first cigarette of the day.
Crankurt's Loft
London, England
After bidding his bouncer goodnight, Cranky tiptoed up the stairs of the bar, flipping off the light switches at the base of the stairs as he went. The wooden floorboards creaked under his weight, signaling the end of yet another day in his newfound domestic life. He grew to love the sound, purposefully stepping down on each step as he climbed up towards his loft above the bar, a two thousand square foot space he'd learned to call home over the last two years. The night had fortunately been uneventful - no fights between insecure men with everything to prove, no intoxicated barely legal girls refusing to let go of the toilet as he tried to drag them out. Patrons had simply settled their bills and left uneventfully. It was as if with the presence of Aaron Feng was all the universe had to throw at him tonight.
Cranky stabbed the lock to his quarters with the key and rotated his wrist slowly, trying not to make a sound in case it would be a cause to wake Cammy. She had just returned from a mission with Delta Red in the middle east, and was likely curled fast asleep on his bed wrapped in nothing but a house coat, sleeping on her right side the left corner of her mouth curled up into a smile with the peaceful dreams from her Shadowlaw-free life. She'd been sleeping like that a lot recently, and was the first sign of what true happiness looked like ever since evil corporation's destruction - and along with his bar's creaky floorboards, was something Cranky had grown to cherish.
He entered his loft and closed the door quietly, while simultaneously removing his shoes with just as much care. Cranky glanced at his watch - 3:30 am. A noise coming from the living room startled him and Cranky looked over his shoulder to see who was there.
Cammy was sitting at the small dining room table, her hair looking damp from a recent shower. And he was partially correct in predicting that she would be in a house coat, but the familiar smile was not on her face. Her brows were creased with worry as she poured over a stack of papers, sifting through them sheet after sheet, her manicured nails furiously tapping on a calculator.
"Oh, hey babe," he greeted, surprised to find her awake at this hour. Cammy smoothed her hair back. Instead of her trademark braided pigtails, she had opted to let her length curls hang loose, and then turned to face him.
"Hey Cranky," she replied, smiling weakly at him.
"I don't like that tone," he said, noting the exasperated whisper and downcast eyes. She was a hardened Delta Red soldier, and the only thing that could force that kind of submission out of her was when she realized Shadowlaw had gotten the better of her. But since they were no longer a factor in their lives, Cranky was instantly curious, worried even, as to what could have warranted that reaction out of her. "Why aren't you asleep? What's wrong?"
"Wolfman stopped by," she replied, "and dropped a bomb on me." Her head drooped onto the table, supported by her folded arms as she continued. "He made an offer to Aaron Feng to join Delta Red."
Cranky's mouth dropped open. "What ..." he was rendered speechless by Cammy's news. "Why in the world ...?"
Cammy shrugged. "He made a good case for it. Feng's got the skills and the strength to be a valuable member to the team. Hell, he even proved it in Thailand at the tournament by helping Delta Red escape the Shadowlaw compound ... and by cheating death itself. The man was stabbed through the heart, Cranky."
"Wolfman seems to have forgotten the little about him being in Shadowlaw," Cranky spat bitterly, and shook his head in disbelief. "What the hell is he even thinking?"
She shot him a look. "So is Katarina. But it's okay for her to hang around?"
"You're angry about something," Cranky said, cutting her off, "and something's telling me that it has nothing to do with the Feng twins." He wagged a finger at the pile of papers sitting in front of Cammy. She sighed and nodded her head. He was right.
"Wolfman's announcement disturbed me to the point that I couldn't sleep," she admitted. "So I decided to be productive and went over the pub's accounts. And to be frank, if I wasn't concerned before, I sure as hell am now."
Cranky walked over and pulled up a chair at the table, kissing Cammy on the cheek as he did so. "Tell me," he said, "so I can fix it."
She shook her head at him. "This isn't something you alone can fix." Cammy handed him a sheet of paper, which he gingerly accepted. "This is the air conditioning bill for last winter. That ten year old piece of junk is costing you more money than the air its putting out."
"So we'll just get a new one," Cranky replied but was promptly cut off by another sheet of paper waving in his face.
"This one's O'Connor's request for a raise," Cammy interrupted. "And under no legal circumstances do you have the right to refuse, as he's the only bouncer we have in employment. Considering he's bent over backwards for the security of this establishment, there's no way you can refuse his application - legally or morally."
Cranky shrugged. "All right, so we give it to him." But this only seemed to cross Cammy more.
"Also, Wolfman told me you offered to forsake a Feng's bill just to get him to leave."
Cranky had been accommodating to Cammy's concerns so far, but her latest comment and the thought of Aaron Feng had struck a sensitive cord with him. He spoke slowly and carefully to her, learning over the years the that the two of them had tempers to match.
"I did what I had to do tonight, to get that customer out of the bar," he said. It was no use raising Aaron Feng's presence to her after he had diffused the situation. Cammy, on the other hand seemed to be enraged by his response.
"What you did was put yourself further in debt," Cammy said matter-of-factly. "This has to stop, Cranky. The free drinks, the refusal to invest in money saving technology ... You're just going into permanent debt. Let me help."
"No!" Cranky's response was swift, and fierce. "I can make this shit work. I know what I'm doing, babe. Everything's going to be all right."
"And yet you offered to let Aaron Feng leave without paying his tab," Cammy responded, crossing her arms across her chest. Cranky froze at her accusation. He wasn't planning on telling Cammy that he had found the former Shadowlaw Soldier patronizing his bar tonight - figured it wasn't worth the stress. But it appeared that she had found out anyway, thanks to Wolfman. Though Cranky knew better, he let the fact that his Delta Red associates go behind his back to exchange information get the better of him.
"Cammy, you don't understand," he said grabbing her by the shoulders. "I had to do whatever it took to get Aaron Feng out of the bar."
"Then you get Feng to settle, call O'Connor and escort him out of the bar, and take that money and put it towards his raise."
"So that's what it is, huh?" he said, in a barely audible whisper. "You go off with Delta Red while I stay home, run my business, only for you to come back after months and tell me I've been doing it wrong the whole time?"
"That's not what I meant, Cranky," Cammy said trying to calm him, but it was too late. Not even her experience with Delta Red had any hope of diffusing this bomb. "I just want to help."
"This doesn't help, Cammy!" Cranky yelled, knocking the back of his hand into the pile of papers. The sheets scattered, and rained down around them. Cammy could only stare back at him, green eyes wide with shock at his sudden outburst. "I don't see you for the better part of year, and the only thing you have to say to me is what a shit job I've been doing with my establishment? Who the hell do you think you are?!"
She stood up suddenly, slamming both palms down on the table. "The only person in existence who cares enough about you to want you to succeed!" she shouted. "You might have your own way of running this business, Cranky but I care - for you, but you can't even take care of yourself, let alone Kenny!"
Cranky rose to meet her angry gaze. "Don't you dare go stabbing your nose where it doesn't belong. How I run my life and take care of my own family is none of your concern!"
"None of my concern?!" Cammy asked, exasperated. " Is this where we're at after everything we've been through together? Are you still shutting me out after everything I've sacrificed for you?"
"You were shut out the moment you brought Kenny into this conversation!" Cranky bellowed.
"You really are a piece of work, you know that?" she hissed venomously. "All this talk about handling things by yourself, making things right by bearing all the responsibility on your shoulders. You can't even open your bloody eyes to see that it's because of your arrogance that your life turned out the way it did."
"You don't even -"
"I talked to Wagner earlier today," Cammy said quietly, in stark contrast to the volume with which Cranky attacked her with. "Kenny's been accepted into one of the top ten law universities in the United States. If you don't get a hold of yourself and fix the way you're doing things, you are not going to be able to afford to take care of yourself, let alone putting Kenny through school. After everything he's been through, I'll be damned if I stand by idly and watch you shit away your business, and his future." The initial pride that Cranky felt with Cammy's words dissipated with her sharp accusation. And it was the resulting emotion that forced the next words out of his mouth.
"The former victim speaks," he said, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Why don't you tell me then, Cammy. Since you've recovered so miraculously from your torment with Shadowlaw, I suppose that gives you the ultimate authority on how to fix everyone else, right? Seems to have done a stellar job with Juli. Maybe I'll ask Wagner tomorrow to transfer custody of Kenny over to your capable hands."
"Maybe you should!" Cammy spat. "At least he'd have a shred of a chance at a future that everyone fucked up by Shadowlaw deserves! Not sold for the equivalent of fifty bloody dollars."
Pop.
There went the camel's back. That was the last straw Cranky was willing to take. He spoke quietly, angrily, fists clenching at his sides.
"Get out of my house," Cranky ordered, pointing to the door. Cammy hesitated, as if she were waiting for him to change his mind - and the notion enraged him even more, seeing it as a challenge to his authority in his own home. He seized a nearby coffee mug and hurled it at the door. "Get the fuck out of my house!" he bellowed. The mug collided with door and shattered into sharp pieces upon impact with the door, and fell to the wooden floor with a staggered clangs as they made contact.
If the notion had scared Cammy, she didn't show it. Instead, she nodded her head solemnly and with arms wrapped tightly around her torso, she headed towards the main entrance. She stepped into her Delta Red combat boots and softly opened the door, still wearing the bathrobe without even bothering to change into her clothes. She stepped beyond the threshold and began closing the door behind her. Before shutting it completely, she stared after him through the gap between the door and its frame.
"Fuck you, Cranky."
He thundered over to the door in response, pushing it shut against Cammy's efforts, and purposefully locked it. As soon as Cranky felt the lock click into place, knowing Cammy was on the other side, he gave the bottom of the door a rough kick. "Get the fuck out!"
He then heard Cammy's footsteps immediately descend the stairs onto the floor of the bar. He listened as the opening of the front door reverberated through the building's structure, and again as it closed against the frame with a resounding click from the lock.
