I'm baaaa-ack. You know the drill…
"Hee hee! Okay, guys, what's the next part of the game?" giggled Shorty. She was still blindfolded as Strike carried her into the room. Heat only looked on, still amused. Strike's facial expression indicated that he was going to be sick.
"The next part, my dear, is called 'Statue'. We have to see who can be still the longest," Heat grinned, winking at Strike. Heat was really good with li'l young'ns, but he'd never admit it.
'How clever,' thought Strike. He sucked with kids; he'd rather play kickball with them… as the ball, that is. He placed Shorty in the chair. "You comfy?" he asked.
"Yeah, silly! When can we eat?"
"In about 5 minutes. You can stay still that long, can't you?" asked Heat, getting a rope out of Strike's backpack.
"You bet! I can beat you guys at any game in the world, you know. How am I supposed to know that you're staying still, too?"
"Well it's just gonna be you and Strike, kiddo," said Heat. "I have to get the food ready."
Strike sneered at Heat. 'Subeta,' he thought.
Heat smiled and handed Strike the rope, then went to the kitchenette to get the grub together.
Shorty sat in the chair grinning, just itching to move. The small rat in her pocket sniffed around and squeaked in slight worry and confusion. (If one can really ascertain an animal's emotions…)
Strike observed the rat, twitching his nose like he was about to sneeze. He despised rodents almost as much as he despised children. He liked to use them as target practice though, especially squirrels. The rodent's squeaks began to annoy him to no end, and that's when he remembered that animals could sense danger. Strike looked over to Heat and saw the annoyed look on his face. Heat held his arms out like "Can you do something about that Gawd-awful racket???"
Stifling his violent tendencies, Strike had to save his sanity. "Say, Shorty… uh… does that rat have a name?"
"He's not a rat!" Shorty huffed defensively. "He's a mouse."
"Rat, mouse, disease carrier, flea factory, it's all the same," muttered Strike. "What's his name?"
"Columbo," beamed Shorty proudly. "I thought of the name all by myself!"
"How… creative… of you," Strike tried fakely. "Could you get him to shut the f- I mean, calm down?"
"He's just hungry. Are you gonna feed him, too?"
Strike slapped his forehead. By God, this was a patience-testing situation. "We don't have any cheese."
"Columbo eats anything!" grinned Shorty.
'There's a joke in there somewhere,' thought Strike. "Well… sure, he can eat too."
Heat finally saved the day (again) when he brought out several plates full of pizza and burgers to the two.
"What a cute rat," Heat drawled in a thick Southern accent. He held his hand out to the mouse, only to have Columbo try to clamp his fucking fingers off.
Heat clutched his hand, reeled and almost yelped, only at the fact that he could have potentially lost his digits. By reflex, he set his hand ablaze with fire in his eyes, preparing to char the little bastard.
Strike grabbed Heat's arm.
"Chill, man!" he hissed in Heat's ear. "Besides, if anyone is gonna off that little future road kill, it's gonna be me!!"
Heat glared at Strike. "Why do you get to have all the fun?"
"Your time is coming. Now entertain this little brat; I gotta make a phone call," he said, and left the room.
Strike sat on the roof of the hotel, making another cell phone call. As the phone rang, he looked up into the beautiful twilight sky. The sun had finally set except for a tiny sliver of light on the horizon creating gorgeous gentle orange, red, and smoky blue across the sky. The moisture in the clouds reflected the colors perfectly. What a sight. Strike would never admit it, but he had a few aesthetic qualities about him…
"Moshi moshi?"
"What's goin' on?" asked Strike. It was one of his fellow gang members.
"Things are running smoothly," the voice reported.
"Good. Keep it that way." Strike ended the call and took a swig of Tequiza. Sometimes he had to check up on his gang. He was like father off on a road trip and just checking to see if the children were behaving like they were supposed to.
Strike's cell phone rang. He checked the number and a wicked smile spread across his face.
"What?" he answered harshly.
"Strike?" It was Kinoshima. Worry was clinging to his every word. "I need your help."
"REeeally?" Strike drawled, taking another sip of his liquor. "You sound distraught. Is everything alright?" He had to sound like he was just SSSOOOO concerned…
"No… no it's not." Kinoshima-san sounded like he was near tears. "It… it's my little Pumpkin."
"Your little girl? Oh my God-- what happened? Is she okay?" Strike was cackling madly inside.
"No… Strike… my little one didn't come home from school today… no one saw her after lunch… I fear that someone has kidnapped her! I wouldn't know what to do if something bad happened to her…"
"So… why the fuck are you callin' me about this?? Do I look like I print pictures on milk cartons?" Strike had to let that one out.
"I know you are upset because of the briefcase… but this is the largest project I've asked you to do for me. I had to make sure you wouldn't back out on me," sobbed Kinoshima.
Strike rolled his eyes and made a motion with his arm like he was jerking off.
"I have many enemies here now… Many people are threatening to take my life. These same people have also threatened my family. I fear that some of these people have taken my child. Please… please… I'll pay you whatever you wish extra. Please find my baby girl!"
"Hmph," grunted Strike, like he was deep in thought. "I don't know. I don't do rescues. That would make me into some kind of twisted anti-hero. I have a reputation to maintain." (Strike is so cold hearted.)
"Please! Name your price! I will have the money to you tonight… My God…" His voice trailed off. Kinoshima was obviously quite frazzled, sniffing and sobbing uncontrollably.
Strike wrinkled his nose and pondered. He hadn't expected this at all. "Look, shouldn't you be calling the police about this?"
"I should… but at this point I can't. Do you realize I have my hand in three illegal pies that could have me extradited from this country?? If the police begin an investigation, MY reputation is in jeopardy."
"So you care more about your fucking rep than you do your own child?"
Silence. Sob. Sniffle. More silence.
"You know what? I'll look into it, but I will never do a favor like this for you again," hissed Strike maliciously.
Kinoshima heaved a sigh of relief.
"If you don't give a damn about your family--I know you don't even honor your marriage--you ain't shit. You're less than a man. Family comes before any reputation you'll ever have. Just because you can't cover your dirty little tracks, you come cryin' and whinin' at me like I'm fuckin' Rescue 911 and shit. That's NOT my problem. I'm not here to fix your fuck-ups, you understand me, and if you EVER fix your fuckin' mouth to ask me for some shit like this again, I'll make sure the next person you talk to will be the Almighty Himself. You hear me?? Fuck you, a'ight? This'll cost you an extra 6 million, and get me the key to the briefcase when the original job is done. DON'T call me again about this. I will find your brat," snarled Strike. Every word cut Kinoshima to his very SOUL.
"Thank you… thank you so--"
Before he could finish, Strike ended the call. He despised weak individuals. Especially those that had a family who cared about them but they didn't seem to realize it. However… this had just given him yet another advantage… He turned up the lime-flavored Tequiza and killed it in one gulp, then looked into the now-night sky. A strong breeze blew and Strike released a wicked cackle that would send a chill down your spine…
Wooooo! Things are really pickin' up, huh? Let me know what you think. Please review and let me know what you like and quite possibly what you may want to see! Anybody who's checked this out and left a review, thanks for your support. Girl Glyce.