The Story of Max Cale, chapter 18
by pari106
{Disclaimer, etc… You know the drill.}
A/N: Thanks to those of you who've been reviewing :) Please keep it up!
And to those of you who haven't: for shame! :( And as punishment I curse you with this mental image: Normal in a tiger-print thong. I hope you feel properly chastised now and mend your ways.
And if I've just blinded your mind's eye I apologize ;)
Chapter 18…
Zack's message: Short; precise… Infinitely frustrating at the moment.
It came over the phone via the shared messaging service Zack used to receive, send, and
monitor communications with the other X5s under his command. It was followed by the
obligatory beep, and the message, in Zack's voice, was: "You know what to do."
Very Zack.
"Actually, Zack," is all Syl said, as she resisted the urge to slam down the receiver, "I
wouldn't be calling you if I did. Asshole." *Then* Syl slammed down the receiver.
But that last part had been more for her own benefit than for Zack's. "Asshole" sounded
pissed. And Syl would much rather be pissed than concerned. Which was what Syl was,
now that a whole day or so had passed and she hadn't heard from Zack. She'd made very
clear, in her last *three* messages, that making contact was urgent. She knew Zack
checked his messages several times a day. Yet he still hadn't responded.
Which was very *not* Zack.
Syl hadn't yet vacated the phone booth she was calling from before her concern got the
best of her.
"You know what to do."
"Hey, Zack…it's me. Again. Listen… This is really starting to worry me," Syl
admitted, over the phone once again. "Forget everything else… Just call. Just so I know
you're okay. Okay? Uh…okay. Bye, Zack."
'I love you,' remained silent on Syl's lips.
Also silent, was Syl's personal assurance that she would *kill* Zack if he'd gotten
himself killed before she could tell him that she loved him in person. Or something.
Syl left the phone booth more disturbed than she'd ever have liked to admit.
**** ****
It was dark at this time, and Syl and Logan had parked outside a crappy looking little bar,
in practically the middle of nowhere, so she could make her call.
Actually, to be exact, *Syl* had parked outside the crappy looking little bar… Logan
had just sat there in the passenger seat like Syl had told him to. Then Syl had handcuffed
him to the steering wheel. And left him there.
Logan hadn't put up much of a fuss when she did either. Of course, he'd been sleeping at
the time… So that might have had something to do with it.
And the pills Syl had slipped into Logan's drink, a couple of hours, ago, might have
helped a bit, as well.
Syl smirked as she headed back to the SUV from the phone booth on the side of the bar.
'Stupid human,' she thought.
You'd think that someone in league with a man like Don Lydecker would be a little more
paranoid. Or at least that, sitting next to a transgenic that greatly wanted to injure him,
Logan would have kept a closer eye on his drink.
'Like those guys there," Syl thought in disgust as a small group of drunks stumbled out a
side door to the bar. Very near her.
Too near for Syl's tastes. With her unnaturally sharp sense of smell, the stench of liquor,
sweat, and filth that surrounded the men was almost incapacitating. And the need to do
mischief was almost just as palpable. The creeps took one look at Syl and she could tell,
just by looking at them peripherally, that they were gonna be trouble.
'Idle hands…,' and all that. Especially idle hands clutching bottles of cheap beer and
whiskey.
Then the catcalls began.
'Catcalls…' Syl thought with a smirk. 'How appropriate.'
"Well, what do we have here?"…"Hey, baby what're you doing out here out by
yourself?"… "Want a little company?"… "Now, don't be like that…"
Blah blah blah.
Syl tried to be a good little transgenic and dissuade her so-called "company" from
coming any closer. Then she tried to ignore the little shits, but when they formed what
she would have called a perimeter (had she thought they were capable of thinking in
terms with more than one syllable) around her… Well, Syl didn't have to be prodded too
far into a confrontation. On a good day she enjoyed a good fight.
And today had not been a good day.
"Come on, sweetie, let's just stop and talk a bit…" Slime-ball #1 said in what, Syl
assumed, he considered a seductive manner.
She smiled. "Yes, let's," she replied.
But, as has been established, talking never was one of Syl's strong suits.
So she started smacking the men around a little instead. She seemed to be doing things
like that a lot lately.
'I needed the exercise anyhow,' Syl thought, moments later, when all the men lay either
unconscious or clutching themselves in agony.
Which is when a problem arose.
"Hey! What the hell is this?"
A man was coming around the corner of the bar wearing a bartender's apron, and being
trailed by another small group of men. This group was sober, unlike the last. And this
group had just been told, by one of the men Syl hadn't realized had creeped away while
she was beating the crap out of his buddies, that there was some strange girl outside who
just happened to be kicking the asses of five large men. All by herself.
'Oh, shit.'
Syl began to drop back into a defensive position, when a hand on her shoulder both
tensed and stilled her. She hadn't even realized it, but Logan had suddenly appeared at
her side.
The men from their bar reached their position, and the bartender took in the scene around
them; the men lying on the ground. A small crowd had begun to file out of the bar.
Wasn't often that Post-Pulse Americans got entertainment, like that of a "little girl"
beating up a bunch of men, for free.
Logan looked at the bartender, and in an angry, serious tone of voice said: "I'll tell you
what the hell this is." His grip on Syl's shoulder tightened.
Syl looked from the crowd to him and back.
'And I repeat…Oh, shit…'
**** ****
Syl, for all intense purposes, was frozen where she stood as her mind whirred, trying to
decide what to do next.
The bartender and his cronies she could manage…
Pretty rich boy she could manage… She couldn't figure why he was standing here and
not still snoozing in his car…but she could manage.
But a crowd…
Hell, she could probably manage them, too. For a while. Syl had the element of surprise
on her hands, after all. But things would get messy. And dirty. And probably painful.
And just generally *not* fun all the way around.
And damage control for tactical exposure like this would be a bitch. With puppies.
But before Syl could think much more about that, Logan was talking and Syl felt her
stomach turn. 'Okay…here it comes…'
"Who are you?" the bartender had asked.
And that's when Logan said "I'm this woman's husband. Who the hell are you? And
just where the hell were you while these punks were harassing my wife?"
Syl's jaw dropped so far she could have sworn she felt it hit her racing heart.
Logan reached over, and with the expression of a man terribly concerned for - and
fiercely protective of - his mate, gently tipped Syl's chin so that her mouth closed.
"She's still shaken up," he explained to the disbelieving crowd before them.
'God, let this work,' he thought.
by pari106
{Disclaimer, etc… You know the drill.}
A/N: Thanks to those of you who've been reviewing :) Please keep it up!
And to those of you who haven't: for shame! :( And as punishment I curse you with this mental image: Normal in a tiger-print thong. I hope you feel properly chastised now and mend your ways.
And if I've just blinded your mind's eye I apologize ;)
Chapter 18…
Zack's message: Short; precise… Infinitely frustrating at the moment.
It came over the phone via the shared messaging service Zack used to receive, send, and
monitor communications with the other X5s under his command. It was followed by the
obligatory beep, and the message, in Zack's voice, was: "You know what to do."
Very Zack.
"Actually, Zack," is all Syl said, as she resisted the urge to slam down the receiver, "I
wouldn't be calling you if I did. Asshole." *Then* Syl slammed down the receiver.
But that last part had been more for her own benefit than for Zack's. "Asshole" sounded
pissed. And Syl would much rather be pissed than concerned. Which was what Syl was,
now that a whole day or so had passed and she hadn't heard from Zack. She'd made very
clear, in her last *three* messages, that making contact was urgent. She knew Zack
checked his messages several times a day. Yet he still hadn't responded.
Which was very *not* Zack.
Syl hadn't yet vacated the phone booth she was calling from before her concern got the
best of her.
"You know what to do."
"Hey, Zack…it's me. Again. Listen… This is really starting to worry me," Syl
admitted, over the phone once again. "Forget everything else… Just call. Just so I know
you're okay. Okay? Uh…okay. Bye, Zack."
'I love you,' remained silent on Syl's lips.
Also silent, was Syl's personal assurance that she would *kill* Zack if he'd gotten
himself killed before she could tell him that she loved him in person. Or something.
Syl left the phone booth more disturbed than she'd ever have liked to admit.
**** ****
It was dark at this time, and Syl and Logan had parked outside a crappy looking little bar,
in practically the middle of nowhere, so she could make her call.
Actually, to be exact, *Syl* had parked outside the crappy looking little bar… Logan
had just sat there in the passenger seat like Syl had told him to. Then Syl had handcuffed
him to the steering wheel. And left him there.
Logan hadn't put up much of a fuss when she did either. Of course, he'd been sleeping at
the time… So that might have had something to do with it.
And the pills Syl had slipped into Logan's drink, a couple of hours, ago, might have
helped a bit, as well.
Syl smirked as she headed back to the SUV from the phone booth on the side of the bar.
'Stupid human,' she thought.
You'd think that someone in league with a man like Don Lydecker would be a little more
paranoid. Or at least that, sitting next to a transgenic that greatly wanted to injure him,
Logan would have kept a closer eye on his drink.
'Like those guys there," Syl thought in disgust as a small group of drunks stumbled out a
side door to the bar. Very near her.
Too near for Syl's tastes. With her unnaturally sharp sense of smell, the stench of liquor,
sweat, and filth that surrounded the men was almost incapacitating. And the need to do
mischief was almost just as palpable. The creeps took one look at Syl and she could tell,
just by looking at them peripherally, that they were gonna be trouble.
'Idle hands…,' and all that. Especially idle hands clutching bottles of cheap beer and
whiskey.
Then the catcalls began.
'Catcalls…' Syl thought with a smirk. 'How appropriate.'
"Well, what do we have here?"…"Hey, baby what're you doing out here out by
yourself?"… "Want a little company?"… "Now, don't be like that…"
Blah blah blah.
Syl tried to be a good little transgenic and dissuade her so-called "company" from
coming any closer. Then she tried to ignore the little shits, but when they formed what
she would have called a perimeter (had she thought they were capable of thinking in
terms with more than one syllable) around her… Well, Syl didn't have to be prodded too
far into a confrontation. On a good day she enjoyed a good fight.
And today had not been a good day.
"Come on, sweetie, let's just stop and talk a bit…" Slime-ball #1 said in what, Syl
assumed, he considered a seductive manner.
She smiled. "Yes, let's," she replied.
But, as has been established, talking never was one of Syl's strong suits.
So she started smacking the men around a little instead. She seemed to be doing things
like that a lot lately.
'I needed the exercise anyhow,' Syl thought, moments later, when all the men lay either
unconscious or clutching themselves in agony.
Which is when a problem arose.
"Hey! What the hell is this?"
A man was coming around the corner of the bar wearing a bartender's apron, and being
trailed by another small group of men. This group was sober, unlike the last. And this
group had just been told, by one of the men Syl hadn't realized had creeped away while
she was beating the crap out of his buddies, that there was some strange girl outside who
just happened to be kicking the asses of five large men. All by herself.
'Oh, shit.'
Syl began to drop back into a defensive position, when a hand on her shoulder both
tensed and stilled her. She hadn't even realized it, but Logan had suddenly appeared at
her side.
The men from their bar reached their position, and the bartender took in the scene around
them; the men lying on the ground. A small crowd had begun to file out of the bar.
Wasn't often that Post-Pulse Americans got entertainment, like that of a "little girl"
beating up a bunch of men, for free.
Logan looked at the bartender, and in an angry, serious tone of voice said: "I'll tell you
what the hell this is." His grip on Syl's shoulder tightened.
Syl looked from the crowd to him and back.
'And I repeat…Oh, shit…'
**** ****
Syl, for all intense purposes, was frozen where she stood as her mind whirred, trying to
decide what to do next.
The bartender and his cronies she could manage…
Pretty rich boy she could manage… She couldn't figure why he was standing here and
not still snoozing in his car…but she could manage.
But a crowd…
Hell, she could probably manage them, too. For a while. Syl had the element of surprise
on her hands, after all. But things would get messy. And dirty. And probably painful.
And just generally *not* fun all the way around.
And damage control for tactical exposure like this would be a bitch. With puppies.
But before Syl could think much more about that, Logan was talking and Syl felt her
stomach turn. 'Okay…here it comes…'
"Who are you?" the bartender had asked.
And that's when Logan said "I'm this woman's husband. Who the hell are you? And
just where the hell were you while these punks were harassing my wife?"
Syl's jaw dropped so far she could have sworn she felt it hit her racing heart.
Logan reached over, and with the expression of a man terribly concerned for - and
fiercely protective of - his mate, gently tipped Syl's chin so that her mouth closed.
"She's still shaken up," he explained to the disbelieving crowd before them.
'God, let this work,' he thought.