1Disclaimer: Me no money, you know kung foo, me no own, so you no sue.
Hey! Well, what do you know? The hurricane has returned for a third chapter. (And, if you've read my other story, you know that these are long chapters for me.) I'm totally into this. But you have to tell me what you think
Again, if it's a piece of crap, I'll toss it. A few people want me to continue Negaduck, and I may start dedicating more time to that. I'll just wait and see. Your feedback is much appreciated.
Chapter Three
Sandiego
Well, she was almost decked out completely in red. She had white crutches and a white leg cast. That put a serious cramp in her style. Her long, red skirt flowed in the breeze, but Sandiego had an idea it might be prettier if it weren't moving in little jolts and spurts (due to the crutches).
He began to rethink. He had been positive it was his woman just a few seconds ago. But, for god's sake, they knew what she was wearing. Why the hell wouldn't they tell him about the crutches? She stuck out like a goddamn sore thumb. Maybe it was the wrong girl. Only one way to find out for sure-
"Hi," Sandiego offered, holding out his hand to the wounded girl, "I'm Sandiego."
Carmen couldn't contain herself. 'Hi. I'm Sandiego.' The irony of the situation hit her hard. She burst into laughter. "Sorry." She apologized. But not sincerely. She avoided doing things with sincerity. It was a good technique of unnerving people; piece by piece.
She was gonna' work this guy until there was nothing left but a piece of soul to go to heaven.
Sandiego looked nervous again. "Are you...Carmen?"
"Yeah." She offered, heading (more like limping) to a café table. She did not shake his hand, which was still being offered.
She looked at the café table chair. It was dark green with little holes in it here and there. Very menacing, she decided.
She hadn't quite gotten the hang of sitting down yet. But she wasn't going to make a fool of herself in front of the new guy. She took a deep breath, and slipped the crutches up, so that she was supporting herself.
She went with what she earlier called the 'fall' tactic. And she aimed her bottom for the chair and...fell.
She missed. Oh, damn.
Her butt was headed straight for the even more menacing concrete below her. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Sandiego saw her fall, and with speed he didn't know he had, he reached out and grabbed her.
She freaked out. "Dear god! OUCCHH!! Urgh, it hurts like a mother-"
Sandiego noticed two children sitting at a table near them, and quickly covered her mouth with his hand. After a second or two, she calmed down, and he placed her in the chair. Maybe he would be a good father after all....he was starting to get those 'dad' instincts. Must have been Jeanitia.
He tried as hard as he could to push her from his mind.
They made small talk for a while, and ordered drinks. (These were two things Carmen usually didn't do, but what the hell? The man had just been touching her BUTT for god's sake. Might as well make him feel loved before she put him through hell.)
Carmen wondered how old he was. He looked like he might be around college/graduate school age. She didn't hesitate.
"How old are you? Nineteen? Twenty?"
"Twenty-five."
"Oh."
Well that was odd. He looked younger...like a kid almost. A damn handsome kid if she did say so herself. It made her a little nervous that he didn't ask her how old she was, but she quickly got over it. She figured it was one of those 'disobeying cultural norms to unnerve people' things.
Carmen smiled. It didn't work on her.
"Since you didn't ask, I'm seventeen." She immediately regretted telling him her age. He might look down on her from now on.
Sandiego looked and felt confused. He screwed his face up agitatedly, and began to look very uncomfortable.
"Can I ask you something?" He ventured.
"Anything." Carmen said, sliding her elbows across the table in interest.
"Who are you and what is this job?"
Carmen had to contain her laughter. He sounded like JAMES BOND for God's sake!
"I'm Carmen," Said Carmen, once she'd calmed down.
"I know," Said Sandiego anxiously. Sandiego's palms were sweating. He suddenly felt like he'd made some drastic mistake in coming here. But he didn't want to leave. Maybe he hadn't known what he was getting into. Of coarse he hadn't! He knew that. He'd always, he'd neve-
"The job is working for the CIA." She was right, but she'd been so blunt because she wanted to see the expression on his face.
Sure enough, she got results.
But not results she wanted. He was laughing! Laughing at her!
She felt the sudden urge to laugh with him. She kept her straight face. She put on a devious smile.
"You think I'm joking," She continued once he'd quieted. "But I'm so serious. That's why I'm here as injured as bad as I am. That's why they told you what I'm wearing but not that I would be injured. That's why everyone at the other tables have on at least one article of red clothing. Get over it."
Sandiego was looking around them wildly, standing out of his seat. Carmen didn't move. She just sat there with pudgy light-brown cheeks bent in a smile.
Sandiego stumbled backwards. He hit the ground hard, but quickly got back on his feet, ignoring the pain in his back and legs. He ran for his car.
Carmen watched him go, feeling the urge to laugh again. This was something she could laugh at. She wondered who he was. He'd seemed so tense. Like a thousand things were going to fall on him at any moment.
She wished he'd stayed a little longer. It was going to be pretty hard to get out of this chair by herself...
Return of the P.h.D.on'ts
The afternoon had been boring for Carmen. And nightfall had been a blessing.
She could get out of that smelly office. 'Smelly' was a good thing in this case, but that didn't matter. It still smelled. She'd gotten out, and driven straight home.
'Home' was a little condo in City Park that the chief had set up for her. Not a bad place actually. Well, it ought to be good, thought Carmen, for the girl they stole from childhood and put in ACME.
Carmen reached, with tired arms, into the refrigerator and pulled out a soda.
ACME was a sub-division of the CIA that dealt mostly with foreign people/immigrants in the United States. Carmen had been selected, at the age of sixteen, to work for them based not only on her incredible athletic skill, but because she was foreign. Her mother had been French and her father had been Spanish.
She sat down on the couch and flipped through the channels on her TV. Nothing good on.
She wasn't a big TV person anyway. In fact, she was referred to at work as 'Oh, technologically impaired one'. Of all new technologies, she liked the computer/internet. It was a great way to reach out to people. So much information...it blew her mind.
Carmen turned the television off and decided maybe she would hit the sack early. She felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. All of her injuries seemed to make themselves apparent in the worst ways. She lay down on the bed.
When Carmen had first joined the ACME crew, she'd been afraid...(Who wouldn't be?) Then, she became excited by the prospect of kicking butt. Something along the lines of Hey! This is what they do in the movies! Lately, she'd been thinking of how few she saw her parents, and the kind of hours she worked, and how dangerous her work was, and her dreams as a girl, and- EVERYTHING. She realized, she'd been screwed. Screwed! But she didn't cry. Not even if it wasn't fair. No matter what, she'd promised she wouldn't cry. Besides, it wasn't like her.
Only a few weeks ago, she'd been to Chicago. She'd come up with a plan to get out of ACME.
She'd marry a P.h.D.on't.
