5
The flight from Madrid wasn't too bad to say the least, even though they were stuck in coach between two smelly, fat people who haven't heard of deodorant. The grouch of a station chief was kind enough to pay for their meals, if he and the airline called that slab of hardtack a broiled chicken breast. But at least they made it to Prague--rather the Ruzyne International Airport, a rather simple building--in one piece.
"Ugh!" Kim breathed as she and Ron ran out of the gate. The momentum nearly toppled her over when she came to a sudden stop, a little past the small ticket counter. "Thank God we're out of that!"
"Aw--yeah." She turned to the blond. The boy slouched while he stood on his feet, cupping his hands on his bent knees for support like an exhausted athlete. She couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "Not funny, Kim!"
"Not my fault that you look like a runner after a triathlon." She giggled. "And you didn't even move an inch!"
"Not my fault, KP." He panted. "Don't tell me it wasn't like a gas chamber between those two oinkers."
"I'm not saying it wasn't," she breathed in deeply, basking in the sheer relief of the circulated air, "but you sure as heck didn't see me making faces the whole flight."
The boy stood up straight, his back almost rolling from the bottom up as he leveled his chest properly back onto his waist. He took in a big sniff and his chest puffed out for a moment, easing back into its proper size with a sigh. "Whatever you say, KP."
"Touché."
"Do you have our bag?" he asked.
"It was placed into cargo." She replied as she dug into one of her larger pockets. "We'll pick it up at the baggage check. But after we collect our package."
"Couldn't you have just asked that Hershel lady for it right off the bat?"
"When we play with governments," she explained, "we play by their rules. Not by ours."
The tips of her fingers touched the bottom of the pocket, the pads running across the folds of raw cloth that made up the seam until one touched paper. They pinched it, and she pulled the little strip out, eyes running over the pretty curves of English.
"Ron, look under the seats over there." She pointed to the nearby rows of plastic seats, welded to their jagged steel frames. The blonde went on all fours, his blond capped head sweeping from side to side in periods like a security camera. She sighed while his head swayed. Taped under the seats; it was just so typical. For once, couldn't they have gotten a little creative with their dead drop points, just once?
His head stopped in the midst of a move, the neck angled to the left.
"I see it." He stood up and strolled over to the first row, disappearing beneath the plastic briefly and then shooting up from below with a thick manila envelope in hand. "Got it."
"Bring it here." The manila took a fatter shape, the bulkiness of the middle flattening out on the paper like a mesa as the boy brought it closer.
"This is the package?" the boy cocked an eyebrow as his gaze dropped to it. "To tell the truth, Kim. When Hershel said package, I thought she meant like in a box."
"Don't judge a book by its cover, Ron." It let out a crinkle when she took it from his hands. One swooped below and her fingers scratched at the metallic fastening. "It could just be a map after all. Wouldn't make sense to drop a big *something* in a busy airport."
"Yeah." He nodded. "Who knows who'd find it, right?"
"My thoughts exactly."
The pads of her fingers managed to grasp the fastening, pinching its ends together and she felt the flap touch onto her nails. She drew her hand back; the back of her thumb drew the flap open while her fingers smoothly slid the papers out.
"Hmm." she laid the documents out on the envelope, her makeshift table. A large brown file pressed against her arm trough the envelope while a few cards sat on top. Two had their photos--their recent, god- awful school photos--laminated onto the plastic while the other was a simple 3x5, the handwriting all Hershel's pretty curves. "Fake ID's, passports and a note."
"What's our cover?" he asked.
"Let's see. I'm Jane McCormick." She nodded, and she let out a small chuckle when her eyes caught the text beneath the twisted visage that was the boy's yearbook photo.
"What?" he persisted.
"You--You're Richard Head." She laughed. "That's funny!"
The boy cocked an eyebrow. ".I don't see the connection."
"Forget about it." She scooped up the ID and passport and tossed it to him like throwing stars. The card and the little book seemingly flopped and floundered around his arms as he tried to get a grasp. She skimmed over the pretty black lines of the card. "Seems like we're staying at. hold on. oh--The Andel's Hotel Prague in the Andel City complex, under your name."
"Now how are we supposed to get there?" he asked. "Take the bus?"
"No." she read. "Seems like she was kind enough to rent us a car, under my name. While I'll go get the keys and the paperwork filled out, you can get to the baggage check and get our stuff."
"Will do, KP."
She turned away, and the second her first step touched the hard carpet, the boy's voice swirled into her ears predictably.
"KP?" he asked.
She rolled her eyes as she looked over her shoulder. "Yeah Ron?" she moaned. "What is it?"
"Um. don't we have customs to get through?"
The palm of her hand met her forehead in irritation, pulling at her cheeks as it slid down her face. "Ugh. right!"
*Why I bothered with the State Department, I'll never know. *
***
This wasn't a car she'd consider stepping into for a drive around town. It was more like a domesticated Gremlin under a fancy Czech name--or wherever this tacky thing came from. The lady at the rental counter called the car a "Skoda Estelle", a typical car found in most of Western Europe. Good for cover only in Europe; she nodded as she sank into the bucket seat, 'cause the junk heap wouldn't last a day in the gas guzzling US.
The grand, olden architecture seemed to veer to the left periodically, only to whip back into place with a small screech of the tires. She trailed her eyes to the right, to where the driver's seat was built in the cramped vehicle. Ron wore a carefree smile on his lips, the fingers of one hand barely curving around the wheel while the other blindly fiddled with the unusually straight dashboard.
"Will you ease off the light-speed, Ron?" she moaned for probably the eighth time. "I know you're a little excited about finally getting your license and all, but you got to remember they go by kilometers here, not miles. And people here drive on the left, not the right."
"I know, KP." He nodded severely. "I watched all 20 James Bond movies back home. International speed limits have nothing on the Ron Factor!"
Her eyebrow cocked out of habit. "What are you talking about?" she said. "I thought you were over that."
"Over, but not forgotten Kim." He grinned. "I'm like that splash of Diablo Sauce on your burrito. The meal is just not complete without it."
"You didn't have anything to eat this morning, did you?" she pressed.
"Um." his mouth twisted in thought, "nope--sure didn't!"
"We'll pick up something after we check in." she gazed down at the thick file sitting on her lap. "At least keep us on the street until then."
Her palms touched down upon the cold surface of the file, curving naturally as they straightened out. Her closest thumb pressed into the paper while her index curved around the edge, twisting her wrist and leveling her elbow as she flipped the cover open.
"Why don't you just have Wade fish that stuff out for you?" the boy asked, and she felt her seat shift underneath.
"One:" she explained, "I can't get this much detail by myself, even with Wade's computer skills. Two: even if he did managed to hack in, the government will shut us down permanently--no question about it."
"Why would they go do that for?" he asked.
"The government wasn't too thrilled with us after Escutcheon, and how Wade went snooping into their servers." She explained while she skimmed over the loose-leaf innards of the file. "They promised us if we ever so much as stepped out of line, they'd personally throw us in jail."
"Pf--" Ron said, "that's gratitude for you! Just no pleasing the world, is there?"
"Exactly." she trailed off as she continued to read. Her stomach twisted when she caught where the curly haired strangler was last seen. "Oh-- great!"
"What?" she felt her butt move to the left as Ron made a sharp right, the tires letting out a soft screech all around.
"Mr. Bonnet is staying at our hotel!" She pressed her lips together. "We're going to have to be careful."
"Man!" The boy moaned. "Why'd they have to choose the same damn place? What was wrong with one a few city blocks away?"
"Not sure exactly." She nodded. "But security sweeps of his own hotel won't be the most of his problems."
"Oh--the last place he'll ever look!" he said in a falsetto. "Gotcha KP."
"Good." She closed the file, and her chin met the heel of her hand as she gazed out into the city. The people of Prague looked as busy as ever as they whipped jaggedly by, either shopping for whatnot or strolling aimlessly without a care in the world. A sigh escaped her mouth as her eyes caught the face of a little girl, skipping happily down the cobbled sidewalk. She used to be just like that, innocent and ignorant of the evil and maliciousness of the world around. Amazing how she dealt with before her first assignment popped onto her website.
"Anything wrong?" the boy asked. She pushed her back against the seat, letting her body sink into the scratch cloth. Her head rolled onto its side, her eyes glued to the boy preoccupied with guiding the domestic POS.
"No. not right now." She yawned.
"Not right now?" he said rhetorically.
"I don't know, Ron." She closed her eyes, and her form slid lower in the seat. "Maybe I'm just worrying over nothing."
"Care to talk about it?" he asked. "Not good to keep rotten stuff bottled up."
"Ron." she said seriously, "do you ever wonder how'd life be like if I didn't start my website?"
"Hmm. no--not really." He said. "We'd probably be back in Middleton, enjoying the end of our sophomore year in high school. You'd be busy with Josh while I'm stuck dateless. Where'd this come from all of the sudden?"
"Not sure--just after all the things we've seen and done," she elaborated on her squeaky train of thought, "we can finally see this world for what it is. And now after Escutcheon." her hand trailed to her belly, feeling it pulsate on her palm, "and family Drazen--I'm beginning to regret it."
"Kim." Ron said soothingly, and she felt his larger hand press against hers. "You've helped a lot of people over these couple of years. They probably wouldn't be alive if you didn't."
"But what good is that if they'd just throw it back in my face?" she argued, and her mind pondered to why she even bothered having these discussions with the boy. "A few days after our intervention, they'll probably forget what the heck happened."
"No they won't, Kim." She felt his larger fingers wiggle themselves between her own, lacing his with hers it would seem. "Later down the road they'll seem to forget, but they'll never forget the person who reached out to them in their time of need. You've given them hope, Kim. That's something that the world hasn't given them."
"Is this that Jewish thing that's talking?" she chuckled.
"Now why'd you say that?" he shot her a quick look.
"Because this isn't the Ron I typically see." She shook her head. "Are you a body snatcher by chance?"
"No Kim." He chuckled, and her butt shifted to the right as he made a left. "But the one-and-only Ron Stoppable seems to have gotten us lost."
"Lost?" she blinked. "What do you mean lost?"
"I don't know, KP." He gazed out his window while the car eased to a stop at a red light. "I see all these road signs with the same damn name! I mean--I see Stroupe-something number 15, Praha 4, Your Lost Infinity, take your pick cause I sure as heck don't know!"
"Don't worry, Ron." She smiled warmly. "Our hotel is on Stroupeznickeho 21. If you can get to that street, you should find it somewhere on it."
"Okay KP." He squeezed her hand--and she felt a small tingle in her chest, a good tingle as if she had just saw Josh walk right ahead of her--
--*VROOM! *--
--Only to become urban road-kill as the POS took off when the light turned green. She pressed deeper into the seat, feeling the leather touch her cheekbones before the car eased into a steady speed.
"Ron!" she whipped off his hand like it had suddenly become disgustingly clammy, as if it belonged to that Lamar dork at back at the Middleton Theater's box office. "Slow down!"
***
ONE DAY LATER
Tara was simply awestruck at the grand beauty that was Prague: the sheer grandiose of gothic architecture, the pristine waters of the river Moldau, and just about everything that rolled by gently in her car window. Though grandpa was happy to tell her of his days in Austria, never in her life did she dream that she ever get to see Europe, even a small piece of it.
Until Yune fractured his arm, that is.
She eased her glassy gaze from off the car's small window, shifting them to the Asian beside her in the back seat. Yune sat quietly, his head hanged on his neck like a grape to its vine, his dark eyes hidden by his almond eyelids. His sling dangled from his shoulder as lifelessly as the arm it held, swaying gently for every bump the car rolled over.
"Yune?" she said quietly, as if she was coaxing him from slumber. The legal adult hadn't said anything since they took their first steps off of the plane. "Are you okay over there?"
".Just fine." He yawned. "Peachy!"
"Anything on your mind?" she shifted closer to him, so close she could feel the static tingle jump from his jeans. "You haven't said anything since we got here."
"It's nothing T." he nodded. "I'm just trying to rest."
"That's okay." She smiled as the words entered into her ears. T; it was his special nickname just for her. The second the epithet left his lips for the first time, she instantly fell in love with it. "I think you'll feel better when you get some food in you."
"No." he said softly, batting his narrow eyes open. "I wasn't talking about my hunger at all. For years, I've tried to run away from battle. And now I'm being dragged back to it by something less than a war. My life is just one big party over here, isn't it?"
"Hey, don't think like that." She pressed her back squarely against the seat, feeling her shirt shift on the slick leather. "It's probably nothing. Most likely we'll be in the stands, watching as Kim does her job."
"With her target in mind, it never is." He stated.
"You worry too much." She closed her eyes for a brief power-nap. She felt like they'd been in the car for hours, while her man's mysterious contact gradually ferried them away to parts unknown. "Are we there yet?" she giggled quietly.
"The Hotel Prague is about a block away." The withdrawn chauffer said from the driver's seat. "Have your things ready."
"They're in the trunk, remember?" she stifled her giggle. Even Yune let out a chuckle through his pressed lips as the driver let out a groan.
"Why I bother, I'll never know." the driver mumbled.
***
Kim was taken aback, her saucer eyes beaming the surprise as her late recruit staggered through the door. His left arm dangled uselessly in a sling, face twisted in slight pain as his helper eased him through the portal. The helper's head was capped with familiar blonde, wavy hair, belonging to only a person that she thought was still back in Middleton, simply enjoying the rest of the summer.
"Tara?" she blinked, and blinked again. No matter how many times her eyelashes batted together, the blonde girl wouldn't leave her sight.
"The one and only." The girl sheepishly smiled as she eased the Korean into a nearby chair. "Easy does it, Yune."
"What the heck are you doing here!?" she frowned. "You could ruin everything!"
"We were in a car accident, Kim." The girl said calmly-yet-loudly. "Calm down! Yune fractured his arm and ribs, and he needs help getting around."
"Yeah--well." she stuttered, "don't think you're staying!"
"Kim!" the Korean breathed, his long face twisted in pain. "I'm no use to you in this condition. And Mr. Naco at the TV set over yonder doesn't know the first thing about medicine!"
"Hey--I resent that!" Mr. Naco himself called dismissively from the couch.
"UH. --HUH!" her ears could just barely pick up the whiny squeak of the rat over Ron's obnoxiously loud chewing.
"Look Kim." The Korean continued. "T over here can help me around while you and Ron are in the field. Even those Mossad people agree with me, and they'll even pick up our tab."
"We won't get in the way, Kim." The blonde smiled warmly. "We promise."
"Uh." a small migraine thumped in her head while her eyes rolled full circle. "Okay. Be our guests if you must. But don't think this is a game Tara, 'cause it's far from it. There are dangerous people out there who wouldn't hesitate to crack your skull wide open if they had the chance."
"Ugh!" the blonde rolled her eyes. "You think everyone's out to get you--I swear!"
"Ease off, T." Yune nodded. "She does have a point."
"T?" Ron said teasingly, playfully like a 10-year-old schoolboy. But she couldn't help but cock an eyebrow at the presumably term of affection. "Hmm. do I sense a crush story here?"
"Back off, Ron." She said.
"What?" he asked. "It's not my fault that the enquiring minds of the Middleton High School public want to know."
"This coming from a proven yellow journalist?" she looked at him, chuckling as she gazed at that stuffed face smeared with sauce. She felt her eyebrow kink just as it was beginning to lower.
"I don't see the connection." He shook his head.
"Misrepresentation mishaps aside," she sighed dismissively, "let's get back down to it. So I bet you're wondering why you're here, right?"
"Tara probably is, but I'm not." The Asian said. "You want to get close to Bonnet, correct?"
"Precisely." Her legs carried her to the empty chair nearby, and she couldn't help but grin as her rump sank into the cushy softness. "Hmm. comfy."
"And?" the older kid pressed. "I didn't fly half way around the globe to play fill-in-the-blanks."
"*We* didn't fly half way around the world." The blonde corrected.
She folded her hands together as her eyes took a second lap around the rims of her sockets. "Right." she mumbled. "Is there anything you can tell us from your first encounter?"
"Of course." He nodded and he angled his head up to the blonde, who was sitting on the arm of the chair. "T, could you give us a few minutes?"
"Sure." The girl smiled, and she pushed herself onto her feet. "Anything you want?"
"Feel free to walk around the complex, Tara." She nodded. "Just keep away from the floor above. That's Bonnet's floor."
"Right." The girl said as she walked toward the door. Her feet slipped easily into her shoes as if they were clogs, walking out of the room and closing the cream colored door behind.
"Now. is there anything you can tell me about this Shia person?" she asked professionally.
"I don't know much about him, since I met him only once." He dropped his head as she caught sight of his narrow eyes closing in thought. Her back met the soft cushion of the chair, and she leaned into directly as if she was listening to her Nana tell a tale from days long past. "It was back when I was with Col. Drazen's outfit, still trying to find a way out. We were in France on a contract assignment to assist the French government in their efforts to quell the fighting between its vast population of Muslims and the shrinking Jewish minority."
"The French actually asked the geezer for help?" she blinked.
"Just like them!" Ron bitterly dropped his two cents onto the conversation. "The French military couldn't even beat a girl's hockey team if they tried."
"How'd they pull it off with Uzi in the mix?" she said.
"He was in Israel, showing the PLO what for at the time." The Asian continued. "My squad was dispatched to Paris on an assignment to flush out a violent murderer among the Jewish population. Seems he had a habit of strangling Muslims and skinheads every time a synagogue was torched. Eventually my group caught up with his gang and we arrested them, handing them over the police when they arrived, but Shia was gone."
"Then how'd you meet up?" she asked.
"After the group was properly detained, we all broke up for lunch." He continued. "Unprofessional, I know, but we were all hungry. After I ate, I headed to our rally point and when I got there, my whole. group--"
"What?"
"Dead.! My whole group!" he shook his head furiously. "As I bent down to check for life--he attacked me. Almost succeeded too, if I didn't pop him one in the stomach. He managed to hobble away as I struggled for air, but I'll never forget that look when we locked eyes."
"Hmm. great!" she clapped her hands together, lacing the fingers together. "I'm dealing with the Boston Strangler! Is there anything else that you can tell me, like any medical problems?"
"He does have that 9mm stuck in his gut." He whipped his head back fiercely. "Gives him trouble time to time, but I wouldn't bet my house on it. Best way to take him out of play is from afar. You got a sniper rifle, like a SVD?"
"Wouldn't know." She curved her neck around as she glanced behind the chair. Ron sat there by the TV, finishing the last of his room-serviced meal while Rufus fiddled with the TV's remote. "Ron, did you find anything in the room?"
"Nope." He called through his stuffed lips. "Nothing's here, not even a PPK."
"Hmm." the older kid mumbled. "Then you're going to have to tread carefully. All I can say is stay out of his way, and he won't strangle you. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No." she nodded. "That will be all, Yune, but I would like you to stay with us throughout the mission."
"Agreed." Yune said. "But I have a condition of my own."
".What will that be?" she asked in good form, like she didn't know the Korean's wish already.
"I want Tara to stay with me." He said firmly. "She can help me around here while I give you moral support."
"Have you forgotten already?" she smiled honestly. "I said she could stay. But you're going to have to keep an eye on here. I don't have the time to baby-sit."
"Baby-sit?" the Asian's thin eyebrow kinked on his tan brow, and a simple smirk exaggerated a corner of his mouth. "From what I've read, T's older than you by about a month."
"What??" she blinked.
"It's true!" he laughed. "I saw the yearbook profiles: Kimberly Anne Possible, born March 20th, 1986; Tara Hilmar Stark, born February 3rd, 1986."
"Tara can't be older than me!" her eyes boggled. "She's not as mature!"
"Mature or not, Kim, it doesn't change the fact that T's your senior." The Korean nodded. "And you'll treat her as such."
"Or you'll what, broken wing?" she challenged, and her shaking hands nearly pierced the fabric of the chair.
"Or I won't treat you to dinner tonight." He arced his nose into the air, and from behind she heard Ron scramble to his feet through the sharp wobbling of many a paper.
"Oh--COME ON! That's cruel and unusual punishment, Yune!" the boy called. "Have you ever read the Constitution?"
"We're not in America anymore, son." He stated.
"Well I'll have you know, *son*, that the Ron Factor.!"
Kim sighed as the two boys bickered like children over nothing, gently letting her body sink into the cushion of the chair. So what if Tara was older? As long as the blonde and the Korean pulled their weight, she wouldn't mind the extra company.
"Thank God I'm in Europe," her chin met the palm of her hand, the elbow steady on the chair's cushy arm, "'cause I could use a drink right about now."
***
Tara felt butterflies flap their way up her chest as a small group of German tourists walked by. One of them approached her, addressing her in their native Deutsche, presumably appropriately. She looked shyly away, her lips in a flattered smile while she inwardly wanted to kick herself a good one.
*Should have paid more attention to grandpa's language lessons! *
"Sorry." She had carefully said in her grandfather's native tongue. The pale brows of the tourists had kinked at her unpracticed accent. "But I don't speak German. I'm American."
The two looked at each other, their heads bobbing momentarily before they waved their goodbyes. She had waved back when the two had mixed back into their tour group, and the mass of Germans moved slowly out of the room at the sound of their own discombobulated chatter.
"Hmm. so this is the bar." She thought aloud as her eyes wondered across the semi-lavish room, complete with the bar stands on the nearby wall. The glass shelves where filled with every kind of liquor imaginable, many a variety of bottles sitting in front of a large mirror that gave it an illusion of an endless supply. It wasn't as noisy as the bars back home, but it was rather quiet while the sparse patrons imbibed their drinks in solitude. "Nice."
She coolly walked up to a bar stool, leaping on top of the plush red cushion as if it were a gymnastics horse. Her worn shoes dangled from her toes briefly before the soles touched onto the foot bar. The barkeep strolled up to her indifferently, and she felt her heart quicken its pace.
"Um." her mouth parted slightly. "Do you--speak English?"
"Indeed." The stuffy-looking man said politely in a Russian like accent--a very familiar accent her ears caught not too long ago. "Will you have anything to drink today, madam?"
"Um." she shyly looked away, mockingly in thought. She had never been to a bar before, and her mind pondered habitually--needlessly by her own judgment.
*What am I doing? * She shook her head gently. *This is Europe, and I can drink if I want. *
"Um." she muttered again. "Do you have any Heineken?"
"Of course, Madam. Plenty of it." The barkeep replied politely, as he disappeared underneath the bar table. It was good that beer was in great supply since the German ale was the only beer she had tasted. with a little help from her grandfather. It was their little secret when she was over at his house, and she'd been faithful to the promise ever since. "You Germans are all the same."
"I'm Austrian, thank you." Her brow furrowed slightly.
The barkeep chuckled softly as lifted back up with a green-labeled can in his hand, a mini keg can at that. Grandfather typically advised not to drink from a can, but rather from a bottle.
*Well gramps isn't here, is he? *
"Austrian. German." The man said dismissively as he popped the top, placing the keg down professionally upon the ebony tabletop. "Prussia! Bavaria! Two different countries with the same *friendly* people, if you ask me."
"As my grandfather would say," she took into her hand the keg and pressed the chilled brim against her lips, "'don't confuse your heritage with those Nazis!'"
"Even though Austria gave Germany the man of the Third Reich to begin with." The man chuckled, and she felt her eyes rolling in their sockets. "That'll be 2 Euros please."
Her eyes widened as her other hand clasped over the bulge in her jeans that was her wallet.
"Oh." she cringed. "Do you take dollars?"
"Sorry miss." The barkeep said impassively. "But the buck literally stops here."
"Ease up, Arthur." Someone said close by, voice thick with an accent-- American accent. She looked over, and another patron walked casually over to her barstool. Curly hair capped his boyish--really *boyish* head, and his hand slammed the banknote onto the tabletop as if he meant something by it. "I'll pay for--this lovely German's drink."
"Ugh--!" she growled. "I'm *not* German!"
The barkeep took the bill into his spidery grasp. The simple symbol of the European super-state crinkled and it disappeared into his rather large palm. "It'd be best, sir, if you didn't confuse this lady's heritage with those Nazi's."
The barkeep laughed quietly, growing a bit softer as he trailed down the narrow space to the cash register. His attention drew to another customer as the guy took a seat--err--stool.
"Um. thanks." She smiled awkwardly, the smile dropping as the cold brim of the can touched her lips again. "I've really got to find an exchange around here."
"Don't mention it." The kid took a stool next to her. "Sorry about the mix up. I saw your complexion, and I saw the drink, and I put two-and- two together and I ended up getting five."
"Happens to me all the time." She giggled. "Don't worry about it. People always mistake me for German, and I'm beginning to resent it."
"Right." The kid nodded. "Oh--by the way, my name is Shia and as you can guess, I'm not from here."
She couldn't help but giggle again. "He--. My name is Tara and I'm not from here either."
"I guessed that--!" the kid let out a cough. It was small at first, like some spit rolled down the wrong pipe, but then it grew into a fully blown hack. She slowly looked away from the boy, her ears assaulted by the broken sounds as phlegm worked itself into the discord. Even the two near the register looked on in bewilderment.
"Uh--are you okay?" she asked nervously. "Need some water or something?"
The boy named Shia keeled over, his hands pressed against his gut and he let out a loud, painful moan. "Oh. I'm fine--!" he breathed. "Damn stomach ulcer!"
She cocked an eyebrow. "Stomach ulcer?" she said rhetorically.
"Yeah-- .Oh damn!" he sniffed, and he lifted a hand to brush his nose furiously. "Sorry to cut it short--Tara. But I need my medicine! OH!!"
The barstool clanged piercingly as it toppled backwards with the kid. He hopped off it right before the object met the floor, and he raced for the bar room door the second his feet touched the ground. The door let out a *BAM* as the guy raced through it, disappearing behind the wood slab as it swung calmly back into place.
".What was that all about?" she blinked.
The flight from Madrid wasn't too bad to say the least, even though they were stuck in coach between two smelly, fat people who haven't heard of deodorant. The grouch of a station chief was kind enough to pay for their meals, if he and the airline called that slab of hardtack a broiled chicken breast. But at least they made it to Prague--rather the Ruzyne International Airport, a rather simple building--in one piece.
"Ugh!" Kim breathed as she and Ron ran out of the gate. The momentum nearly toppled her over when she came to a sudden stop, a little past the small ticket counter. "Thank God we're out of that!"
"Aw--yeah." She turned to the blond. The boy slouched while he stood on his feet, cupping his hands on his bent knees for support like an exhausted athlete. She couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "Not funny, Kim!"
"Not my fault that you look like a runner after a triathlon." She giggled. "And you didn't even move an inch!"
"Not my fault, KP." He panted. "Don't tell me it wasn't like a gas chamber between those two oinkers."
"I'm not saying it wasn't," she breathed in deeply, basking in the sheer relief of the circulated air, "but you sure as heck didn't see me making faces the whole flight."
The boy stood up straight, his back almost rolling from the bottom up as he leveled his chest properly back onto his waist. He took in a big sniff and his chest puffed out for a moment, easing back into its proper size with a sigh. "Whatever you say, KP."
"Touché."
"Do you have our bag?" he asked.
"It was placed into cargo." She replied as she dug into one of her larger pockets. "We'll pick it up at the baggage check. But after we collect our package."
"Couldn't you have just asked that Hershel lady for it right off the bat?"
"When we play with governments," she explained, "we play by their rules. Not by ours."
The tips of her fingers touched the bottom of the pocket, the pads running across the folds of raw cloth that made up the seam until one touched paper. They pinched it, and she pulled the little strip out, eyes running over the pretty curves of English.
"Ron, look under the seats over there." She pointed to the nearby rows of plastic seats, welded to their jagged steel frames. The blonde went on all fours, his blond capped head sweeping from side to side in periods like a security camera. She sighed while his head swayed. Taped under the seats; it was just so typical. For once, couldn't they have gotten a little creative with their dead drop points, just once?
His head stopped in the midst of a move, the neck angled to the left.
"I see it." He stood up and strolled over to the first row, disappearing beneath the plastic briefly and then shooting up from below with a thick manila envelope in hand. "Got it."
"Bring it here." The manila took a fatter shape, the bulkiness of the middle flattening out on the paper like a mesa as the boy brought it closer.
"This is the package?" the boy cocked an eyebrow as his gaze dropped to it. "To tell the truth, Kim. When Hershel said package, I thought she meant like in a box."
"Don't judge a book by its cover, Ron." It let out a crinkle when she took it from his hands. One swooped below and her fingers scratched at the metallic fastening. "It could just be a map after all. Wouldn't make sense to drop a big *something* in a busy airport."
"Yeah." He nodded. "Who knows who'd find it, right?"
"My thoughts exactly."
The pads of her fingers managed to grasp the fastening, pinching its ends together and she felt the flap touch onto her nails. She drew her hand back; the back of her thumb drew the flap open while her fingers smoothly slid the papers out.
"Hmm." she laid the documents out on the envelope, her makeshift table. A large brown file pressed against her arm trough the envelope while a few cards sat on top. Two had their photos--their recent, god- awful school photos--laminated onto the plastic while the other was a simple 3x5, the handwriting all Hershel's pretty curves. "Fake ID's, passports and a note."
"What's our cover?" he asked.
"Let's see. I'm Jane McCormick." She nodded, and she let out a small chuckle when her eyes caught the text beneath the twisted visage that was the boy's yearbook photo.
"What?" he persisted.
"You--You're Richard Head." She laughed. "That's funny!"
The boy cocked an eyebrow. ".I don't see the connection."
"Forget about it." She scooped up the ID and passport and tossed it to him like throwing stars. The card and the little book seemingly flopped and floundered around his arms as he tried to get a grasp. She skimmed over the pretty black lines of the card. "Seems like we're staying at. hold on. oh--The Andel's Hotel Prague in the Andel City complex, under your name."
"Now how are we supposed to get there?" he asked. "Take the bus?"
"No." she read. "Seems like she was kind enough to rent us a car, under my name. While I'll go get the keys and the paperwork filled out, you can get to the baggage check and get our stuff."
"Will do, KP."
She turned away, and the second her first step touched the hard carpet, the boy's voice swirled into her ears predictably.
"KP?" he asked.
She rolled her eyes as she looked over her shoulder. "Yeah Ron?" she moaned. "What is it?"
"Um. don't we have customs to get through?"
The palm of her hand met her forehead in irritation, pulling at her cheeks as it slid down her face. "Ugh. right!"
*Why I bothered with the State Department, I'll never know. *
***
This wasn't a car she'd consider stepping into for a drive around town. It was more like a domesticated Gremlin under a fancy Czech name--or wherever this tacky thing came from. The lady at the rental counter called the car a "Skoda Estelle", a typical car found in most of Western Europe. Good for cover only in Europe; she nodded as she sank into the bucket seat, 'cause the junk heap wouldn't last a day in the gas guzzling US.
The grand, olden architecture seemed to veer to the left periodically, only to whip back into place with a small screech of the tires. She trailed her eyes to the right, to where the driver's seat was built in the cramped vehicle. Ron wore a carefree smile on his lips, the fingers of one hand barely curving around the wheel while the other blindly fiddled with the unusually straight dashboard.
"Will you ease off the light-speed, Ron?" she moaned for probably the eighth time. "I know you're a little excited about finally getting your license and all, but you got to remember they go by kilometers here, not miles. And people here drive on the left, not the right."
"I know, KP." He nodded severely. "I watched all 20 James Bond movies back home. International speed limits have nothing on the Ron Factor!"
Her eyebrow cocked out of habit. "What are you talking about?" she said. "I thought you were over that."
"Over, but not forgotten Kim." He grinned. "I'm like that splash of Diablo Sauce on your burrito. The meal is just not complete without it."
"You didn't have anything to eat this morning, did you?" she pressed.
"Um." his mouth twisted in thought, "nope--sure didn't!"
"We'll pick up something after we check in." she gazed down at the thick file sitting on her lap. "At least keep us on the street until then."
Her palms touched down upon the cold surface of the file, curving naturally as they straightened out. Her closest thumb pressed into the paper while her index curved around the edge, twisting her wrist and leveling her elbow as she flipped the cover open.
"Why don't you just have Wade fish that stuff out for you?" the boy asked, and she felt her seat shift underneath.
"One:" she explained, "I can't get this much detail by myself, even with Wade's computer skills. Two: even if he did managed to hack in, the government will shut us down permanently--no question about it."
"Why would they go do that for?" he asked.
"The government wasn't too thrilled with us after Escutcheon, and how Wade went snooping into their servers." She explained while she skimmed over the loose-leaf innards of the file. "They promised us if we ever so much as stepped out of line, they'd personally throw us in jail."
"Pf--" Ron said, "that's gratitude for you! Just no pleasing the world, is there?"
"Exactly." she trailed off as she continued to read. Her stomach twisted when she caught where the curly haired strangler was last seen. "Oh-- great!"
"What?" she felt her butt move to the left as Ron made a sharp right, the tires letting out a soft screech all around.
"Mr. Bonnet is staying at our hotel!" She pressed her lips together. "We're going to have to be careful."
"Man!" The boy moaned. "Why'd they have to choose the same damn place? What was wrong with one a few city blocks away?"
"Not sure exactly." She nodded. "But security sweeps of his own hotel won't be the most of his problems."
"Oh--the last place he'll ever look!" he said in a falsetto. "Gotcha KP."
"Good." She closed the file, and her chin met the heel of her hand as she gazed out into the city. The people of Prague looked as busy as ever as they whipped jaggedly by, either shopping for whatnot or strolling aimlessly without a care in the world. A sigh escaped her mouth as her eyes caught the face of a little girl, skipping happily down the cobbled sidewalk. She used to be just like that, innocent and ignorant of the evil and maliciousness of the world around. Amazing how she dealt with before her first assignment popped onto her website.
"Anything wrong?" the boy asked. She pushed her back against the seat, letting her body sink into the scratch cloth. Her head rolled onto its side, her eyes glued to the boy preoccupied with guiding the domestic POS.
"No. not right now." She yawned.
"Not right now?" he said rhetorically.
"I don't know, Ron." She closed her eyes, and her form slid lower in the seat. "Maybe I'm just worrying over nothing."
"Care to talk about it?" he asked. "Not good to keep rotten stuff bottled up."
"Ron." she said seriously, "do you ever wonder how'd life be like if I didn't start my website?"
"Hmm. no--not really." He said. "We'd probably be back in Middleton, enjoying the end of our sophomore year in high school. You'd be busy with Josh while I'm stuck dateless. Where'd this come from all of the sudden?"
"Not sure--just after all the things we've seen and done," she elaborated on her squeaky train of thought, "we can finally see this world for what it is. And now after Escutcheon." her hand trailed to her belly, feeling it pulsate on her palm, "and family Drazen--I'm beginning to regret it."
"Kim." Ron said soothingly, and she felt his larger hand press against hers. "You've helped a lot of people over these couple of years. They probably wouldn't be alive if you didn't."
"But what good is that if they'd just throw it back in my face?" she argued, and her mind pondered to why she even bothered having these discussions with the boy. "A few days after our intervention, they'll probably forget what the heck happened."
"No they won't, Kim." She felt his larger fingers wiggle themselves between her own, lacing his with hers it would seem. "Later down the road they'll seem to forget, but they'll never forget the person who reached out to them in their time of need. You've given them hope, Kim. That's something that the world hasn't given them."
"Is this that Jewish thing that's talking?" she chuckled.
"Now why'd you say that?" he shot her a quick look.
"Because this isn't the Ron I typically see." She shook her head. "Are you a body snatcher by chance?"
"No Kim." He chuckled, and her butt shifted to the right as he made a left. "But the one-and-only Ron Stoppable seems to have gotten us lost."
"Lost?" she blinked. "What do you mean lost?"
"I don't know, KP." He gazed out his window while the car eased to a stop at a red light. "I see all these road signs with the same damn name! I mean--I see Stroupe-something number 15, Praha 4, Your Lost Infinity, take your pick cause I sure as heck don't know!"
"Don't worry, Ron." She smiled warmly. "Our hotel is on Stroupeznickeho 21. If you can get to that street, you should find it somewhere on it."
"Okay KP." He squeezed her hand--and she felt a small tingle in her chest, a good tingle as if she had just saw Josh walk right ahead of her--
--*VROOM! *--
--Only to become urban road-kill as the POS took off when the light turned green. She pressed deeper into the seat, feeling the leather touch her cheekbones before the car eased into a steady speed.
"Ron!" she whipped off his hand like it had suddenly become disgustingly clammy, as if it belonged to that Lamar dork at back at the Middleton Theater's box office. "Slow down!"
***
ONE DAY LATER
Tara was simply awestruck at the grand beauty that was Prague: the sheer grandiose of gothic architecture, the pristine waters of the river Moldau, and just about everything that rolled by gently in her car window. Though grandpa was happy to tell her of his days in Austria, never in her life did she dream that she ever get to see Europe, even a small piece of it.
Until Yune fractured his arm, that is.
She eased her glassy gaze from off the car's small window, shifting them to the Asian beside her in the back seat. Yune sat quietly, his head hanged on his neck like a grape to its vine, his dark eyes hidden by his almond eyelids. His sling dangled from his shoulder as lifelessly as the arm it held, swaying gently for every bump the car rolled over.
"Yune?" she said quietly, as if she was coaxing him from slumber. The legal adult hadn't said anything since they took their first steps off of the plane. "Are you okay over there?"
".Just fine." He yawned. "Peachy!"
"Anything on your mind?" she shifted closer to him, so close she could feel the static tingle jump from his jeans. "You haven't said anything since we got here."
"It's nothing T." he nodded. "I'm just trying to rest."
"That's okay." She smiled as the words entered into her ears. T; it was his special nickname just for her. The second the epithet left his lips for the first time, she instantly fell in love with it. "I think you'll feel better when you get some food in you."
"No." he said softly, batting his narrow eyes open. "I wasn't talking about my hunger at all. For years, I've tried to run away from battle. And now I'm being dragged back to it by something less than a war. My life is just one big party over here, isn't it?"
"Hey, don't think like that." She pressed her back squarely against the seat, feeling her shirt shift on the slick leather. "It's probably nothing. Most likely we'll be in the stands, watching as Kim does her job."
"With her target in mind, it never is." He stated.
"You worry too much." She closed her eyes for a brief power-nap. She felt like they'd been in the car for hours, while her man's mysterious contact gradually ferried them away to parts unknown. "Are we there yet?" she giggled quietly.
"The Hotel Prague is about a block away." The withdrawn chauffer said from the driver's seat. "Have your things ready."
"They're in the trunk, remember?" she stifled her giggle. Even Yune let out a chuckle through his pressed lips as the driver let out a groan.
"Why I bother, I'll never know." the driver mumbled.
***
Kim was taken aback, her saucer eyes beaming the surprise as her late recruit staggered through the door. His left arm dangled uselessly in a sling, face twisted in slight pain as his helper eased him through the portal. The helper's head was capped with familiar blonde, wavy hair, belonging to only a person that she thought was still back in Middleton, simply enjoying the rest of the summer.
"Tara?" she blinked, and blinked again. No matter how many times her eyelashes batted together, the blonde girl wouldn't leave her sight.
"The one and only." The girl sheepishly smiled as she eased the Korean into a nearby chair. "Easy does it, Yune."
"What the heck are you doing here!?" she frowned. "You could ruin everything!"
"We were in a car accident, Kim." The girl said calmly-yet-loudly. "Calm down! Yune fractured his arm and ribs, and he needs help getting around."
"Yeah--well." she stuttered, "don't think you're staying!"
"Kim!" the Korean breathed, his long face twisted in pain. "I'm no use to you in this condition. And Mr. Naco at the TV set over yonder doesn't know the first thing about medicine!"
"Hey--I resent that!" Mr. Naco himself called dismissively from the couch.
"UH. --HUH!" her ears could just barely pick up the whiny squeak of the rat over Ron's obnoxiously loud chewing.
"Look Kim." The Korean continued. "T over here can help me around while you and Ron are in the field. Even those Mossad people agree with me, and they'll even pick up our tab."
"We won't get in the way, Kim." The blonde smiled warmly. "We promise."
"Uh." a small migraine thumped in her head while her eyes rolled full circle. "Okay. Be our guests if you must. But don't think this is a game Tara, 'cause it's far from it. There are dangerous people out there who wouldn't hesitate to crack your skull wide open if they had the chance."
"Ugh!" the blonde rolled her eyes. "You think everyone's out to get you--I swear!"
"Ease off, T." Yune nodded. "She does have a point."
"T?" Ron said teasingly, playfully like a 10-year-old schoolboy. But she couldn't help but cock an eyebrow at the presumably term of affection. "Hmm. do I sense a crush story here?"
"Back off, Ron." She said.
"What?" he asked. "It's not my fault that the enquiring minds of the Middleton High School public want to know."
"This coming from a proven yellow journalist?" she looked at him, chuckling as she gazed at that stuffed face smeared with sauce. She felt her eyebrow kink just as it was beginning to lower.
"I don't see the connection." He shook his head.
"Misrepresentation mishaps aside," she sighed dismissively, "let's get back down to it. So I bet you're wondering why you're here, right?"
"Tara probably is, but I'm not." The Asian said. "You want to get close to Bonnet, correct?"
"Precisely." Her legs carried her to the empty chair nearby, and she couldn't help but grin as her rump sank into the cushy softness. "Hmm. comfy."
"And?" the older kid pressed. "I didn't fly half way around the globe to play fill-in-the-blanks."
"*We* didn't fly half way around the world." The blonde corrected.
She folded her hands together as her eyes took a second lap around the rims of her sockets. "Right." she mumbled. "Is there anything you can tell us from your first encounter?"
"Of course." He nodded and he angled his head up to the blonde, who was sitting on the arm of the chair. "T, could you give us a few minutes?"
"Sure." The girl smiled, and she pushed herself onto her feet. "Anything you want?"
"Feel free to walk around the complex, Tara." She nodded. "Just keep away from the floor above. That's Bonnet's floor."
"Right." The girl said as she walked toward the door. Her feet slipped easily into her shoes as if they were clogs, walking out of the room and closing the cream colored door behind.
"Now. is there anything you can tell me about this Shia person?" she asked professionally.
"I don't know much about him, since I met him only once." He dropped his head as she caught sight of his narrow eyes closing in thought. Her back met the soft cushion of the chair, and she leaned into directly as if she was listening to her Nana tell a tale from days long past. "It was back when I was with Col. Drazen's outfit, still trying to find a way out. We were in France on a contract assignment to assist the French government in their efforts to quell the fighting between its vast population of Muslims and the shrinking Jewish minority."
"The French actually asked the geezer for help?" she blinked.
"Just like them!" Ron bitterly dropped his two cents onto the conversation. "The French military couldn't even beat a girl's hockey team if they tried."
"How'd they pull it off with Uzi in the mix?" she said.
"He was in Israel, showing the PLO what for at the time." The Asian continued. "My squad was dispatched to Paris on an assignment to flush out a violent murderer among the Jewish population. Seems he had a habit of strangling Muslims and skinheads every time a synagogue was torched. Eventually my group caught up with his gang and we arrested them, handing them over the police when they arrived, but Shia was gone."
"Then how'd you meet up?" she asked.
"After the group was properly detained, we all broke up for lunch." He continued. "Unprofessional, I know, but we were all hungry. After I ate, I headed to our rally point and when I got there, my whole. group--"
"What?"
"Dead.! My whole group!" he shook his head furiously. "As I bent down to check for life--he attacked me. Almost succeeded too, if I didn't pop him one in the stomach. He managed to hobble away as I struggled for air, but I'll never forget that look when we locked eyes."
"Hmm. great!" she clapped her hands together, lacing the fingers together. "I'm dealing with the Boston Strangler! Is there anything else that you can tell me, like any medical problems?"
"He does have that 9mm stuck in his gut." He whipped his head back fiercely. "Gives him trouble time to time, but I wouldn't bet my house on it. Best way to take him out of play is from afar. You got a sniper rifle, like a SVD?"
"Wouldn't know." She curved her neck around as she glanced behind the chair. Ron sat there by the TV, finishing the last of his room-serviced meal while Rufus fiddled with the TV's remote. "Ron, did you find anything in the room?"
"Nope." He called through his stuffed lips. "Nothing's here, not even a PPK."
"Hmm." the older kid mumbled. "Then you're going to have to tread carefully. All I can say is stay out of his way, and he won't strangle you. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No." she nodded. "That will be all, Yune, but I would like you to stay with us throughout the mission."
"Agreed." Yune said. "But I have a condition of my own."
".What will that be?" she asked in good form, like she didn't know the Korean's wish already.
"I want Tara to stay with me." He said firmly. "She can help me around here while I give you moral support."
"Have you forgotten already?" she smiled honestly. "I said she could stay. But you're going to have to keep an eye on here. I don't have the time to baby-sit."
"Baby-sit?" the Asian's thin eyebrow kinked on his tan brow, and a simple smirk exaggerated a corner of his mouth. "From what I've read, T's older than you by about a month."
"What??" she blinked.
"It's true!" he laughed. "I saw the yearbook profiles: Kimberly Anne Possible, born March 20th, 1986; Tara Hilmar Stark, born February 3rd, 1986."
"Tara can't be older than me!" her eyes boggled. "She's not as mature!"
"Mature or not, Kim, it doesn't change the fact that T's your senior." The Korean nodded. "And you'll treat her as such."
"Or you'll what, broken wing?" she challenged, and her shaking hands nearly pierced the fabric of the chair.
"Or I won't treat you to dinner tonight." He arced his nose into the air, and from behind she heard Ron scramble to his feet through the sharp wobbling of many a paper.
"Oh--COME ON! That's cruel and unusual punishment, Yune!" the boy called. "Have you ever read the Constitution?"
"We're not in America anymore, son." He stated.
"Well I'll have you know, *son*, that the Ron Factor.!"
Kim sighed as the two boys bickered like children over nothing, gently letting her body sink into the cushion of the chair. So what if Tara was older? As long as the blonde and the Korean pulled their weight, she wouldn't mind the extra company.
"Thank God I'm in Europe," her chin met the palm of her hand, the elbow steady on the chair's cushy arm, "'cause I could use a drink right about now."
***
Tara felt butterflies flap their way up her chest as a small group of German tourists walked by. One of them approached her, addressing her in their native Deutsche, presumably appropriately. She looked shyly away, her lips in a flattered smile while she inwardly wanted to kick herself a good one.
*Should have paid more attention to grandpa's language lessons! *
"Sorry." She had carefully said in her grandfather's native tongue. The pale brows of the tourists had kinked at her unpracticed accent. "But I don't speak German. I'm American."
The two looked at each other, their heads bobbing momentarily before they waved their goodbyes. She had waved back when the two had mixed back into their tour group, and the mass of Germans moved slowly out of the room at the sound of their own discombobulated chatter.
"Hmm. so this is the bar." She thought aloud as her eyes wondered across the semi-lavish room, complete with the bar stands on the nearby wall. The glass shelves where filled with every kind of liquor imaginable, many a variety of bottles sitting in front of a large mirror that gave it an illusion of an endless supply. It wasn't as noisy as the bars back home, but it was rather quiet while the sparse patrons imbibed their drinks in solitude. "Nice."
She coolly walked up to a bar stool, leaping on top of the plush red cushion as if it were a gymnastics horse. Her worn shoes dangled from her toes briefly before the soles touched onto the foot bar. The barkeep strolled up to her indifferently, and she felt her heart quicken its pace.
"Um." her mouth parted slightly. "Do you--speak English?"
"Indeed." The stuffy-looking man said politely in a Russian like accent--a very familiar accent her ears caught not too long ago. "Will you have anything to drink today, madam?"
"Um." she shyly looked away, mockingly in thought. She had never been to a bar before, and her mind pondered habitually--needlessly by her own judgment.
*What am I doing? * She shook her head gently. *This is Europe, and I can drink if I want. *
"Um." she muttered again. "Do you have any Heineken?"
"Of course, Madam. Plenty of it." The barkeep replied politely, as he disappeared underneath the bar table. It was good that beer was in great supply since the German ale was the only beer she had tasted. with a little help from her grandfather. It was their little secret when she was over at his house, and she'd been faithful to the promise ever since. "You Germans are all the same."
"I'm Austrian, thank you." Her brow furrowed slightly.
The barkeep chuckled softly as lifted back up with a green-labeled can in his hand, a mini keg can at that. Grandfather typically advised not to drink from a can, but rather from a bottle.
*Well gramps isn't here, is he? *
"Austrian. German." The man said dismissively as he popped the top, placing the keg down professionally upon the ebony tabletop. "Prussia! Bavaria! Two different countries with the same *friendly* people, if you ask me."
"As my grandfather would say," she took into her hand the keg and pressed the chilled brim against her lips, "'don't confuse your heritage with those Nazis!'"
"Even though Austria gave Germany the man of the Third Reich to begin with." The man chuckled, and she felt her eyes rolling in their sockets. "That'll be 2 Euros please."
Her eyes widened as her other hand clasped over the bulge in her jeans that was her wallet.
"Oh." she cringed. "Do you take dollars?"
"Sorry miss." The barkeep said impassively. "But the buck literally stops here."
"Ease up, Arthur." Someone said close by, voice thick with an accent-- American accent. She looked over, and another patron walked casually over to her barstool. Curly hair capped his boyish--really *boyish* head, and his hand slammed the banknote onto the tabletop as if he meant something by it. "I'll pay for--this lovely German's drink."
"Ugh--!" she growled. "I'm *not* German!"
The barkeep took the bill into his spidery grasp. The simple symbol of the European super-state crinkled and it disappeared into his rather large palm. "It'd be best, sir, if you didn't confuse this lady's heritage with those Nazi's."
The barkeep laughed quietly, growing a bit softer as he trailed down the narrow space to the cash register. His attention drew to another customer as the guy took a seat--err--stool.
"Um. thanks." She smiled awkwardly, the smile dropping as the cold brim of the can touched her lips again. "I've really got to find an exchange around here."
"Don't mention it." The kid took a stool next to her. "Sorry about the mix up. I saw your complexion, and I saw the drink, and I put two-and- two together and I ended up getting five."
"Happens to me all the time." She giggled. "Don't worry about it. People always mistake me for German, and I'm beginning to resent it."
"Right." The kid nodded. "Oh--by the way, my name is Shia and as you can guess, I'm not from here."
She couldn't help but giggle again. "He--. My name is Tara and I'm not from here either."
"I guessed that--!" the kid let out a cough. It was small at first, like some spit rolled down the wrong pipe, but then it grew into a fully blown hack. She slowly looked away from the boy, her ears assaulted by the broken sounds as phlegm worked itself into the discord. Even the two near the register looked on in bewilderment.
"Uh--are you okay?" she asked nervously. "Need some water or something?"
The boy named Shia keeled over, his hands pressed against his gut and he let out a loud, painful moan. "Oh. I'm fine--!" he breathed. "Damn stomach ulcer!"
She cocked an eyebrow. "Stomach ulcer?" she said rhetorically.
"Yeah-- .Oh damn!" he sniffed, and he lifted a hand to brush his nose furiously. "Sorry to cut it short--Tara. But I need my medicine! OH!!"
The barstool clanged piercingly as it toppled backwards with the kid. He hopped off it right before the object met the floor, and he raced for the bar room door the second his feet touched the ground. The door let out a *BAM* as the guy raced through it, disappearing behind the wood slab as it swung calmly back into place.
".What was that all about?" she blinked.