28
"Hello?" Tara spoke before the receiver even had a chance to press against her chin. No later when Yune was hot on the trail for Mozart had the house phone began to blare a strange pulsating bleat. Ron couldn't be nudged to move an inch from his hunch, wouldn't dare abandon that mess pile of dairy chunks to his naked pet. "Ata residence. Ms. Robin can't come to the phone right now. May I take a message?"
"Ah…!" The woman in question replied. "Making yourself right at home, as I hear."
"Robin!" She grinned.
"Yes friend, that is I." The woman said. "How, may I ask, are you and your friends doing?"
"We're fine, Robin." She said. "We're sitting on our hands, but we're fine. Yune's getting a little uppity though, and I'm afraid to say that Ron and his pet rat just ate that block of cheese in the fridge."
"That is okay, Tara." Robin replied. "I said you could make yourself at home, after all. I will just have to pick up another wheel from the store on my way home."
"How're you getting home anyway?" she asked. "Isn't Sadie still in the shop?"
"Ah yes!" Robin exclaimed gently. "I remember now! I almost had forgotten why I called a few minutes ago. I just got a call back from my brother, Josh. He had been working on your SUV since I brought it to him this morning."
"Really?" the buoyant cushiness of the soft couch was more than welcome on her rump. Her legs locked at the knees, the couch's back slipped up against her own, and her butt met the thick trim of the cushion as she slouched. "How does she look? Can she still roll?"
"That is the good part." Robin continued. "There was not as much damage to the physical vehicle as you had thought. She needed a new set of tires, some of these huge spring things for each wheel, a new front grill, new radiator device, and a new windshield amongst other things. The good Lord smiled upon you friends! Those parts I had mentioned were delivered to Joshua well before I had the pleasure of meeting you."
"Really--?" she felt that strange tingle inch its way down her spine, giving the nerves in her limbs a teasing pluck. "-Whoa…! -"
"Indeed, my friend." The Ethiopian continued. "But that is not even the strange part, as you might say. When I had asked him about those parts he ordered, he had said he simply had been -moved- to order them. I was wondering when they would come in handy too."
"Yeah…." She cringed as that chill tingled through her body, gone as quick as it had come. "But what about the bad part?"
"Do not worry, Tara," Robin said, "I know about Sadie and how she can converse like us with her advanced electronic devices and whatnot. But as she is, I don't think she will be conversing with us anytime soon. They basically were 'fried', and Josh might have cut some wires that he should not have. Sadie is basically no better than an average sport utility vehicle now. I suggest you take her to a specialist, but be grateful that her cigarette lighter still works!"
"But I don't smoke." She shrugged. "None of us do."
"Neither do I." Robin replied. "In fact, I have no idea why I even said it."
"That seems to happen a lot today." She smirked.
"Hey!" Ron unrolled from his hunch in a snap, his back stiffer than a two-by-four, eyes frowning as much as his mouth. "I resent that!"
"Huh--!" his rodent squeaked. "Me… TOO!"
"What was that?" Robin asked.
"Oh nothing." She dismissed.
"Hey!" Ronald exclaimed.
"Is for horses, Ron." The receiver pressed against her chest while she giggled. "Now do you mind? I'm trying to have a conversation here!"
The blond simply curled back into his hunch, a stupid frown stretched across his face. His hand slapped his face while he shoveled another chunk of cheese into his mouth. The pink, twitching blob on the crumbed pile frowned at her--or at least tried to frown. It was hard to tell with those two buckteeth fused on his lips rather than behind them.
"There is one last thing I would like to mention before I have to get back to work." Robin said it longer than what she needed. Her Shia hadn't graced her with the beauty of contractions just yet, apparently. "If I am on the phone any longer, my boss would not be pleased with me."
"Where do you work anyway?" she asked simply.
"I work at a bar named Zanzibar." The dark girl replied. "It is a bar for patrons with insomnia--night owls, as you might call them. It opens pretty late in the night. Do not get me wrong, Tara. I come home long before it opens. I am just as a clerk, one who takes inventory and is there to meet deliveries."
"But what about your brother?"
"He takes over when I leave." Robin replied. "During the day, he usually fiddles around with cars. He even fixed my Peugeot when it was having a problem. He fiddled and fiddled around with stuff that I cannot even begin to explain. But in the end, he had got it to work."
"Ah, I see." She nodded. "But didn't you tell me last night your friend was good with cars?"
"My brother Joshua is my friend, Tara." Robin said. "Can you not see? Simply because we are brother and sister does not mean we cannot be friends as well. In fact, I cannot imagine life with him growing up if we were constantly at each other's throats."
"Oh--I see now." She nodded again. "But what did you want to tell me?"
"Right." Robin said. "Regardless of what his mad employer--commanding officer--whatever my dearest names him, he is coming up to Jerusalem tonight."
"What for?" she asked.
"Tonight is his night with the klezmer." Robin said. If she wasn't already awake, her heart jumped, quickening its throbbing beats so quickly that she couldn't get past it. -Shia- was coming home for the night; Shia was -coming- home for the night, Shia was coming -home-…. "It has been that way since the klezmer formed. He will be here at my place of work right about when we open, and he will come home with me about a couple of hours later. I suggest you keep out of sight till morning."
"Will do." She nodded. "You have my word, at least."
"That is great." Robin replied. "But I must be going now or the latest delivery will overwhelm me."
"Of course." Tara said. "I won't keep you any longer. Hop to it."
The girl on the other end giggled. "Do not worry, I will. Till next time, take good care of yourselves, friends."
She smiled gently, weakly. "We will. Goodbye, Robin."
"Bye--"
There was a sudden click at the other end, her cue to lay the handset back atop those two metal slivers on its cradle. A flat beep bleated at her briefly while the handset rattled gentle, nestling itself back into its molded bed yet she paid it no mind. There were more important things to fuss over.
"Who was that?" Her man called from the bedroom.
"Robin." She replied.
"Really now?" Yune revealed himself smoothly from out the doorway as always. In his mending limb, his weak clutch carried his gun and a shaft of metal. The shaft was thick, no fatter than the slide of his Daewoo, bored out through the middle. The hole couldn't have been bigger than 10 millimeters. In the strong grip on the other limb carried a few magazines. "What'd she want?"
"Just calling to check in." She said. "She also said that Shia's coming up to the city late tonight for a band meeting. He's staying the night here, Yune!"
"I figured as much, T." He nodded as he strolled for the smaller case lying carelessly on the floor. His legs crossed at the ankles. His butt angled up as his knees buckled folding in on themselves in a tailor position. The magazines tapped and clattered against each other as he let gravity take them from his grip.
"Oh--you figured as much, huh?" Ron shot up from his crumbed meal, standing straight as though he meant something intimidating. "Has it occurred to you that we have no place to hide out? We're no use to Kim dead, you know!"
"I know that, Ron." Yune looked at him gently.
The small case let out a flat snap by the latches before he flipped the lid up and away from its bottom. The box he took out rattled like a small maraca, ceasing its strange rattle as he set it on the floor beside him. Thick paper scraped against each other as he thumbed the thinner side of the box, almost ripping as his thumb eased the flap out harshly. Out from the box came that strange rattle, brass slugs mooned at him as he slipped out the plastic honeycomb.
"That's why we're taking the offensive." A cartridge glared harshly in the light as he pulled it out from the honeycomb. A magazine slipped back into his grip easily, its spring creaked uneasily as he popped the bullet inside. "Today or tonight. We can't wait any longer."
"Did you get the go-ahead, Yune?" she asked.
"Nope." He shook his head. "We're moving in tonight without Hershel's consent."
"WHAT!?"
"You heard me, Tara." He gazed at her gravely just after he loaded his third bullet. "We're moving in tonight."
"But Hershel said--!"
"We don't have much of an option here, Tara." Ron interjected. "Hershel seems content having us sit on our butts while KP's life slips away a little more every minute. We need to take the initiative, Tara, and fast!"
"Exactly." Her man nodded. "Whether or not something comes up today, we still got to get Shia's… -thoughts- on the situation."
"I can't think of anyone better, myself." Ron made a fist with one hand, driving it into the palm of the other, twisting at the wrist, grinding the knuckles threateningly… at least, that's what she thought the blond was doing. His rodent buddy was quick to mimic his owner.
"Yeah…!" Rufus growled… cutely.
"Ron, you're about as threatening as a cuddle-buddy." She grinned widely. "And your pet's as scary as the Chia Pet I got back home."
"Ease off, T." Yune rolled his dark eyes. "You got a little work to do."
"I do?" she blinked.
"Yes." Yune nodded. The closest hand of his patted the carpet invitingly. "Take a seat."
Her knees bent gently, her forelegs angling over her ankles severely before her kneecaps touched the carpet. Yune dove his fingers into the case, prying between the foam padding and the pistol's grip. He slipped it out easily--and she felt her breasts shrink awkwardly, touchily as he pushed the gun into her chest.
"Oh!" She yipped.
"Sorry 'bout that, T." Yune couldn't be bothered to look at her straight. She guessed screwing that thick tube onto the muzzle of his Daewoo took too much of an effort. "But here's your little assignment."
"So I guessed." Her quip left a bittersweet aftertaste in her mouth. "What do I do now…?"
"Load her up, T." Her man said simply.
"But I never--"
"And that's the point of this little exercise." Her man nodded to himself confidently, a hint of a smirk on his straight face. "Today you will become a man…! Or rather--a woman, T."
"Is this one of those Korean things?" She frowned weakly. Though he was plucking at her nerves frequently today, she couldn't bother herself to stay miffed. It was hard to stay mad at the one she loved, that was true. "Or are you being -cute- in your own spicy way again?"
"I mean you no offense, Tara." He smiled cutely. "I don't want to anger my little German princess with my spicy hotness, now do I--?"
He yelped astonishingly, chuckling a little after the butt of her gun bounced off his bicep.
"I'm NOT--!"
"You're Austrian, not German." Ron moaned. "We know…."
"Uh… huh!" his buddy seconded jadedly.
"But does it have to be such a knee-jerk reaction with you?" Her man shrugged. "And why do you always got to hit me? That's borderline spousal abuse, you know! I swear, you can be a grumpy old cat sometimes."
"Okay…!" she dropped her eyes down to her gun. Metal scraped against together as she thumbed the release button, the magazine bouncing off her leg weakly, and belly flopping onto the carpet before her. "Okay! I'm not going to say anything anymore, since no one's listening to me! When the gloves come off again, I don't want to hear any complaints!"
"Yes G--!"
Yune finally got the message, she thought, noting it mentally anyway, when she reared the gun next her ear by the barrel.
"Don't say it!"
"Yes ma'am." He sighed back.
"Good boy!" she smiled.
"Now with that set aside," Her man loomed over the case briefly, a hand grabbing a box of ammo different from the one that sat open beside him, "Tara?"
"Yeah?"
Yune reply came when he took her hand gently, and easily placed the maroon box into her hand. Fiocchi, it was emblazoned in white in all caps. Flanking the picture of the thick bullet, it read .40S&W. Below the picture, emblazoned in the same white was the number 50 next to some gibberish.
"Get to work, Australian Queen." He closed her fingers around it.
She growled loudly, a strained crescendo as though it came from a demon roaming the Irish countryside hauntingly. She couldn't help the tick that came about in her eye. Why was this simple thing such a stumbling block; she couldn't begin to figure out. She even screamed.
"AUSTRIAN--DAMN IT!"
---
His father would have been proud of him. Old man Drazen gazed back at him rather pleased today, content with the hard work his son had accomplished. Solomon Rex was completed, the West Bank stuck in his unbreakable stranglehold, and little wench Possible had been put in her place; not the place he would have picked for the Mick, but it was good enough for now. He could have sworn the oiled brow had a definite perk on it.
"Do you see, Daddy?" He mumbled just after a swig of scopolamine, lips curling into a simple sneer just as the brim left his lips. "Do you understand now…? I'm a big boy now. I can make this fake nation beside me tremble at the mere mention of my title…. I can crush them at any time I want!"
Belatedly, he pointed to a map in front of him.
"I just… don't need you anymore, Papa." He blinked. "I'm on my own now…! You just… go away now! And don't you worry 'bout G now. I'll take good care of him. Not that you ever cared anyway. Now go away! Go shave Satan's back or something."
The portrait replied quietly, just as he expected. Stupid oil painting; how dare that canvas mocked him! Nothing could get past Major Uzziel Drazen of the Victims' Separatist Army. Fortunately for itself, it was a rare oil portrait he dug out of Dad's old estate just before the government auctioned it off to some degenerating little shit. It was the only thing left he had of him, and why he kept it? The answer always escaped him at the moment every time. Maybe it himself at his most masochistic; he didn't know.
"Cheers, you dead bag of shit!" he said drunkenly as he took in another mouth full of medicine. The desk drawer clattered loudly as he opened it, the small painting jammed at an angle in the drawer. He could care less as he pushed it back into the desk.
"Oh--UZI!" an accent of his mother language buzzed in his ears irritatingly with a crisp crackle of static. He angled his head over his shoulder woozily. Galil stood--err---sat- beside him as his tracks rolled him closer. "You CALLED…?"
"Yes G…." He yawned as his tongue converted back to that of its mother. "I did."
"What's up, Uzi?" Galil replied eagerly. "Did you finally get sick of the Mick? Does that mean I finally get to enjoy my meal--DOES IT--huh--huh--huh? DOES IT NOW!? Don't keep your brother waiting!"
"No G." He let the shards stuck in his head drag it down to the tabletop easily. "Oh…. Not yet, anyway. But I do have a couple things I'd like you to… -dispose- of--in your own -special- manner."
"Really?" Galil's orbs brightened.
"Yeah." He nodded awkwardly. "A couple new recruits who got a little too uppity. Had to put them down--for the good of the organization…! Think of them as your little snack."
"Oh--GOODY!" He clenched his claw tightly; metal rattling against each other while the limb trembled with such an unrestrained glee. "You know--there's this new jerk marinade I just got, and I've been waiting to try it out!"
"Right back at you." He sighed. "The doc's having them brought to your little fun house of horrors as we speak. You should find them near Possible, rotting slowly in their olive wrappers. It's a perfect opportunity to freak her out some more."
"Oh--I don't know about that, Uzi." Galil blinked. "I think she's plenty unnerved! You should have seen that surprised look on her face--those broken eyes… it was PRICELESS! I could have sworn she would have cried if Damocles didn't smack her into the wall! Boy--can that Mick bounce! She's like a little bouncy-ball--and I CAN'T WAIT till her next attempt! BOINGY--BOINGY--BOINGY--BOINGY!!"
"G," he batted his eyes weakly, "you never fail to entertain me. You'll forgive me if I don't bounce like a campy cartoon character. The Goliath in me is bout to topple over, you know."
"This is the part where David comes along and chops off his head!" G noted aloud.
"Just about." He nodded. "And that fucking Mick won't have a say in it, for if my name isn't mud!"
"What you saying, Bro?"
"I know you're looking forward to slapping her around like a busted toy, I know." He mumbled tiredly. "And I hate to burst your bubble, but I'm afraid I don't have much of a choice right now."
"Just SPIT IT OUT!" G growled impatiently. Galil Wilhelm Drazen was certainly a chore. Calling G overzealous would be the understatement of the year; he was so goddamn impatient and thickheaded inside-and-out. No wonder Dad had little favor with him, practically despised him, a bitter taste stained in the old man's mouth every time he had to speak to him.
"Calm down, Tank Man." He let his eyes roll habitually. "I'm getting to it."
The floor shrieked sharply as Tank Man simply let gravity -ease- his claw down. His foul, rotting stench huffed at him snootily in a hiss from the offending tailpipe, just after the combustion engine let him know what it thought with a loud popping backfire.
"Did you just soil yourself?" he frowned.
G's strange lip curled into itself, baring those nasty, blackened incisors.
"Maybe…!" he said. "Shall I do an analysis?"
"Don't bother." He snorted.
"Whatever you say, Bro."
"Oh Mr. U...!" The door creaked open quietly, Shia's loud steps easily drowning out the hinges pleas for some grease. The door then knew what the good Lieutenant's position on squeaky things was when he easily slammed it back into the frame. "As much as I hate to break up this touching brother-to-brother moment… -oh… - I understand that you wanted to see me about something… or someone--take your pick. I'm in no mood to argue!"
"Can you not slam my door please?" he made his tongue twist illogically into English. He forced his neck to take up the weight of his head as he sat back up.
"Right…!" Shia made a gentle rattle, quick and brief. Slowly he let his eyes roll over to their corners. The good one caught a slice of dirty orange in Shia's hand just before it disappeared into his chest pocket. Shia's throat pulsated appropriately as ever. "Sorry 'bout that, Mr. U."
"The shit's wrong with you, Bonnet?" he asked. The good Lieutenant looked like hell, face pale and drained of the life that once was abundant in his face. Even his curly top appeared deflated of its poof. "Bad nap?"
"You could say that…" Bonnet blinked, "I think. That bitch! She jammed some needle in me right when she was recaptured. Man… that was a crazy magic tab too--more like hooey--voodoo--with--crack--and--shit…! Oh man…!"
"Yes." He yawned. "Eli actually stopped and laced his drugs with excrement!"
"You know what I mean, Mr. U…!" Blinking sense back in through the flattened curly top wasn't as effective as the lieutenant thought. "Didn't you call me for something?"
"Yeah…." He moaned. "Two new recruits got uppity with me. I had to put them down permanently. I need you to be the PR man today regarding this little incident."
"AW--for how long…?" Bonnet whined.
"Till the men stop asking." He frowned. "What the hell is it to you?"
"Sir, my apologies if I had to break up any certain moments you two were sharing." Shia said. "And of course, I'll do this little chore of yours--provided I know what the shit happened to who, or what, and when, where, why, and how."
"Go see the doc for that." He replied. "And maybe get yourself checked out while you're at it."
"Right." Shia said. "But Mr. U, there's something I got to ask you…."
"Band practice, right?"
"Yes, as always this day of the week."
"And…?"
"Well… may I--?"
"Sure…." He rubbed his eyes. "Go right ahead. It's not like we've got a war to fight or anything!"
"Sir--I didn't mean--"
"Sure you did, boy!" he sneered. "No need to spin away from me, beat around the bush and all the good shit. Sure--go see your tone-deaf klezmer. 4496's back in custody, and Solomon Rex is as good as finished. The king needs his armaments before he can take us into battle."
"Speaking of war, Mr. U." Shia combed a shaky hand through his messy hair uselessly. "I have news about our new little toy we picked up in the Negev."
"The neutron bomb?" he batted his eyes.
"The very same!" the curly top bobbed awkwardly.
"Well," he shrugged quickly, "what, man?"
"After a thorough invasive… uh… search--thingy!" Shia had a problem with terms. It was no big secret. The underlings beneath the lad often poked at him behind his back for giggles. "We removed all the… extra stuff--the baby fat if you will--and uh… trimmed the device down to somewhat of a SADM."
"The power of the sun in a suitcase?" he said.
"Exactly!" Shia nodded. "Well--more of an assault pack, Sir."
"That's good enough for me." He nodded. "Good work, Lieutenant."
The drained boy managed to bring his boots together with a -smack- of leather, his back unrolled straight from the pitiful at-ease, and his straight fingers tapped his clammy brow at an angle. He shrugged it off with a half salute.
"Thank you, Sir."
"Go ahead, and see your woman tonight." He yawned. "But see the Doc first for a briefing. You should find him in the fun house right about now, if he hadn't left already."
"Sir!" Bonnet nodded.
"Galil was just headed back there." He said; his lips curled in a tired smirk. "Care to join him?"
It had to be the most alert Shia had been since he stumbled in his quarters. Galil angled his head oddly. "I'd… rather not, Sir."
"Oh?" He angled his head gently. "And why's that? G gives you the willies, doesn't he?"
Tank man too angled his head strangely. Maybe his little brother wasn't as poorly conversed as he had thought. Surprising, a little, but not completely unexpected; with as much as he spent in his dank little crypt, he still couldn't roll completely clear of any bilinguals.
"Does he, Shia?" He asked bluntly. "I don't understand why my little bro would though. Maybe this apprehension of yours is completely unfounded. Galil is meeker than a lamb--well, he was anyway. A freak kerosene fire will do that to a guy. Oh wait--I think I know! Do you think I know, G?"
Galil hissed back as he rolled for the good lieutenant. Shia squeaked, backing himself up a step, nearly tripping over his own shaky boots. His back thumped against the wall, flattening his body against the wall uselessly as those whirring tracks rolled his little bro closer.
"Listen…." He smirked. "He agrees! Isn't it funny, Bonnet? If you didn't get the crates switched back at Middleton airport, I have a sneaking suspicion you wouldn't be this jumpy. But I shouldn't dwell on the past, or should I? Galil, what do you think?"
Tank Man snapped his jaw at the lieutenant. Shia squeaked again.
"I think he agrees, Sir--!" Shia reared his head against the wall futilely, standing up on the balls of his boots even. Galil snapped at the boy. "EEP!"
"What are you, a puppy?"
"Yes sir--!" Galil snapped at the boy again. "Woof!"
"Hope you're housebroken, Lieutenant." He smirked. "Dare pee on my floor, you'll be cleaning it up with your tongue! Is that clear?"
"Crystal, Sir!"
"Good!" he nodded. "Now get out of here. The Doc's waiting for you."
"Yes, sir!" Shia bobbed his head like one of those exaggerated figurines, like an idiot. He made like paper, slipping out in between the rock and the hard place, fluttering in the space before him as he stumbled for the door. "You can count on me--!"
"Glad to hear it." He said. "When you leave for band practice, go buy your girl something nice."
"Yes, Mr. U!" the squeaky door stabbed at his ears. "What should I do about the Mick?"
"I'll think of something." He shrugged. "She won't be in our hair too much longer."
"Right, Sir." Shia stumbled through the door. "Do what you need to, Mr. U. Just don't keep her as a pet! I don't want to have to chase her down every time she cuts her noose loose."
"Noose?" he blinked.
"Uh--yeah…!" Shia replied, turning around swiftly, stumbling around like a sick man. "-Oh…! - Well--choke chain, to put it more accurately. You still want her alive, right?"
"Did she crack?" he asked. "Did she sing like the songbird of my dreams? Or is she still being a stubborn, little bitch?"
"More like the latter, Mr. U." Shia said. "We've had a sneaking suspicion that she doesn't know anything. This little stunt confirmed it, in my mind at least. Certainly, with G's eager help, she would have told us something by now."
"Don't you know, Shia?" he said. "Torture's messy, costly, and the results are often erroneous. She knows something, all right--or someone, most likely. G's helping hand probably hardened her resolve."
Shia looked dumbfounded. "Then why the hell did we even bother with torture in the first place!?"
"Why, the very same reason why my good old half brother, Tristian, did it, Shia." He shrugged. "Because it's fun. I never understood why he bothered with torture too until I toed its nasty, murky water. It's so much fun, Shia! Watching the bane of your existence squirm like a dying worm, under your thumb where she belongs. Humiliating her, depraving her, hurting her, and all the good shit you can imagine. It's really quite liberating as well! I suggest you join G sometime."
"That's okay, Sir." Just behind the good lieutenant's proverbial gills, a sickly color of green gradually blossomed. He had pondered why for about--a second. "I'll simply tend to my duties as usual."
"Are you certain, Bonnet?" He smirked. "You don't know what you're missing…!"
"I think I do know, Mr. U." the natural tones of Bonnet's skin swallowed up the green with a little twitch of his head. "I'd rather leave the sadomasochism to you guys. You two seem to enjoy it a bit more. Me, I'd rather just cap someone, clean and clear."
"Oh really?" He put a kink in his brow.
"Yes, Mr. U." Shia nodded. "It's the honest truth."
"Honest, huh?" He gazed at him cynically. "This coming from Mr. Piano-Man?"
"What?" Bonnet blinked.
"You heard me." He said. "Or should I say Mr. Piano-Wire? That sounds more apt to me, doesn't it, Bonnet?"
"Just what are you getting at, Sir." Shia pressed with a frown.
"Ah… wires." He managed to push himself to his feet, stumbling for the good lieutenant. "Isn't it such a lovely invention? With it, one can orchestrate beautiful music when the final line is screwed in along its peers. Have you ever heard an Irish Harp play, Bonnet? When embraced gently in skilled hands, it's really quite relaxing.
"Have you ever heard a Baby-Grand play, Shia?" He made like the vulture--or condor--whatever he saw circling in the sky outside, lurching around his prey. He could have sworn he saw that flattened curly top drop an inch, along with the rest of his head. "It can be quite invigorating. But then again, how would you know? You never heard a live performance, have you? I read your file. In fact, you actually silenced a beautiful piano back in Paris, did you not? Such a beautiful piano carved and polished out of Walnut, grinning vividly at its would-be player with ivory keys, Shia--IVORY for fuck's sake! You can't even get that anymore!
"But came that day when you sneaked into the music shop, when your rage lusted for that perfect wire. Where better than to find the perfect cord than inside the perfect piano? You carefully unscrewed one when the shopkeeper was in the back office, took out your pieces of broken dowel, and fastened an end to each piece before the shopkeeper came back.
"Then came your first target, your very first mark, a brash Muslim woman--a loudmouth, denouncing Abraham's true seed as pigs and monkeys as she walked past the storefront. You followed her professionally, smooth and controlled, even when she turned into an alley. Her back was to you, swathed in her rags and the shade. It was too good to pass up, wasn't it, Shia?"
Shia's face drained of color, his chest heaving lightly.
"And with a glinting sliver of silver arcing in the air, you struck." He carried on. "Her handbag clattered on the ground, skittering away while her hands tried to free herself of your fit. And you yanked harder--and harder. You wanted to stop, but you just couldn't. Something snapped in your mind. And next thing you know, she was on the ground before you, rags stained with street grime, blood hemorrhaging barely out her eyes. Her eyes--they looked so broken, so afraid, so pitiful… just like the rest of her kind truly is."
"Just what--are--you--saying--Major!?" Shia demanded pitifully, as though he actually had a nerve of steel to back it up.
"Elevated heart rate," he said simply, "adrenaline, -endorphins-. You won't admit it, Lieutenant Bonnet, but you enjoyed inflicting suffering. It was a thrill, wasn't it?"
"That was a long time ago, Sir!" Shia growled. "I've moved past being a thug!"
"Have you really?" He asked. "After your performance at Spaniard's island manor with Hershel, I'm not sure I believe that."
"Believe what you want, Drazen!" Shia snapped. "I'm not just your punching bag--your pin cushion--or whatever! I don't give a shit anymore; UNDERSTAND!? You're losing friends, Mr. U! Your own people are beginning to doubt you; it's spreading like wildfire! And after your little stunt on -Shabbat-, public support for the VSA has dropped to an all time low! This madness can't go on!"
"I understand completely, Bonnet." He rolled his eyes. "You're starting to sound like that little bitch I had to put down. But this 'madness', as you put it, can go on… and it will! Who knows? Maybe I'll be like a partner to you."
"Robin's already my partner!" Bonnet growled. "Whether you believe it or not, Mr. U!"
"That sounds like a borderline threat, Lieutenant…." He yawned. "A good threat, actually. Thick with unbridled passion, just like when you were back in France."
"I had--ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT!" Shia shouted. His boots scraped the carpet heatedly as he spun around irately, turning to his left just after he stormed out of his quarters. The door slammed back into his frame with a -bang-, thanks in much by the lieutenant's snatch of a grip. Not the quickest way to Galil's fun house of horror, for sure, but he was content to let Bonnet stomp out some hot steam.
"He was pissed, Bro!" Galil noted pointlessly. He shrugged, his tongue slid out a broken reply.
"G, you amaze me with your firm grip of the obvious." He said. "Now get out of here. You got a snack to catch, after all."
"And you, pray tell…?"
"Doesn't matter what I do." He said. "Do you know where the satellite phones are stored?"
"Yep--YEP!" G nodded his strange head quickly. "I do! Not too far away from my fun house, actually!"
"Good." He nodded. "Bring one, or have someone bring me one."
"What for?" G asked.
"Go have fun with your snack, G." He smirked. "I have a noose that need tightening."
"Noose?"
"Never mind that." He shrugged. "Just go."
"Yes, sir!" Galil snapped at him with his claw, G's cheeky idea of a proper salute. "You're the Major, after all…."
"Damn right!"