Okay, right...so. Here's what's up: my mandatory hours for work, that's what. It's the beginning of the new year, which means 45 hour weeks again! That also means getting time to write is that much harder, which really bums me out, 'cause this's pretty darn fun. But using my lunch breaks and a few late weekends, I've finally gotten enough down for a new chapter! Woo-hoo! Now, this one is a bit shorter than the last few, but I think the cut-off point was perfect. Was I right, or wrong? Read on and you decide.
. . .
Oh no…no, no, no, no, nooooo…This day had already gone down the drain, slipped into the sewer and was headed for the shit treatment plant, but was somehow managing to get worse. I was already nervous about explaining to George how Haruko was now a G&R employee, but his phone call had me in a cold sweat despite the July heat. An emergency meeting of the gas, oil and miner bosses had been called, and someone was supposedly hurt bad. From what George had told me, the group was in the beginning stages of panic. In my rush, I opted for the Ought-Too over my Bronco so I could cut time by running the old logging roads. I even blew straight past Midstate's main gate and the terminal, then bee-lined down the runway itself, rather than go around.
"Evenin' gennellmen. What's with the worry, the hubbub, where's the fire?" I asked once I'd stopped and everyone present flinched. "What?"
"Too soon Rig." Tommy said, fiddlin' with his wallet chain. "Way, way, waaaaay too soon."
"What'd I say?" I looked 'round the circle of grim, fear-riddled faces and noticed one was missing. "Hang…hang on a secon'…where's Mister Dahl?"
"He's in the hospital's burn unit." Mr. Pike didn't ease into it, but ripped the band-aid right off. "About two hours ago, a group of someone's pulled up outside Dahl's house and started lobbing Molotov's at it; burned half the place down." As Mr. Pike talked, that bowlin' ball in my stomach from earlier seemed to triple in density. Mr. Dahl? That pleasant old Deutschlander? Firebombed?! Already my mind was filling with lists of potential 'who-dun-it's' and their possible motives; none were good.
"Is he gonna be okay?"
"He's tough's the rest of us." Mr. Welshman vouched for Mr. Dahl's fortitude. "He'll pull through."
"What else do we know besides Dahl's condition?" Tommy was trying to steer the conversation towards some sort of action. He had fallen a little farther from the tree in that he was significantly more proactive than his father. George was content to let things play out on their own and be other people's problems. Which is fine, at the proper times. Unfortunately in this case, our idleness had resulted in Mr. Dahl's near-death and loss of half his house. "Anything an' everything's important, whatever you've heard, whatever you've got."
"Well, I know from the scanner I've got at home that an Officer Kauffman responded first to the scene, so there's that." Mr. King offered, eliciting a groan from George, Tommy and I. "Yeah, I thought that'd be your reaction."
"Not Kauffman…" Tommy sighed, looking up at the sky as if asking God what he'd done to deserve such a blow.
"Why is that a bad thing?" Mr. Chartier inquired. As he was still relatively new, he wasn't fully versed on the numerous family-based squabbles in the area; including ours. Some, like the one I'm 'bout to lay on you, dear reader, have been goin' on for generations.
"It's bad 'cause the whole Kauffman family hates our guts." I gave the short version.
"And the feeling's mutual." Tommy spat a dallop of tobacco juice in disgust.
"I thought we had decided we were going to be 'above that', right Tom?" George turned to Tommy, both looking surly. This conversation was older than me. "Something about the moral high ground?"
"I'll give an inch when they do."
"Hey, I don't like them any more than you…"
"With all the bullshit we've tolerated?" Tommy's voice was starting to rise, not a good sign. "They even went after Rig at his last motocross race! They caught Chris, on camera, cutting Rig's brake line; he nearly died when he crashed on turn two!" Oh yeah…I remembered, even if George had conveniently forgotten. With the Ought-Too's brake lines cut, I couldn't get slowed down enough to make the banked turn, flew off a twenty foot tall dirt mound at forty miles an hour, and landed in the lake that had pooled in the midfield area. Between my helmet filling up with water and trying to save my bike, I'd nearly drowned.
"Tommy's got a good point George." With the crappy day I'd been having, mere mention of that race was enough to get my temper flared. "And I suppose Grandpap just…I dunno, drove his tractor Thelma and Louise style off the runway?"
"That's enough, out of both of you!" Now George's dander was up, his warning sign was his face turning red.
"Oh come on George!" Tommy ignored George's command to drop the subject. "Grandpap mowed that runway a thousand times, then the one day no one else was even on the property, he suddenly loses his ability to drive a tractor? Dunlap even said he saw one of the Kauffman's trucks headed for our place…"
"I said that is enough! We'll discuss this later!"
"No, we won't." I shot back. "Every time, it's the same thing. You always shout us down, change to subject or forget. I say we talk about this right here and n…"
"HEY! For Christ's sake, will you three give it ah fuckin' rest already?!" Mr. Voyze's shout shook all present like lightnin' had struck us; the echoes across the runway reminiscent of thunder. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph. You Carson's bitch at each other more than a buncha schoolgirls. The fuck's ah-matter with you?! You're supposed to be the professionals here; act like it!" For what felt like a full minute we stood, struck dumb under Mr. Voyze's furious gaze. I had forgot to mention this last time, but once upon a time, Mr. Voyze also answered to Sergeant Voyze…sound about right to you? "Now, if you old biddies are done squawking, I have something you need to see."
"Yessir, we're done." I found my voice. It had been cowering in my left back pocket behind next to the tobacco tin. "I apologize for our unprofessionalism."
"Before we go any further, if you're willing to wait Monsieur Voyze…" Mr. Chartier's curiosity was as strong as ever. "I'd like to know the history behind this Carson, Kauffman…hostility."
"Fair 'nough." Mr. Voyze allowed. "Provided they behave themselves." He glared at us again.
"Okay…" There was a collective sigh from the three of us as we tried to get our blood pressure to cede to normal levels. Tommy still looked positively murderous and George red in the ears, so it fell to me to talk.
"Here's how I understand it, stop me if I'm wrong." George and Tommy merely shot each other dirty looks so I sallied forth. "Back in the fifties, Great-grandad Carson started G&R, same time's Kauffman's started a gas station. And yes, G&R was an Overwatch front even then. Anyway, Great-grandad needed to fill up one of his trucks, one of its thirty gallon tanks was half empty. So he stops at Kauffman's, starts pumpin' gas an' is watching the ticker on the machine. He notices he's somehow put twenty five gallons into a half empty thirty gallon tank. That meant one of two things, either the machine was broken, or Kauffman's had rigged it to give the wrong price. He decides him an' Mister Kauffman were gonna have a little chat. Well, Mister Kauffman didn' take too kindly to being called a thief, and when Great-grandad said he'd let the police be the judge of that, a fight got started; a fight that destroyed the inside of that gas station. Also, on account of the noise it made, got the cops called anyway."
"So were the pumps really rigged after all?" Mr. Chartier asked.
"Uh-huh. They were all mechanical back then, so changing out a gear wasn't hard. The police found the pumps were rigged and the Kauffman's lost ownership of the store an' their name's been Mudd 'round here ever since. Now, when Great-grandad died, Grandpap took over G&R. He wanted to bury the hatchet, and maybe, if they proved themselves redeemed, start recruiting them into Overwatch. Worth a shot right? So he offered the men of the Kauffman family a chance to work, for him. They told him straight up they 'didn't want his pity or charity, and it'd be a cold day in Hell when they'd work for a Carson.' Grandpap…he kinda lost his temper. He told them if they couldn't hack it in Osceola or Philipsburg as professional delinquents and thought too good of themselves to go dig coal, they outta cut their losses an' darken the land with their shadows elsewhere. Guess how well that went over?"
"Another fight I'd assume."
"And correctly. Grandpap, and his brother was there too, won that one. But Grandpap's brother decided after the fact he'd taken as much of the feud as he could, and was fed up with Pennsylvania in general too. His half of the family uprooted and moved out to Michigan that same month…we don't hear too much from them these days. Movin' on 'bout a month after that, Mister Dunlap, down the road from us, spotted a truck loaded with Kauffman, headed for our house. It was a Friday afternoon so everyone had left work and no one else was on the property, just Grandpap. Come Monday, they found him crushed under his tractor at the bottom of the mountain, havin' rolled the whole way down."
"And the suspicion immediately fell on the Kauffman's for foul play, but there was no proof?"
"Yes. And, since that day, they've been bidin' their time to off the rest of us…"
"Thank you Rig, that will do." George cut in 'fore I could get into full conspiracy theory mode. "We'll talk about family matters, at home." And with that last cut in his voice, I knew it was time for me to shut up.
"I think that would be best." Mr. Solomon agreed. The second eldest of the group, he knew our story quite well. "Now that Mr. Chartier's question has been answered, I would like to get back on topic and address whatever you're holding in your hand Mr. Voyze."
"About time." Mr. Voyze handed over a printed out picture from someone's digital camera. "That was taken by the lady living across the street from Dahl. She gave it to me when I got there, said she didn't trust the police with it. Her words were 'I'm afraid it will accidentally lost in some sort of filing error', or something like that." We looked down at the picture to see a ranch style house, already half engulfed in flames. In the forefront, silhouetted by the inferno, was a white and blue 2006 Honda Civic. An oddly familiar looking Civic, with a six foot spoiler, dropped an inch off the ground and complete with blue and black flames painted around the wheel-wells.
"Hey Rig…" Tommy had noticed the car's signature look too. "Ain't that the piece of rice burnin' shit Craig bomb's 'round in?"
"Yah know Tom, I think it is. Craig worked for Mister Dahl, didn' he?"
"Uh-huh. Craig Kauffman, office clerk, and grab-happy pervert." Mr. Welshman said. "Had some trouble keepin' his mitts to himself. And, now that I think on it…" He puffed his pipe in thought, the glowin' coals tossed shadows around his face. "I had a Kauffman brother workin' for me too. Carl, a downright nasty and mean piece of work."
"Me too, a Kauffman that is." Mr. Pike realized. "Clyde Kauffman, the epitome of bad habits and zero self-control."
"Mine was Caleb, I let him go for failing his drug tests." Mr. Chartier joined the club of former Kauffman employers. "Wait. Wait a minute. Didn't, we all have a Kauffman working for us in the past year?" The revelation went 'round the circle, hittin' each man in turn.
"Cole, a true psychopath." Mr. Solomon gravely recalled.
"Carl, walking roid-rage." Mr. Welshman remembered with his usual gruff.
"Caleb, the definition of a lush." Monsieur Chartier shook his head. "Craig with his promiscuity, worked for Dahl…who else was there?"
"Clyde, what a greedy, miserable bastard." Mr. Pike certainly didn't hold his former employee in high regard.
"Chris, that arrogant little prick thinks the sun shines outta his ass." Mr. King didn't pull punches in his assessment.
"That leaves Cody, and me." Mr. Voyze finished off the Kauffman Brothers, the last remnants of their family name. "Never have I met such an ungrateful kid. You could start a vineyard with all the whine that brat's got."
"Okay, lemme see if I've got this straight." Tommy said, rubbing his temples like he was getting a headache from all the new info. "All y'all've been having sabotage problems at your businesses, have been threatened by a mysterious out-of-towner who looks exactly like my worst nightmare, have fired a family worth of brothers with a reputation for fuckin' shit up and despise the very air my family breathes, and now one of your contemporaries is in the hospital with burns on thirty percent of his body…so…" He twisted his face into a forced grimace and turned to his Dad. "Georgie-boy. How do you want that crow you're gonna haftah eat prepared? Stewed, roasted, baked or broiled? I'm sure it'll do just's well in a fricassee or ragout…"
"Duly noted Thomas! Thank you!" George's response was curt, he hated being wrong; and even more, wrong in front of others. "Alright, fine. I was wrong. There, happy?"
"We would be happier if we knew your plans." Mr. Solomon said. "I have understood our relationship as a two-way street. Our end provides your eyes and ears, and you your expertise in dealing with Medical Mechanica incursions. Now that one of us has been put in the hospital, nearly the morgue, and the rest of us surely to suffer the same fate if we do not fall in line, what will you do Carsons?"
All eyes swiveled to us, then focused on George. He was madly twistin' his ring, like just one more turn was the magic number to send him back to Kansas; 'long as he said 'there's no place like home'. See, George's…well, how to put this? He never 'xactly was what I'd call the 'go-getter' type, that gene skipped him and Tommy got it instead. His default was to punt; let it be someone else's problem, so I don't have to deal with it. Which can work, but only for so long until all the things you thought had gone away all come back at once. Or, in this case, land Mr. Dahl in the hospital and us with at least on Kauffman brother and his pet firebug named Molotov.
"Before we go any farther…" George had, at long last, made his decision. "We need to lay down some ground rules. Not mine, standard Overwatch practice."
"Let's hear it then." Mr. Pike said, not looking the least bit happy about the mention of Rules of Engagement. Hey, everyone has rules they gotta play by. The I.I.B., G.S.P.B and Overwatch are far from exempt.
"First, only Tommy, Rig, myself or our other agents, will be the ones doing any sort of investigating into this. That's our place, yours is with your workers and keeping them safe. Second, if we DO find anyone responsible or involved with Medical Mechanica, we will handle it. The cops would just loooove to catch themselves a band of vigilantes dispensing frontier justice, or whatever bullshit they'd call it. Lastly, we will keep your properly updated the entire time. Never will we leave our friends in the dark. On that note, if you should find out anything, you immediately come to us; don't go off after leads yourselves."
"What, think we can't handle ourselves?" Mr. Pike again. His tone indicated a strong desire to go to Craig's house right that moment and drag the dude out by the short hairs; like the al-Qaeda leaders he'd help take down in Iraq.
"Mr. Pike, if a Man in Black really is involved…" George slowly explained, trying to hammer this point home. "No. You can't. That is with no disrespect to you, your service, or any of you. But, these, things, we call Men in Black are what people on other planets tell legends about; they're true boogeymen. A regular human, or even a group of them, doesn't stand a chance."
"Now that we've got you completely terrified…" Tommy saw the growing looks of fright around the circle. "Allow me to attempt reassuring you by saying they aren't invincible; they react to a bullet in the skull same's us."
"Small comfort." Mr. King was pale under a layer of permanent coal dust. "But I'll hang onto the thought, it'll keep me warm."
"You're welcome!" Tommy grinned, then checked his watch. "Okay, it's gettin' late, time to wrap this up. Quick recap sound good? Rig, I see you've been taking notes?" Indeed I had, scribbling in my pocket notebook as was my habit.
"Oookay…lemme flip back to the startin' page…okay. Ahhh…Herr Dahl's been firebombed, survived but is in the hospital. Suspects are members of the Kauffman family, given by evidence at the scene and prompt response by Officer Cole Kauffman. Motive is revenge for firings, and possibly payoff from Medical Mechanica agents. We, Overwatch, will investigate accordingly within our authority. Meanwhile, you will…"
"Continue to recruit and train a response, see about that…" Mr. Welshman took time away from his pipe to speak. "That's something I've wanted to bring up. My supervisors are on board, but the guys you actually want, they ain't. None of us can get through to 'em, too scared maybe, I dunno."
"I think, that'll be a talk for next time." Tommy said slowly. Mr. Welshman had the second largest workforce of the group, we couldn't afford to lose it, from what I'd heard. "Tell yah what, I'll personally come down and talk to 'em, sound good?"
"Better you than me." Mr. Welshman shrugged. "That's all I had, anything else?" Everyone shook their heads no.
"Then let's get outta here." George called it quits. "Remember, same usual time on the usual day, at the usual spot. Stay alert, stay safe!" The six miners and drillers said their good nights, got into their trucks and went their separate ways. That left us, the Terriffic Carson Trio, at the end of the runway.
"Sooooo…Rig…" Tommy spat and gave me his Cheshire Cat smile. "About that text earlier?"
"Oh, heh-heh. Yeah. The text. The text I sent. The text I sent to you. My text, for you. Your text."
"Jeff. You're stalling." Uh-oh. Georg's bringin' out the Real Name Gun. Okay, okay… "I'm assuming it's Haruko that arrived today. So what's the deal?"
"First, I wouldn't call what she did to the runway 'arriving', but that's not the funniest part…"
"The runway?! What happened?!"
"Easy George, let Rig finish. What's up Cochise?"
"Okay…promise you won't be mad…"
. . .
"Hey, take it easy. The pizza's not gonna get up and run away." Naota cautioned as Haruko started into the second half of her extra-large, extra cheese, extra pepperoni, extra-extra-spicy pizza. "Slow down and savor the flavors, taste the blended spices…chew…"
"Nom?" She stopped for a moment with one slice halfway eaten, a second in her right hand and a third in her left, still attached to the rest of the pizza. "AAAaaahhh-ooommmm! Ah! Hey, girl's gotta eat yah know. It takes a lot of energy to be this awesome."
"I'm sure it does." He half-agreed and had himself another bite. Hi-Way Pizza was the usual sardine can, but they had managed to secure a booth. It was a surreal feeling, sitting with Haruko and having dinner; like they were two normal people. So removed from his life and memory for so long, there were days where he wondered if there had been a chance he'd imagined the entire affair from four years back. But there she was. Blunt, shifting in her attitudes and facades with every wisp o' the wind, obnoxious, a tease and hot tempered as ever. Four years and no change. "So you've plumbed the deepest depths of my past your years for the past hour. What about you? How's that 'chasing down Atomsk and becomin' the Pirate Queen' shtick workin' out?"
. . .
"Oh, you know…there's been a few setbacks…" Haruko evaded, playing with their table's toothpick dispenser.
"Really? A few? Four years' worth of setbacks seems more like a few…" Naota said, helping himself to another slice of pizza. "Do you have a strategy, a ten-point plan…" He paused to sprinkle some of the Italian spices from the shaker onto his pizza. "Or are you just pullin' everything outta your ass?"
"Hey! I got a plan alright! It's too risky to tell anyone though, op-sec and all that. You know what op-sec means? It's…"
"Operational Security, I know. My skull may be empty, but I'm not retarded."
"Well, look at you, all up on the slang. But yeah, too risky to tell anyone, even you. Not like anyone in this Hicksville would understand it anyway." She scoffed, looking around at the other diners. Under-evolved monkeys, the lot of 'em. None could hope to comprehend her genius.
"Whatever helps you live with yourself." Naota shrugged, like he was only half-listening. The nerve of him! Wasn't he just dying to know what she'd been up to? Perhaps this was a ploy, he was waiting for the perfect moment to offer a long-planned confession of how he'd held a candle for her all these years? That would be quite flattering indeed, perhaps she could use that sentimentality to get another pizza… "Hey! I'm talking to you!"
"Hmm? You say something?" Lost in her own thoughts, Naota's bark had brought her back to reality.
"Never mind." He rolled his eyes in annoyance and temporarily went back to his pizza. Unable to contain himself, he dropped it on his plate. "Okay, you know what? I did say something." Whatever he had to say, it didn't sound like lavish adorations.
"Yeeeessss…?" She asked, her question accented with batted eyelashes.
"The fuck is your deal?" Oooo…kay. Not what she had expected, or hoped for. "Here I am, moved a continent, ocean and four years away from Mabase, and you just, show up! Not even a mile away from my new house!"
"A coincidence, I assure you. A happy accident."
"A happy accident? No, no, no. Bob Ross has happy accidents. You have clusterfucks. Besides, do I look happy?"
"Sooo…you're not happy to see me then?" What the fuck was her deal? Never mind that, what the fuck was HIS deal?! Had he not confessed his love for her four years ago? That was four years removed, but still. Not, you know, like she cared. It was a, comforting thought that her charms had worked on him then; and nearly accomplished her goal. But seriously, what was with all the negativity?!
"No! No, I'm not happy! I'm the polar opposite of happy! I'm pissed! In fact, I'm half wishing that your crashing into the Carson's runway had broken your goddamn neck."
"Well, and it's lovely to see you too, thanks sooooo much for asking." All the crap she had put up with and this was the welcoming back to Earth she got?! "What's with the attitude? So we didn't part on the best of terms…"
"Nearly allowing Medical Mechanica to take over the planet and trying to cave my skull in is what you call not the best of terms?" He now looked at her sideways, like she'd just grown a third eye in the middle of her forehead.
"Sure, why not? Hey, no one got hurt." She really didn't appreciate where this conversation was going, nor its tone. Bored with Naota's problems, she scanned the restaurant and its patrons. Humans, such a pitifully backwards race. Easily frightened and conquered, hopelessly behind in technology. How they had the gall to join the Galactic Government, and even offer their own as agents, she couldn't begin to understand. The fact Natoa's N.O. portal had worked had been a stroke of…HEY! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!
"Do I have your attention now?" Naota snarled, fists clenched around her scarf, pulling her halfway across the table.
'I let my attention wander for one second…and he does this.' She thought, blearily staring into Naota's anger-filled face a few inches away. 'Not like I can't kick his ass…but what's he want now?'
"No one got hurt? That monster that came out of my head smashed a two-mile long, two hundred yard wide path through town, not to mention everything it shot with stray rounds…speaking of which! You personally shot up an entire block yourself with the Four-Thousand-One, and killed like, thirty guys from the I.I.B.! Were they nobody? Were the people in my town nobody?!" He demanded, giving her a jarring shake as her gaze wandered somewhere less grumpy. Forced to give him her attention again, she decided she might as well go over the new Naota she was dealing with.
First and foremost was his height. The little guy she'd left had grown, an inch or two taller than her in fact. The rest of his body had filled out accordingly, but he was still slimmer in frame than his stockier friend Rig. His grip was iron, hands now powerful and beginning to turn leathery with accumulated callouses. Holding her across the table flexed once thin arms, now with the beginning signs of rope-like veins, broader shoulders hunched together astride his neck; someone had been hittin' the weights. But the two biggest changes were his eyes and his demeanor. The eyes had once been soft brown like chocolate, often distant and faraway as he did his best to act above it all. Now they were a solid earthy color, sharpened and observant, and currently brimming with a barely contained fury. His demeanor had changed just as much. His body language had hardened from cool indifference to a standoffishness that bordered on prickly. Gone was the Naota that would just sluff off incoming insult or tease, this one was willing to bare its fangs and bite back. He really had, and was still, growing up. Still…she wasn't about to grovel because he'd cultivated some peach fuzz.
"Whaddyah want from me? To say I'm sorry? To come crawling on my hands and knees to beg your forgiveness? Hate to break it to you Bub, but you're gonna see snowballs in Hell before that ever happens." She snarled back, pulling her lips into a smile that flashed her canines. "In fact, I couldn't care less about this rock you call a planet. Furthermore…"
"Whoa! Hey! What the hell?!" She had snaked her legs around his, then snapped them together and pulled back. Rather than be dragged under the table, he let go of her scarf and managed to cling onto the table's edge. But it was all he could do, awkwardly holding himself there until his arms gave out.
"Furthermore, if you had just stayed out of my way, we both could be sittin' pretty right now. But you just had to absorb Atomsk instead; and you call me selfish?"
"That's bullshit." He worked out, growing red in the face. "If I had slipped up just once, been just a split second slow with one of my blocks, you'd have killed me; and you know it."
'Well, aren't you just the world's greatest detective?' She thought, giving his legs a subtle tug. He was right, of course, as usual. Maybe she hadn't been trying to kill him outright, but if it had meant she could have gotten Atomsk…well…
"Oh, untwist your panties Nao'. I'm not here for you, this's just an accident you being in this town. Stay outta my way and you'll have no trouble from me."
"What a relief! I'll just go sit on my porch, have a beer and take it easy!" His voice dripped with sarcasm, spilling it onto the table as he steadied his grip. "Haruko Haruhara, disavowed from the G.S.P.B., creator of an N.O. channel in my head, and co-conspirator to destroy my planet, is in town, but I shouldn't worry! Life'll be just peaches and friggin' cream. You know what? Bite me!"
"That's it, you insolent little…!" She was halfway across the table, hands outstretched to pound some respect into him for this insubordination. Inches from his throat, she froze upon hearing a very distinctive sound. A small, metallic Clink! Body still statuesque, her eyes swiveled to the bracelet strapped to her left wrist. The oversized chain link hung lifelessly from its bracket, then…Clink! Click-Clack! It sprang to life, rattling like it was trying to break free, then finally pointed straight at Naota's head. "Oh no. You can't be serious."
. . .
"You did what?!" George's eyes popped wider than his glasses and the pitch of his voice verged on breaking. He was never good at sounding intimidating with a raised voice, but I knew he was plenty upset.
"Now George, you promised you wouldn't be angry." He did, pinky swear and all. "But this tone you're using sounds distinctly angry, and quite frankly, I don't care for it."
"Oh, I'm not angry." He sat down on his truck's tailgate, looking completely flustered. "I'm just trying to figure out what was going through your head when you hired someone on the Galaxy's most wanted list."
"He already explained that." Tommy said, opening up his tobacco tin. "To her under our observations…ha-ooommmmm…huuaaaaaccckk!...P-too!" Tommy paused to dip, plug, chew and spit. We're ah charmin' bunch, ain't we? "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I think you did the best you could under the conditions."
"Rnnnn…alright. I'll spot you that." George relented after some internal wrestling. "However, that doesn't mean I'm pleased with your actions either."
"I didn't expect a promotion, but not being coal-spoon duty's enough for me."
"Hmmph. That's still not off the table. While we're on the subject of Haruko, where is she now?"
"Wherever Naota's at. Which is…" I pulled out my phone and opened up the tracker program on it, using my thumbprint to access it. "Wherever his work phone shall go, we shall know." As you have probably guessed, we cannot be with those in our custody one hundred percent of the time. Occasionally we get called away and they have their own lives too; we're Overwatch agents, not helicopter parents. And then there's the chance that some defecation could hit an oscillation and when things get that screwy, it's nice to at least know where the person you're supposed to be looking after is. The phone I'd given Naota was a flip phone with the best basic talk, text and camera package that the early 2,000's had to offer; complete with an aftermarket RFID chip.
Every few minutes, a cell phone sends out a signal to search for nearby towers. This is to keep its connection updated, so calls can come in and be made. The RFID chip attaches an electronic signature to that signal that my phone, or any of our properly equipped scanners, can pick up. The more towers Naota's phone links up to, the better the program can narrow his location. It's a great system if you're in an urban area, but if you're in say…Montana, that 'accurate within three feet' dot turns into a two-mile across circle with a note that says 'Fuck if I know, good luck bro.'
"Looks like…he's…" Zoom in, zoom in…loading, loading. Literally out of this world technology and I still get buffering notices. Some things never change. "At Hi-Way Pizza, or at least his phone is."
"That's a relief." George sighed. "One less worry."
"Speaking of worries…" Tommy prompted. He was ready to go home and to bed.
"Oh, yes. Before I forget, a few things." George closed his eyes to think and mentally arrange his ever growing to-do list. "First, Tommy; call Shifty and tell him his vacation's over. We've got a Man in Black on the loose in our turf."
"But isn't Shifty off planet?" I asked, trying to figure out how long it would take Shifty to throw off whatever hangover he had and make his way homeward.
"Yes, which's all the more reason to call him now. Second, for both of you. Start looking into the Kauffmans. You both know them, their hangouts and characteristics, and their friends with shiny badges, blue-grey shirts, and brown shirts too." That'd be the state police and sheriff department respectively, if you don't know your law enforcement uniforms. "Figure out if they're in cahoots with M-M, and how deep down that rabbit hole they've gone."
"We also need to get a look inside Romans." Tommy added. "I'd love to see what they've been doing in there with all that brand new equipment they've acquired."
"Good idea, add it to the list. Obviously, our standing order of looking for Atomsk still applies…"
"If we're lucky, Haruko'll do that for us." I felt purdy proud for a moment having thought of that. See, my idea to hire her wasn't a total misfire. At least at that exact moment, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
"Yeah, 'bout that." Uh-oh. I didn't like the sound of that. "Don't think you're off the hook. It was a good decision, but you still have brought a known enemy into our comfort zone, despite direct orders to the contrary." George reminded.
"Yeah…I know. Should've called for backup…rang D.C. or something." I admitted, wondering why that hadn' been my immediate go-to option.
"Exactly. Now decisions, good or bad, have consequences, and this one's no exception. So, bearing that in mind…" Oh shit, here it comes. "If Haruko becomes a liability, a hindrance, turns against us, is even a nuisance, she will be your mess to clean up. Not mine, Josh, Johnny, or Mike. Not Shifty. And…"
"Oh, me too?" Tommy looked mighty put out to be included in the 'don't help Rig because he half-disobeyed direct orders and has to conduct his own damage control' club. "Well sorry Rig buddy, yer on yer own then I guess."
"I was gonna say Naota isn't allowed to interfere, but yes, you too." George crossed two names off the list. "Are we all clear, everyone understand everything? Kauffman's are to be handled by the book. Thomas, your improv will not be appreciated."
"Yeah, yeah, I gotcha. No playin' by ear, no flyin' by the seat of my pants, no havin' fun…" Tommy griped, but smiled as he did. We were just about to head back, done for the night. Then my phone started to ring.
"Greetin's an' salutations, Rig Carson's phone."
"Rig, uhhh…where are you?" Not where the action was at, judgin' by the sounds of panic Jerry's voice was making. If the owner of Hi-Way Pizza was callin' ME in a time of crisis, all hope must've been lost a looonnnnnggg time ago.
"Out at Midstate, what's up?"
"You need to get over here before someone calls the cops. That Naota…"
"What could Naota possibly have done?"
"It ain't just him. He an' his…woman, girlfriend, lover, whatever…they're just raisin' all kinds of hell; makin' a damn mess outta my parking lot too." Jerry explained as someone in the background yelled and a massive amount of somethings clattered and smashed on the floor.
"Okay, don' have an aneurism, I'm sure it ain' that bad…" Clink. What was that? Clink-click! Oh no. Click! Click, clink! Please no. I'm beggin' you…God? Budahh? Allah, Shiva…Spaghetti Monster? Cling! Ching-a-ling! Tommy pulled his wallet from his pocket and worked the chain from it, letting that loose end go free. It straightened out into a solid line, tugging on its anchor on his belt. The teardrop shaped onxy jewel on George's ring began to rotate like a compass needle before settling on a final heading; the pointed end giving direction. I looked down at my left hip to see my Dad's carabiner trying to wriggle itself free of its bracket, then snap tightly against it, holding horizontally, and aimed westward. From our mountaintop view, we could see the nighttime glow of two little towns we lived between with Osceola Mills slightly south, Philipsburg to the north…and Hi-Way Pizza smack in the middle of them at due west. Well…just…shit.
"Jerry, you still there?"
"Yep!"
"Sit tight. We'll be right over."
. . .
'Haruko…Haruhara. Back on Earth again, lovely.' The Man in Black was rereading his message that had been sent straight from The Head himself. 'Proceed cautiously, of course. Full discretion is at your disposal, beautiful.' He looked up as the bartender arrived with his drink, smiled pleasantly and politely thanked them. He had decided that if there was one positive thing Earth had going for it, that was bourbon; something Medical Mechanica had sorely neglected to take the time to invent on its own. Between sips he continued to read.
'Continue with construction at Romans, crews report excellent progress. They have been busy indeed. Begin lockdown of locals and surrounding area to prevent pushback. Well now, we wouldn't want them to spoil our fun, would we? Last note…' He stopped, his glass on its way to his lips. A smirking grin broke out across his face and he set his glass down. 'In event of A-D failure, eliminate Naota Nandaba by any means convenient. Oh what fun, what fun! The planet's getting more exciting by the second!' He tossed back the remainder of his drink, laid a bill on the bar to pay, gathered his briefcase, coat and hat, and left the bar. Outside he paused to take a long breath through his nose. Earth…it had a deep, rich, organic smell to it, filled with the scents of its plants, soils and rain. To him, used to the industry of Medical Mechanica, the rawness of that smell was almost enough to make his head swim.
'Mmm…such a perfectly ripe planet, ready to be plucked. It will make for a fine harvest. But business first; I believe it's time.' He reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a large pocket watch with multiple faces. Some had several hands, there were multi colored orbs circling around the main face's edge, glowing luminescent in the summer eve dark, all centered on another face the size of a silver dollar. It contained a single hand, currently spinning round and round at a dizzying speed. It finally slowed and settled on a heading, north. After consulting it and the other faces, he closed the watch and replaced it in his waistcoat.
'The Assassin Division, punctual as always. Let's go see what they've brought to the party. This'll be their last chance, so I'm sure it will be a real treat.' The Man in Black began to walk north, headed for Philipsburg with his coat over his left arm, fedora atop his head and briefcase grasped firmly in his right hand. 'And even better still, how will young Mister Naota Nandaba react? Oh, I'm sure he'll put on an excellent show!'
. . .
I had debated how to introduce The Man in Black's inner monologue, if I were to do it at all. Would it better for him to remain totally mysterious and unknown, or should I give him maybe just a touch of color? Hey, bourbon has that rich brown color, so that'll do, I think. Haruko and Naota's, date, for lack of a better word, didn't go well, and seemed to be taking an impossibly worse turn when we left them. I don't think it a huge stretch of imagination that Naota would be harboring some resentment at Haruko, he did love her after all, and seeing her back again with all her crassness and complete lack of tact might be enough to make him lose some of his usual cool. That or maybe it was the Italian spices he put on his pizza? Just some food for thought. That's all out of me for now, so until next time, read on, review, PM, discuss, tell your friends, spread the FLCL love, and stay tuned! Thank you again!