[b]The original thread was laced with colors and fonts to designate actions and speach.[/b]
[quote]
Pioneer:
:::walks through the wooden shutters:::
Hey Sam, you did the place up while I was gone. Looks nice.
:::Booths now line the side wall, the velour alternating between red and blue. The old 'highchairs' are all gone replaced by wooden barstools. The round tables, all with a single red candle in a wax bowl, have accompanying chairs with armrests. They look plush. On the back wall, between the Gents and Ladies, rippling lights of purple, yellow and green pulsate...Sam bought a juke box.:::
Business been good Sam?
Not bad, since the Server Truce, kinda quiet though. Hoping for a big turnout tonight, got a band coming in later, new chef has been getting rave reviews. The new decor seems to bring more nurses and teachers in, but at least the troops are behaving with them. You want your normal?
:::Sam doesn't wait for my response, but pours me a triple Bacardi. He waves me off as a I reach for the wallet.:::
This one's on me.
:::Always a gentlemen Sam, always buys the first drink, always goes home to his wife, always has Sunday off to be with his kids. I walk over to the back wall. The memorabilia from days past stalks us in newspaper clippings, photos and souvenirs. Popeye's magic hat, Deep Death's walking stick, the old Assassins flag, frayed and beer stained. There are a few new photos up. Sam always puts up a photo of his patrons when they first come to notice. He keeps the old ones though...nothing like history to tell us from whence we came. Right where it was when I was last here, my photo hangs on the wall. Hmmm, a bit dust on it, I'll just rub it off. In my peripheral vision, I can just make out the frame of the photo beside mine, as it always was. All the photos are wooden, except the one beside mine. I turn away, careful not to catch more than a glimpse of the portrait inside the sterling silver frame. I walk over to the jukebox.:::
Hey, you got my song in here.
:::Sam smiles from behind the bar as he continues to wipe glasses. I dig around for a nickel, only to find a quarter. I press the keys - J3. Seems appropiate it should be there. The record flips over, the lights dim a little and room is filled with the music from J3. The first chorus strikes a chord in me. I turn to the nearest table, place my bacardi and stride for the door.:::
Going for a walk on the pier Sam. Back shortly.
:::I head out the door, to a chilly wind, tighten my jacket and stride off. I wipe my eyes clear, must have been the dust.:::
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Tbar:
Tbar notes the man left without paying the bill ... ""flips"" down a couple of notes on the mans table .."Hey Sam.. I got it covered". Tbar strolls over to the door and watches the shadow meander down the peir ... 'he will be back' Tbar thinks.
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Buxton:
...meanwhile, Buxton sways over, drains Tbar's drink, then goes back to sleeping under his table.
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Pioneer:
:::Hours later, wind blown and tired, I return to Sams. Few people are in the bar, it gives the appearance that no one wants to be here any more. Striding across the room, I see Sam reach for the bottle with the white label, and pours me a fresh bacardi. Only now can I sense something is very wrong in these plush surroundings.:::
Umm, where is everyone.
I don't know. Normally on a Saturday night, this place is rocking. People coming and going, conversations of interest and dribble, lots of emontion as they unwind from the week.
:::The few people here I don't recognise. I wonder what they are thinking, and what brought them to Sams on a Saturday night. Reaching for my glass, I cross the parquetry dancefloor and plant myself in the corner booth. From my vantage point, I can see the entire room. Even the front doors are backlit enough for me to ascertain their oak texture on the shutters. Drink in hand, I sit, and wait. And watch to see who will be the first person I recognise at Sams tonight.:::
:::The jukebox plays another soldiers request. It's an old dance track. People move onto the floor and begin twirling. I glance around the room, to discover I am the only one sitting alone.:::
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Flotsam:
A hush falls over the room as the door swings open to admit flotsam and his stunning enterage of beautiful POW's.
His steely, pinkish-grey eyes sweep the establishment, instantly assessing the threat potential of each patron.
Recognizing the slack-jawed, vacant expressions on the faces in the red section he relaxes, and leads his bevy of beauties to a friend's table near the bar. He signals respectfully to Sam, then, unexpectedly, turns to the booth in the far corner and beckons a surprised Pioneer to join them.
"A triple bacardi for my esteemed opponent," flotsam says quietly to the bartender, as pioneer shuffles dejectedly over. "Bring the ladies whatever they'd like," he adds, nodding towards his crew. "and a round for the house...beer for the smurfs and shirley temples to the red sections if you wouldn't mind."
Sam's eyes lit up as his fingers flew over the abacus the retired red admiral used for sums exceeding ten.
"Yes sir," he beamed, reaching across to accept the battered credit card flotsam pulled from under the table.
Buxton, serenely unaware that his pocket had just been picked, continued to sleep, quietly snoring while flotsam rifled through the rest of his wallet and pioneer eyed up flotsam's new crew, imaginatively dusting off a few old pickup lines.
The night was young.
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[quote]
Pioneer:
:::looks at Flotsams jetson skirts. A long way from home, no one would ever know, no one need ever say a word.:::
Thanks anyway. Nice to know, it's tempting, and because it is tempting, I'll just head back over there.
:::collects his drink, reaches for a second pint sitting on the bar. Crossing the floor, side steps a sleeping blue uniform. At the corner booth, places each drink on opposite coasters; Sam insists on coasters on the old mahogony tables. Rumour has it that Sam got these tables from an old English castle. Rounds the dance floor to the juke box as it finishes it's last number. A quarter in his hand.:::
Flottie and the skirts, who will be the lucky lady tongiht?
:::scanning the selection, notes the Flottie's favourite is listed at K2. The keys are pressed, I turn and flick a thumbs up. The music starts, the ladies swoon over the Pink Fish, his reflection in the mirror over the bar bathing the room. A smile for the Fish who is happy where he is. The table shudders a little as I slide back in, the ice creating a red spectrum through the bacardi. The pint sits, frothing.:::
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Flotsam:
In an instant Flot?s Fins perked up and all eyes turn to the scuffling sound coming from the door. An old drunk and a couple sheep enter the bar.
Sam Yells: ?get those filthy things out of here!?
With the strong stench of fermenting alcohol blazing from his, breathe, the old drunk lifts his head and says to Flot: ?do as the good man says, I?ll share me girls with ye?.
Flot just smiles.
Pioneer rises from his seat reluctantly (knowing that he owes Sam a favor) and proceeds towards the old drunk to give him a boost out the door but Sam calls him back. ?Wait! Let him stay. Just get those Damn sheep outa here.?
The commotion rouses Buxton. He rises to his feet, looks across the room and spy?s his Salty Ole comrade Argon leaning on the bar harassing Sam for a Tab as Pioneer herds his companions out the door.
Buxton shouts; Argon! Look everyone it?s Ole Argon the Assassin! Why I knew him when he commanded the Northland Navy!
A chorus of laughter breaks out in the room.
Argon peers across the room with his one good eye and Yell?s ?If Shad were here we?d take out the whole lot of ye!
Tbar takes advantage of the ruckus to steel away with several drinks and two of Flots women and one of Argons Sheep and mutters something about a party as he departs.
Buxton bought Argon numerous drinks that night and the two of them sat in the corner telling old war stories for hours, which we can safely assume none of which were true??.
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Pioneer:
:::returning baaaaaaack inside, I wipe the Merino off me:::
See you changed breeds, gone for an Australian hide this time?
:::Argon looks at me strangely.:::
A sheep is a sheep.
:::Perhaps he does not know any other way. Perhaps he has grown up not knowing any other way, and when a good breed lands in front of him, he cannot see what prize it holds...until it is left in the field when the next breed arrives.:::
I guess so, sometimes you never know what fortune you have, until it is 26000km away.
:::Argon looks at me like a squirrel does cranning for a better view. Fottie leans back on the bar as another of his 'fleet' check him for damage. Even the ole Bux has a smile and a beer. I have often wondered what stories my opponents tell their alliance about their adventures. Despite the fearless battles, and the many losses, I speak volumes of my chief opponent, though never by name, only by title.:::
:::The boys looks happy tonight, from the cantina style bistro beside the bar stems a white light. The wafting smell of food cooking and the rattle of the odd pan signal preparations underway. The blackboard menu is limited, but always tasty fare.:::
Three hot dogs, mustard, relish and cheese, and a coffee to go.
:::Sam is walking past with another order when he stops to look at me. I know what he's thinking.
I'm not going to drink the coffee, it's for handwarming.
:::Sam knows the reason why and doesn't bother to ask further. He crosses the floor and serves caviar to the table near Flotsam. I walk back towards my booth, detouring to the jukebox. For the price of a phone call, three minutes of happiness. The place is starting to fill, I key my song again, J3. It starts at the moment I reach my booth to find Sam serving my dinner, and my coffee. Patrons file onto the floor, nurses unbutton their collar as they dance, and holding that coffee, feel the warmth from where it came, some 26000km away.:::
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Flotsam:
Flotsam's eyes harden as he glares towards the insensitive red vermin eating caviar at the next table. He had done his best to ease Pioneer's sorrow, recognizing in the decrepit old seaman the unlikely battle between hope and futility, but, finally realizing that prey will be prey, he reverts to form.
"A bowl of cherry tomatoes !" he orders from Sam in a loud voice.
The pregnant silence of an impending battle filters through the alcoholic haze at Slippery Sam's. Argon, drunk as a skunk and stinking of sheep-dip, looks up hopefully. Buxton's snore skips a beat as his subconscious warns him to clear the decks for action. Flotsam's pectorals rise menacingly.
Tbar, returning to the room, wiping both a smile and a bit of wool from his face, unwittingly proclaims that cherry tomatoes are not, never have been and never will be, served at Sam's.
He glances quickly at the red section, looking for allies in this impromptu skirmish. The red vermin, once known as a force to be wary of, stare fixedly at their Shirley Temples. One loss too many has broken their spirit.
Tbar stands alone.
Argon and Buxton stagger to their feet. It's not often a tomato responds to a direct challenge. They know they must hurry or the courageous red vermin will be annihilated before they can engage.
Suddenly, in a shatter of broken glass, Pioneer lurches to his feet, charging from the darkened booth in which he slouched. If only he can make it to Tbar's side before the action begins....perhaps, together, they can down a smurf before they are both destroyed.
Hope turns to despair as Buxton and Argon, instinctively reacting to the sound of broken glass, spin and intercept the daring veteran before he can cross the floor.
Charged emotions fill the room. The vermin inhabiting the red section, finally spurred to action by their gallant leaders, rise to their feet, ...only to be confronted with by the stern, though eerily silent, smurf challenge. They falter, stumble, and return to their seats, lower their eyes and single-mindedly begin to plan their next tanker missions.
Flotsam's eyes flick to the boarded up window alongside the dance floor. It seems like only yesterday that Popeye, the infamous scourge of the central lagoon, was thrown out and on to the street in mid-song. His assailants were never identified and the incident was written off as simply another night at Sam's.
"We can take the red vermin off the list of suspects." flotsam thinks, strangely depressed. That old expression....'A good Red is a Dead Red' has never seemed so appropriate.
"Perhaps it is just Tbar's turn to become ?a good red' ", he muses, and swivels slowly to face the wool clad veteran, swaying, yet still determined, near the last unbroken sheet of glass in the pub wall. cool.gif
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[quote]
Flotsam:
My apologies, in advance, for the previous post...
I've been trying to win a jacket from Canadian Club ...one ticket per drink... :buxton
No jacket ...so far... but I found myself in front of the computer with a belly-full of rye, no jacket, and the need to unburden my soul (and exorcise my literary demons) at 1 a.m. tongue.gif
What ?? Were you expecting prose? ???
rofl
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Pioneer:
:::pulls the little Blue Book out of his breast pocket. From beside it, the jukebox catches a glint of the Gold Fountain Pen. On the wooden table I start to write in the infamous Book of Burden:::
Anger management lessons.
:::The book and pen retire to their resting place. I rise and head towards the gents room. Along the way I approach several guys in uniform....uniforms in Sams? Sams has always been a place where both sides could congregate without the uniforms....these guys must be new. The hushed tones reach me ears as I appraoch.
Quote
Use to be a big man in the Northland.
:::As I pass, I drop them a line which freezes them in their tracks.:::
He'd drop you to the bottom before you ever got a shot off.
:::The boys are stunned.:::
You look like you've been hit by a truck...what do you know?
:::Ah yes, the ever smart reply from the new breed.:::
I survived, you wouldn't.
:::The boys know advice when they hear it. I slither into the gents room, and shortly return to my table. A fresh bacardi (no straw) waits for me upon my return. Across the booth, a fresh Kronenburg sits waiting. I smile, and lift my glass across the room to Flotsam. He nods his head. Adersaries yes, but knowing the enemy, you know when they hurt. Sam crosses the floor and wipes down my booth.:::
How long?
Doesn't matter Sam, I have to wait.
:::He knows it's going to be a long wait, and changes the candle at my booth, and walks over to the boys. Pointing back at me, I can only imagine the conversation. From his long white apron, Sam fidgets for a quarter and drops it into the jukebox. The sounds eminate from J3.:::
Thanks buddy, I think it's gonna be a very long wait. With or without the prose.
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Buxton:
he bar is near deserted when Buxton lets himself in -- he has his own key -- in the early morning hours. A puddle of seawater and oil immediately forms by his seaboots, becoming a tiny, evil smelling river that threatens to seek out the few inebriates sleeping off the previous nights excess. Argon lifts his head, grunts, and goes back to his rhythmic snoring. Shad is face down in what looks to be a plate of Sam's speciality curry. Of Tbar there is no sign. Flotsam and his entourage are long since departed and the sole drinker is Pioneer.
"Eh up Pio" Bux, wearing shiny new four bar epaulettes in stark contrast to the rest of his dishevelled clothing, claps his old adversary on the shoulder. "That was a mission and a half. Ten ships of that convoy won't be making it to port...mind you, my old VII is going to need more than a lick of paint. 'Twas touch and go with the enemy aircraft..."
Buxton rambles on, blissfully unaware that, as usual, no one is listening.
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Shad:
::feels something funny going on in his nose as his snores hastily awaken himself but only to find a piece of Sam's mid-night-special spaghetti lodged just inside his left nostril::
How and when did I get here?, I said softly to myself amongst the mumbles that shown of total confusion.
::eyes still not focusing::
As my ears adjust to the ambient sounds of my surroundings, a faint hint of light rain can be heard as the street light shone through the faint red material of the window curtain. Clearing the lodged noodle with a slap of my hand against me face, I?m stunned by my own assault. Me head spins for a few moments more as the hangover tells me that once again, as usual, someone has pelted the house with free rounds.
::eyes start to respond to the dim lights::
Reaching over and parting the curtains I peer out onto the blackness that is pierced only by the sole lamppost that illuminates both the entrance to Sams?, and the edge of the pier. The water cascading against the window starts to sooth my jagged nerves. With strained and bloodshot eyes I look to see the raindrops flying past the glowing lamp atop the post. ::this is making me dizzy again::
I quickly release the satin fabric and slowly look about the room. There across from me, on the other side of the table were, what looked like to me to be clumps of wool strode about the tabletop. Some sopped up by small spilling of beer and ale.
As I gazed further, I saw Pioneer and Buxie talking at a table across the room, and in the corner, Argon snoring on what looks to be a fluffy woolen pillow.
Shuffling to me feet I realized me shoes were missing. No big deal I thought, as they must be here somewhere. As I pass their table, I heard Bux beckon for me to join them. I waved them off and held up 1 finger in passing signaling to then I'd only be one minute and headed to the gents room.
Looking in the mirror, as Argon would say, with me one good eye, I appraised last nights damage. Swollen eye, split lip, and wool fuzz all in me hair. ::Musta been a good night, I thought to myself::
I stumbled to the one working toilet that had a latch on the stall. As I recycled last nights beer, I read the messages on the stall wall.
"For a good time, call 1-900-BAAAAAA"
"Buxton uses Glow-in-the-dark condoms!"
::so you could see him coming?, I thought to myself::
"A priest, a minister and a rabbi walk into a bar. The bartender says...What is this, a joke?"
The other writings were obscure to me as the light bulb in that end of the gents room was out. So I flushed and went to the sink to wash up puzzled to see, in a plastic glass on the sink was a set of dentures with one gold tooth in the front.
I then turned for the door and heard the familiar "POP" the door makes when the hinges are sprung. Then I walked over to the jukebox and saw there was a free play not taken. Me fingers found the buttons for my favorite tune. J2, only me trembling finger slipped... ::J3::
Oh well, at least it's music, and it was free....
As I sat down at the table with me comrades in foe, the conversation started...
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Pioneer:
::: I watch Buxton indulge in an animated conversation with himself. At one point, he looks as though he will become embroiled in fistycuffs with himself, before settling down.:::
::: Sams is always open, and it's always Saturday night at Sams. Being located here, Sams has a open door philosophy, he knows that many wander away, only to peer in at some time in the future to see what has changed. Tending his bar, he never forgets a name, and always remember those whom have travelled this path before. I wave him over, my legs a little too rubbery to cross the dance floor.:::
Another bacardi please, and would you mind replacing that beer.
::: He looks at the untouched beer sitting opposite me. From my wallet I pull out a crisp note, and wave him off. Sam will put it away for me, like where else would I go, this is where I belong. Across the room I see a young nurse, dressed up looking for someone to give her the life she wants. She smiles in my direction, before crossing the floor. As she passes the unaware Buxton, she gloms his cigarette pack off the table, and fondles a thin one to my face.
Got a light?
::: Her hands raise up, and I see the gold band on her fingers. So far from home, what is she thinking.
If you go over there, I'm sure one of those guys could fix you up.
::: She frowns, and crosses over towards the single officers, stifled to rely on something close at hand. Sam returns with my bacardi and beer. The corners of his mouth turn ever so slightly towards heaven. :::
Why not?
::: The question needs no response, I simply do not take what is not mine. The first taste brings a memory, and I rise from the booth. Across the room, I approach Buxton, whom now appears to be asleep. As I brush by, I slip his cigarettes back into his pocket, the nurse unaware I had returned them. Rounding the room I return via the jukebox, sliding coin after coin into the machine, but only making one selection. Back at my booth, the beer discretely flows over the lip, as J3 plays.:::
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Buxton:
They are actually candy cigarettes and so have a tendancy to melt when lit.
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Pioneer:
:::Checking my watch I notice that the date has special significance. Thousands of miles from home, I look across at the last bastion of contact, the public phone in the corner of Sams. With folding doors, the glass repels the noise of Sams, and creates an intimate void inside the three foot cubicle. Looking at the intimidating black phone, I swallow my pride and pick up the handset, as my mind starts to wander.:::
::: How many troops have been away at war, unable to call home? How many loved ones have stayed at home, gone without news for months on end, but still hold the faith and belief in their hearts? :::
Long distance operator, what number please?
::: I gulp again, consumed by a fear. :::
Long distance operator, what number please?
::: I give it to her, and I hear the tones dialing under the sea as they head for my home. A click, and then, the phone starts ringing. And ringing. And ringing, but no one answers. I put the phone down with a slamm, and my coins spill out of the return chute. There's no one waiting for my call.:::
Need some air Sam, save my drinks.
::: I leave the bar and walk through the shutters. Whilst I was inside, the weather has turned nasty, and the sea is venting her anger. Waves crash against the beacon lighthouse, but the starboard channel marker stands her ground. The sky has become a smouthering blanket, and the light rain sneaks inside my upturned collar.
20,000km and eight timezones from home.
::: There was no answer, there was no one home. I stroll along the pier towards the sea wall. The ocean pounds the lighthouse, and it holds it's footing in the face of adversity. A wave hits the pier and knocks me off balance. :::
Happy anniversary Babe.
::: No one is around to hear me. :::
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Argon:
The sweet scent of sea spray and thunderous roar of the surf awakens Argon like a lovers persuasive whisper for companionship. This is a call that even the deepest of sleep cannot deny. Argon lifts himself to his feet, brushes the peanut shells off his overcoat, adjusts his eye patch and steadies himself on a table. He drains an unfinished Pint from the previous night and says to himself, ?these old sea legs don?t handle shore leave like they use too? as he stumbles for the door.
Once in the open air he regains his spirit as he sets a brisk pace for the docks. Argon passes Pioneer and shouts, ?My lover is furious and she calls for me! I have been absent too long! I must set sail at once? Pioneer just nods dejectedly and says, ?at least she calls?. Argon wonders to himself how Pioneer can be so glum on such a beautiful day but doesn?t take the time to ask.
Argon climbs aboard his destroyer and yells to his crew, ?Hoist the Assassin?s Flag, the Sea? she wants a trophy!? The First Mate informs the Captain that the only Ship he will find on the sea?s in these conditions are Assassin Ships but the calling of the Sea prevails and the hardened crew obeys with precision as they batter their way into the nor'easter.
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Shad:
Shad looks around at the pictures on the wall as he thinks to himself...
There is Ole Deogee, Rugewolf, one of Santee, and of Global One... Wow... those were the days... Like the time Ruge and myself had to abandon ship and drift on a rotting raft back to the lag00n using just a pingpong paddle, a board off an imported beer crate, and Ruges nickers he had won in a poker game. He tied off the leg ends and heald them up to catch the breeze as I stear'd the raft and would swatt his bum with the paddle to keep him alert....
We laughed and drank for days... We fished for those bony little fish called (hmm... I forget... Shad?) and would sometimes just lay back and let our imaginations run wild upon the clowds and the formations they made. ::Hey look ! Theres ole 1Baddude with an anteater nose and bunny ears!::
Shad orders another round and refocuses back to the pictures on the wall...
To think all these salty sea dogs are all missing in action. Hard to believe... Oh... theres Von Sinkum! I can see him now... standing on the bridge leaning against the railing, sipping and sturring his tomato juice/beer concoction. Barking out taunts to all his fow (mostly, just anyone within earshot reguardless of rank or status).
And over there is a picture of ole Romal! What a Guy! Standing there in his 17th century red admiral uniform. He would mix it up with anyone at anytime... Man... what a friend he was... last seen doing his mix-it-up with some of the island wimmins ... rumored to be running his own lil herum somewhere up in the hills of one of the many islands of the lag00n...
...and the picture below Romal is what looks like..::squents to see::... YeS! Drifter ! Draped in the Confiderate Flag of the South! Wearing his Gray uniform what has lipstick stains on his collar and a sword belted to his side. With beer-clad hand raised in salute to the photographer. ::wonders if anyone told him the north won:: hmmm. Oh well, if I ever do see him again, i'll buy him a big arse beer and a yankee potroast just to get his blood a pumpin again.
Shad eyes wonder around the tavern to one of Sam's adds for side orders and sees that Sam does have a sinse of humor after all. For down the list was one for Spinich, and preceeding it was a cartoonistic picture of Ole Popeye!
::laughed to himself for what seemed like 10 minutes and wondered if just before ordering spinich, would it suddenly disappear off the menu::
Shad hears the pay phone ring as Sam walks over to answer
I could hear him talking to someone and shortly he let the phone hang down by it's cord and called my name.
"Shad", he bellowed out as he flipped a 2-bit coin over to me. Some weirdo wants to hear J3 on the jukebox.
I walked over and slid the coin onto the slot and hit ::J3:: thinking of fone sex and 900 numbers, but this one took the cake.
A whurling servo inside the jukebox started up and the flip side plopped down upon the face of the turntable as the tonearm sat down to find it's groove and the song began to play:
If you leeeave me tonight, i'll cry. My love comes, from a tear-stained pen.
I ordered up another beer and sat to stair at the bubbles and wondered if I'd ever see my old buddys again...
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Pioneer:
Pioneer returns from the pier, his stockmans coat waterlogged, but his uniform underneath dry. The moon has peeked over the horizon, and bathes the front of Sams in soft yellow light. As he approaches the door, aromas reach his nose.
What is that smell?
I push open the shutters and stop inside the door. Sams is the not the place to take children on a Saturday night, but the place has been slightly redecorated. Glasses lay broken on the floor, the odd barstool splintered in the corner. A crowd stands blocking the dancefloor, but parts like the Red Sea as I head towards my booth, now occupied by three vagabonds. The repugent smell increase.
Hey, it's the one time big shot, now one time loser.
The guy against the wall, saffron beard and floral shirt appears the most obnoxious, and the apparent leader. The 2 inch havana hanging from his mouth is covered in salavia. I had heard of these clowns before, Assassin wanna-be's but men without integrity, without principals, frequently cowering in darkness. Known to have no scruples, and to wear cheap cologne. The Scavangers. I drop my eyes and note the leader has the sterling silver photo frame in front of him. He follows my gaze.
Pretty girl, bet the boys could tell me what she really likes.
The jukebox finishes it's song, and silence falls across Sams. The faint shuffle of feet tells me an audience is building. Voices go silent.
Ya might wanna put her back, she doesn't belong with scum in cologne.
The smile on his face vanishes to anger. He sits beside one muscleman, and across from another guard. The three of them are big, hairy and ugly. The leader extingushes the havana on the photo's face, unaware that Sam has them encased in glass. She is safe from harm, but it's time to get her back.
You think you're good enough, Pie-In-The-Ear?
The crowd responds with ooows. I look over my right shoulder, and signal for calm. The Flotsam girls dive into the ladies room like a syncronised swim team, leaving him alone at his table. Bux has awaken and is now flexing his knuckles. Looking back I see a reflection in the mirror moving closer behind me. The stockmans coat falls from my shoulders, and I reach up and remove the bars from my collar. Without looking I toss them over my left shoulder, they never hit the floor. The leader leans forward and looks around me, to see Mongoose holding my rank and jacket. He looks him up and down, aware that Mongoose has beefed up recently.
He's here to carry you out to the ambulance.
The bacteria in cologne laughs at me, reverberating around Sams. Then there is a long silence, before the sounds of feet running across the dancefloor. The crowd turns. Cowering under a table, across the room, the only voice emminates from Tootie.
Holy cow, there's gonna be a fight.
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Pioneer:
The right hand man goes to rise from the table. A glint in his hand sparkles the steel blade knife. The opposing goon reaches across his body to a pocket unseen. T'is time to bring the photo back from the repulsive cologne Scavengers.
The back of my wrist impacts with the knife wielding thug, his skull whips back against the mahogony of the booth. I strike forward across the table and reduce the second's ability to speak. The leader, struggling to alight from the booth, rises, his legs still pinned by the table bolted to the floor. (Earthquake regulations)
His lapel holds firm as he is removed aerially from his seat. Across the dance floor he touches down on Buxtons table, beer spilling everywhere. The leader bounces to the facia of the bar, before sliding to the floor. The offsiders, still groggy, are introduced to dwarf throwing before combining with the slobenly mess of their leader. It is little more than a rodeo bout, over in less than eight seconds.
Pioneer looks down at the booth, staring at the sterling silver frame. Knelling in the seat, he reaches down and wipes the black smear of ash from the portrait. The hook on the wall is highlighted, and gently, he replaces the photo.
As Tootie rises from under the table, the new barmaid rushes to Buxton. His hand has a glass cut, and she tears her skirt to create a makeshift bandage to tend his wounds. Mongoose, unmoved to this point, walks over and collects the rumpled bodies. One over his shoulder and two under his arms, he crosses the floor without a word and exits the bar, the shutter crashing across the forehead of the leader on his way out.
You've been hurt!
One of the Flotsam enterouge exclaims and points towards me. The crowd disperses as Buxton is smoothered by the barmaid. I look at my hands, tinged with red, and find the wound. My uniform ripped, I have been slashed across my heart. Superficially.
Pioneer turns his back on the crowd and looks at the photo wall. He leans across and straightens the sterling silver portrait, back in it's rightful pace. From the back of the next booth, he grabs his jacket and puts it on, shielding the injury from those that are present. Mongoose returns, without the bodies. From across the dancefloor he holds up the bars of rank. Without a word, Pioneer crosses over as Sam and all but one barmaid, sweep the floor clean.
You gonna be OK?
Probably, maybe.
Mongoose pulls his billfold from the hip pocket, and drops three notes on the bar. Buxton is resting his head against the barmaids chest, the Flotsam girls are praising him for his heroic efforts, the cheap smell of cologne still exists, but it is waning. And the photo is back where it belongs.
Pioneer leaves the bar. At the door, Mongoose opens the shutters and allows him to pass through unabated. One of the Flotsam girls pulls a quarter from her garter belt. The jukebox starts playing.
Her selection is J3.
[/quote]
[quote]
Shad:
Shad , having watched the excitement from across the bar, pulls Tootie out from under the table and orders him and Pioneer a beer, as Tootie looks in stunned amazement at Pioneers unrelenting resolve. Selection J3 contunues to play on the jukebox.
...with words like love, and truth, and goodnessss... words like till death us...do part...., I will nev-er LOVE....another.
Take my heart, take my heart, take my heart...(chorus: take my heart) :cry
Shad thinks to himself how the bar can be so crowded, yet I still feel so all alone...
As the bar settles back down to a noisy nornal roar, a mysterious man enters thru the doorway. Dressed in black cloth and lether complete with a matching wide-brimed hat. He walks past the patrons on the dance floor and has a seat at the far end of the bar and orders a wine cooler from Sam. Meanwhile, Buston now has the barmaid on his lap as she scribbles something on his sholder in magic marker.
Tootie has been eyeballing a group of 3 men acting very strangly two tables over and finally speaks up...
See those guys over there, Shad? They have been shuffling a cocktail napkin back and forth between them for the last 30 minutes. Each writing things down at each turn. I wonder what they are up to.
Shad looks across to the table in question just as the mysterious man in black joins them at their table
Im not sure, tootles. Lets keep one good eye on them and see whats up. Have you ever seen any of them here before?
No. But whats even stranger, the 3 guys look really tall compaired to the man in black. They have to be atleast 6'5 each. Think they play professional basketball?
Hard to tell, tootster. Tell ya what... I'll walk past um and see if I can tell what they are doing.
Shad gets up from the table and strolls slowly over twords the pool table. In passing he can see only the back of the man in blacks head and sees them now with several napkins arranged in a patern. A few full napkins and some torn in smaller pieces. Nothing legable can be seen on the napkins themselves, but upon passing, the 3 taller men swipped up the napkins as if hiding something. I placed 2-bits on the pool table and turned to walk back. Upon my second pass, I note one of the tall men in detail as I returned to my seat.
Did you see anything? What were they doing? tell me.. tell me.. TELL ME! :bash
Shhhh... You want the whole bar to hear? All I can tell you for sure is.... the 3 tall guys are not tall atol! Arggg!
you mean.......
You got it....
..they are...
Bingo!........
MIDGETS! All 3 standing on their chairs!
Tootie let out a GASP and took a large swigg from his beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
What should we do now, Shad?
Nothing... Just wait and watch them is all I can say.
The tention was so thick you could cut it with a knife as Tbar walked past with a smile on his mugg wearing his ToWs T-shirt and spandex shorts. I returned the smile and a salute and smiled even bigger as he passed as I noted on the back of his t-shirt a taped piece of paper that said: "Kick me for FUN and BEERS!" Ahh.. just what I needed to brighten my evening, I thought to myself.
Wasn't long before the 3 midgets and the man in black stood beside the table they had occupied and said a few words then exited the tavern. 2 seconds later, Tootie was rummaging the table where they sat and returned with a scrap of napkin in his hand and placed it before me as he sat back down.
What do you think it means?
Shad examines the torn corner of the napkin in which a portion of the words were torn away and simply said: "pier 39, midnight for Proj. Enig." Then the letters below that: "Eas"
[/quote]
[quote]
Pioneer:
Pioneer exits the Central Isles Hospital, a bandage covers his heart, protected by a new shirt. He stands in the archway of the infirmary. For years now he has brought his own wounded to the hospital. The nurses there were regularly "bribed" to repair some of the old sailors without noting formal records. This was the first time that Pioneer was a self admission...no records were kept of this visit. From across the car park a quick flash is emitted form the Jeep's headlights where Mongoose has sat waiting in the cold. Turning his jacket up, he crosses and climbs into the passenger seat. The engines cranks up, and the sound of gravel crunches as the jeep pulls out of the car park. The two ride in silence, one fixed on the dimly lit road, the other staring out the window.
The road back into town was narrow and winding. The Central Isles Hospital had been built high on the hill, away from the shore batteries. A single road decends the steep grade, to a lonely T junction just outside of town. The headlights illuminate the 'STOP' sign as Mongoose brings the vehicle to a stsop, and waits. There is no traffic, there are no approaching vehicles. Mongoose sits at the sign, strumming his fingers on the wheel, waiting. Finally, Pioneer flicks his finger to the left, and the jeep moves off, heading back into town, and away from the Red Tide jetty.
You wanna tell me what that was about about?
Pioneer continues to look out of the open window, reluctant to answer his friend.
Not particularly.
Mongoose drives back into town at speed, through the waterfront buildings and past the Central Isles Hotel. At the end of the cobblestone street he brings the jeep to a skidding halt, and turns the motor off. The lights die.
You wouldn't normally beat the daylights out of cheap men in cologne.
Pioneer alights from the vehicle and closes the door. Leaning back in the window he whispers quietly.
I stand up for what I believe in.
Pioneer turns away from the jeep and crosses the street. The wooden shutters slide open lifelessly. He pauses and examines the room, everything is just as it should be. His footsteps are silent against the dim roar of the jukebox. Arriving at his booth, he sees a fresh barcardi and a Kronenburg opposite. Looking up, the sterling silver photo is back where it belongs.
[/quote]
[quote]
Pioneer:
Pioneer keeps his jacket on and slides into his booth. Beneath his shirt the strain of the bandage across the left breast pocket takes the strain. His faces grimaces as he takes his seat in the corner, back to the wall, under the choosen photos.
Sams has settled down to a gala affair, blilsfully ignorant of what lies outside the four walls. The cheap cologne still hangs in the air, but the only one who seems to notice is Pioneer. Across the room, the offerings have changed. Buxton's hand has been tended by the now off duty bar maid, who has promised to take him home. The Flotsam girls have swelled in numbers, the irrestible charm of the Big Pink Fish was always a lady killer. Now, the harem must number almost a dozen, as each vie for the attention of the Fish, oblivious to the on sight of the world.
I guess a time out period has been good for some.
The bacardi is perfectly mixed in the glass, accompanied only by ice. Three cubes and one of Sams crytal tumblers - normally reserved only for the bistro room - accentuate the lights of the Sams. The dancefloor is swathed in a combination of red and blue, poetic considering the number of Red Tide and Northland ships lost just outside the door. The jukebox plays some old time dance tune, illuminating it's own offspring. On the parquetry floor, several officers and assorted local lasses carry on, some in a circle, others limbs entwinded.
A glint comes off one of the cubes. I move the drink to my left hand, careful not to crimp it. It's been years since that injury, and still the odd occassion arises when I drop a glass. Not as many as I did back then, and whilst not regular, enough to ensure I keep most drinks in my right hand.
The glass catches a brief refelction from behind me. The lights bounce off the sterling silver frame. In the cubes refelection the frame stands out, not as a solid entity but as a shape. A trickle rolls down inside my chest, and I place the glass down. Peering gently inside my jacket I see a red tinge on the fringe of the bandage. The jacket is closed and I reach across my chest, pinning my arm against my jacket.
The truce has gone on now longer than anyone expected, some of the officers are even having trouble remembering what it was like before. The old guys though, guys like Tbar and Flotsam, remember what it was like first time round and how good it was. But now, we have two different persepctives. The truce has been a new beginning for some like Flotsam, for others it has been the end.
As for me, I have no idea when the truce started, I have no idea what brought it about, and I have no idea why my team mates didn't tell me about the truce. And now, I wonder whether it be a truce, or and end.
Hey there Commander, let me take you out on the dancefloor and show you me moves
One of the Flotsam girls has wandered over, and I can't decide if she is drunk with inhibition or pity.
No thanks madam, I'm not one to cheat on my heart.
My face stings as her backhand crosses my cheek. She is affronted at my remarks, but I am undecided as to which part she objects to.
Fine, then I shall find one of my own kind, a typical man who can give me what I want.
She turns on the spot her short skirt riding higher up her waist. As she strides across the floor others stop to examine her stockings. No one is watching me as I lift the bacardi to my lips, hiding what I mumble...
And I shall still be here when your moment is over.
[/quote]
[quote]
Angel #1:
Angel #1 arrives at the shutters of Sams. The evening shower has moisten her hair, enhancing the beautiful deep red coloring. In the atrium, she unbuttons the black leather jacket which drapes to the floor and hangs it on a spare hook. Pushing open a shutter, she stops and waits for it to close. The jukebox stops playing, and Sam drops a glass behind the bar. The room is silent, as all eyes gape at her in awe.
Striding over to the corner of the bar, Sams pours a glass of the finest red wine, and gently places it on a fine cotton coaster. Reaching for the glass, she sips it, leaving the fainest trace of red lipstick on the rim. Across the room, the Flotsam girls eye her with envy, jealous of her dazzling hair and fine shape.
She crosses over with her glass towards Flotsam. The Big Pink Fish drops his mouth stunned at her beauty. As she approaches, the eyelashes twitter and a rye smile begins to form. Leaning across his table, she gently whispers in his ear.
I owe you one.
Quickly she grasps the half empty beer, and turns her back on Flotsam. The split in her skirt is accentuating her stockings as she turns her back on him. Casually, she pours the remnants of the beer over the Flotsam girl whom slapped Pioneer. The rest of the flock back off, admist cries from the now drowned girl.
This one is on you.
Angel #1 places the now empty beer bottle on the table. The face slapper is now coated in stagnant beer, as the remainder of the Flotsam girls retreat towards their Fish. Returning to the bar, she tosses her long hair over shoulder, cradles her drink and crosses back towards Pioneer. Sliding into the booth opposite him, she acts like nothing has happened.
What was that for?
Clearly she had no idea how to behave like a lady, and she needed to cool off.
Angel #1 raises her glass and toasts Pioneer. Heroes take their lumps but real women know better.
[/quote]
[quote]
Buxton:
Stop taunting the poor fish. You know he's still due in court for the last time a split skirt is accentuated someone's stockings!
[/quote]
[quote]
Pioneer:
Pioneer looks around the room. The Server Truce seems to be affecting Sams. Hardly anyon eis in the bar, but it could be because the lights a dim. From his side, a glint on metal catches the light. An explosion reverberates around the bar. The sound of glass breaks on the wooden entry way.
Pioneer has just shot out the red light over the doorway.
[/quote]
[quote]
Buxton:
"Hey, what'd you do that for? I thought the red light gave this place a certain classy ambience."
[/quote]
[quote]
Angel#1:
Angel #1 looks at Pioneer's eyes and detects a scent of Bacardi. Reconising that he only has eyes for one woman, Angel #1 gets up and walks away from the booth... before someone takes a shot at him.
[/quote]
[quote]
Buxton:
Even his eyes smell of Baccardi? You really have got to change your drink, pal!
[/quote]
[quote]
Pioneer:
Sam arrives at the booth and gently places a clear liquid tumbler on the coaster. The glass has a blue smiley cat resembling a smurf on the side, and a piece of fruit on hanging over the lip. I look across at Buxton to see him raising a similar glass.
Gin.
The clear liquid looks shaken, not stirred. I raise the glass and sip the contents, before gulping it back. It quickly leaves my lips and sprays the opposite side of the booth. A bacardi antidote is quickly downed and serenity returns. Across the room I wave at Buxton, using only some of my fingers.
No wonder you smurfs can't win a war. Your drinks double as antifreeze.
[/quote]
[quote]
Pioneer:
Pioneer looks out the arched stained glass window. For years, Sams has always faced south towards the Central Isles Brewery. The cobblestone street that lay between has been trundled by many sailors beforehand. In an era, now verging on mythical times, the original buccaneers, The Betas, would spend their shore leave communiting between the two, when the brewery tours only operated when Sams was closed. But today, the view has changed.
On a small notice board at the end of street, Town Ordinances were posted at the crossroads. Mounted on the side of the brewery, the Ordinances decreed changes to Town Planning, including rejuvenating the dockside district. Now. many months after the final objection period, the changes have come about, swiftly.
Sams walks over, and drops another glass of clear liquid on the table before me.
You like the changes?
What changes?
Sam smiles at me, the silver of a capped tooth accentuating his Island heritage smile. He retreats behind the bar, and puts the drink tray down. Leaning back, he crosses his arms and laughs.
Commander, you cannot see, but it does not matter. The Central Isles Truce may exist, but Sir, Sams will always be home to Iron Wolves.
I'll drink to that.
[/quote]
[quote]
Pioneer:
Pioneer looks around, now aware of the subtle changes. A small gold plaque is mounted in the foyer wall. He walks over and reads the gothic inscription.
Quote
"From our first love, what great wonders we have created.
Truely, we have lived, as Iron Wolves."
- Tbar, March 5.
[/quote]
[quote]
Tootie:
Pioneer,,,, it seems to me that your having a Saturday Night Party at Sams by yourself! At least bring up some of my AMAZING Iron Wolves masterful kills and how i practically built the game with my own hands. buxton:
[/quote]
[quote]
Pioneer:
Pioneer rises and crosses over to a small bookshelf Sam has near the cloak room. Filled with hand crafted leatherbound books, some papryus maps and a few odd trinkets as bookends, Pioneer runs his fingers across the spines, before selecting a large black volume. The dust glistens on the embossed cover - "The History of the Central Islands Conflict."
Scanning the index, he runs his fingers down the alphabetical listing, until finally reaching the subject he was looking for. Flicking to the correct page, he reads the text entry.
Tootie
n., 1. small annoying insect reported to inhabit Northland wetlands. Non venomous.
adj.,2. a state of grandiose self importance. ("He's got a Tootie attitude.") Refer 3.
n., 3. Former member of Northland, Red Tide and Westland. Awarded Redbacks Bounty. K1 skipper with social skills of a small annoying insect.
Pioneer return to his booth with a wry smile.
[/quote]
[quote]
Flotsam:
LOL ....I kid you not !
Laughing Out Loud :laugh:
[/quote]
[quote]
Taff:
Why wasnt I invited to any of these parties ??? obviously theres lots of drugs going around........
LMAO
[/quote]
[quote]
Ranger:
Sitting alone at the bar, goatee growing grey with stress and loneliness, I flip the pages of the picture album of the great 'ol days. And now relizing that they only exist in memories, ask for another shot of whiskey.
"What happened to those days, now all I see is seperation, what of the hopes of Enigma? Does it really bring hope of a new dawning or another room filled with despare? I guess only time will tell."
[/quote]
[quote]
Argon:
Argon is seen climbing on a box of soap outside of Sam's
Ranger notices and says I believe that?s the closest I have ever seen Ole Argon to soap.
The crowd laughs with agreement but Argon doesn't seem to notice.
Argon begins to speak...
"Following every sunset... there dawns a new day and that day will soon be here. We shall once again hear the friendly banter that seems to drown out the cries of war. We will once again battle fiercely amongst one another only to sit and tip a glass to our foes for a job well done! From every battle emerges a victory of friendship. For there are no losers or winners here, only the closeness brought about by camaraderie and need for mutual destuction."
Argon is seen throwing pages 2, 3 and 4 of his speach to the ground and mumbling "that's enough I'm parched".
Hey Sam I worked up a thirst out here... How about a beer?
Argon steps off the box with his one good eye staring off to sea...and enters the Tavern like a blind man in the comfort of his home. He is carrying some rinkled documents tucked under his arm bearing only the words ?Enigma Top Secret?
?Hey Guys and Gals? I?ll share these impotant sercet documents with ye if ye buy me a beer and tell me what the heck is a Tootie?? buxton:
[/quote]
[quote]
Pioneer:
The view from the courtyard lets me look down the main throughfare towards the docks. The rain has started to tumble off the roofs, and puddles form between the cobblestone road bricks. A single gaslamp lights the corner, and from behind the corner, a tall man emerges and heads towards Sams. Black jacket, black hat, black boots...the Man in Black. He approaches and sits without invitation.
The Prodigal Child hath returned.
The news sends a chill through my spine. The man in black leaves one envelope on the table.
It is here, what do you want with it?
Pioneer is no longer sure, and waves the envelope away, it would be what Mongoose would do. The Man in Black waits, collects his mail, rises and quietly leaves as he arrived. Heading up the street, I recognise that when the moment presented itself, I could not stoop to take revenge.
[/quote]
[quote]
Mongoose:
:::a single shot is heard outside:::: followed by a bone chilling scream ...then dreadful silence::::::
A whisper could be heard as the meloncholy crowd staggers outside. Rushing down dimely lit paths, with hearts racing, and out of breath they stop short in the distance of a lifeless body surrounded by authorities joting down clues from local pedestrians nearby.
"To late for this lad," mutters Pioneer. "let's get back to Sam's".
:::a second shot pierces the cold air:::::
:::Over here cries another...:::
A voice nearby points to a smoking derringer and a torn black overcoat. A familiar envelope partially opened was nearby.
The crowd panics and scatters...
Pioneer calmy ponders the mysteries walking back to Sam's.
Swinging open the doors of Sam's, Pioneer trys to piece it all together....then he notices....the envelope is missing with an empty glass in it's place. With his head in his hands, he focuses on a freshly etched insignia into his table......"Assasins".
[/quote]
[quote]
Pioneer:
The left hand shutter of Sam's has been pushed back, it remains open for anyone who wishes to enter to do so. The foyer, tinged with the single red light has an open closet to the side. Jackets line the hangers with their arms drapping towards the floor. Most of the jackets carry the evidence of war, others carry the promise of a future. Only one carries the smell of perfume, a perfume I recognise.
The moment, hath arrived, and suddenly, I feel compelled to look for the content of the banished envelope. A gulp of air into my lungs seethes the throat with the wafting cigar smells. Without touching the shutters, I enter, and immediately, Sam catches my attention.
You're not going to believe who...
I cut the tubby man short.
I know, others have told me and I can sence it.
The eyes from the adversaries and supporters who know speak volumes, some watching my movements, others looking to for a rush. Not just yet for either. The jukebox flashes quietly as I stare at it across the room. My right shoulder is nudged slightly and I can feel the breath of a tall man at my shoulder.
The wisdom of Solomon, the strength of David, and the backup of the buddies.
A smile trickles across my face. I cross the floor and head straight for the jukebox. My favourite is there, and I activate the keys - J3. Turning, Tbar and Mongoose are already sitting in the booth when Bux arrives with four tonics on a platter. He dishes out the glassware, and waits. I opt to not look for the envelope again, and take my seat with the warriors. Tbar lifts and charges his glass.
A toast, to integrity.
Four glasses sound crisp as the first chorus starts...
[/quote]
[quote]
Angel#1:
Angel #1 brushes aside the open shudder and strids gracefully towards the corner booth. Across the room, the sounds of her black high heels, stockings brushing past each other and the glom of leather causes one of the bar flys to pass out.
Approaching the corner booth, Buxton and Mongoose both rise from their seats at the end. Elegantly, she slides across next to tbar and takes his drink. Flicking the fruit off, she speaks in a lowered tone...
The man in the street, apparently he had information. You gentlemen wouldn't know anything about that, would you?
The four commanders look at each other, Mongoose is the only one who doesn't look suprised.
I'm looking for the contents of the envelope.
Mongoose breaks out in a guilty sweat.
It could be hazardous to you health, to retain that letter. I'm sure I could guide you to someone to help...relieve you of the burden.
Angel #1 opens her jacket to reveal a shiny sidearm.
Mr Smith and Weston are most anxious to resolve this matter.
Angel #1 rises and crosses the table. Leaning over, she gently kisses Mongoose on the side of his face, her red lipstick leaving a heart shaped mark. Across the room, Sam wonders if she is an Assassin, or just a mercenary. Angel #1 heads to the bistro and exits onto the street through a side door. Her image is engulfed by the evening fog as she heads for the pier.
[/quote]
[quote]
Pioneer:
Pioneer looks across the table. Buxton fidgets in his seat, Tbar has passed out with fear, and Mongoose sits, sweating furiously. The music has stopped and my voice breaks the silence....
There's an Assassin in town
[/quote]
[quote]
Drenched:
:::the doors swing open and a man wearing a worn leather sea jacket and the hat of a submariner steps in...his face hidden in shadow::::
::::he removes the hat to reveal his sea weathered face....the face of drenched....salty from the spray and tired from long months of sailing::::::
hello everyone....can i get a drink.... :::and sits down in a booth::::
:::looking around he sees old friends from sailing days past....but something bothers them.......was it because of the woman in leather he passed in the street?::::
[/quote]
[quote]
Mongoose:
...still blushing from a young ladies flirt Mongoose wipes the sweat from his brow.
I'm not sure if it's the humitity in Sams or the remembrance of a young crush of years gone by.
Tactifully, Mongoose nods with a grin and flips on his cap and makes way for his escape.
He looks away giving Drench a gentlemans salute. While reaching for the door with his chisled frame, he quietly exits with music beginning to play in the background, and the sounds of glass echoing a lonely mans dream.
:::That lady in black sure was pushy, for I have nothing to hide:::
:::My reputation of impeccable character procedes me:::
:::Glances over shoulder to spot anyone following:::
[/quote]
[quote]
Angel#1:
Angel #1 walks into the bar. Everyone is looking at her, obviously the word about her last sightings has been spread around. She stops, looks around, and then goes to get a drink.
I'll have a bacardi thanks Sam.
Sam reaches beside him to get the nearly empty drink. As Sam pours the bacardi into the triangular glass, he tries to get information from the her about her last apperance.
So, what have you been up to lately? Anything interesting?
Lets call it, organising.
Sam stops looking at the drink and puts his eyes on the Angel. Sam is intimidated by her last comment. He looks back at the drink, finishes pouring it then hands if over to her.
Just put it on Pioneer's tab.
Angel #1 walks over to an empty booth. The smell of alcohol is in the air. As she continues, she catches the eyes of Mongoose and changes her direction of walk. Mongoose wipes the sweat from his upper lip. Angel #1 sits herself across from him. She takes a sip of her drink. Mongoose knows she has something to tell him.
Am I really safe, sitting here alone with you, Angel?
Depends how your willing to take my...
"I don't know what your talking about. I have nothing for you."
I have taken those matters into my own hands. I have found what I want and I am merely acting on the request given.
Mongoose's face goes pale and leans forward so no one can hear what he has to say.
You have the envelope?
Angel #1 ignores his last comment.
"What I want to say, is watch your back. You, Pioneer, tbar and Bux. Watch your back.
The Goose's stomach suddenly ties itself in knots.
"Tell me more..."
Angel #1 takes a second sip of her drink.
The consequences, if you fail, will be a kiss from a gun. A kiss from a gun
Angel #1 walks out of the room, leaving her half empty drink still on the table, across from Mongoose.
Mongoose places his hand on his face, wondering just what she was meant...
[/quote]
