Posted by Rache on August 14, 2001 at 21:16:26:
In Reply to: Nope. You're alive. posted by Chuck on August 14, 2001 at 15:39:31:
Rache scurried across the street, head down and heedless of the traffic. An off-duty taxi careened around the corner and honked angrily as it passed, missing her by scant inches. The Pakastini driver's screams were lost in a peal of thunder as the night birthed it's pain. Rache stepped into The Green Parrot, she needed travel documents for her trip to the Bahamas, only the fat man could arrange safe passage. But safe was a relative word in this part of the world.
The juke box flickered and came to life as Rache closed the heavy door against the rain. The familiar strains of "Closer" competed with Jody Foster being gang-raped on a pinball machine in the corner. "I wanna fuck you like an animal!" Rache smiled, this was more like it.
A brilliant flash cut through the shutters sending icey daggers of light into the room. A dozen faces stared as Rache limped to the long wooden bar. She'd broken a heel and the click-thump of her ungainly progress sent shivers down Ismael's spine. He slumped into tortured memory, weeping quietly for the ghosts of New Bedford. Rache ignored him, placing a gentle hand on ancient bar; the wood stained and scarred by time, like a diary of hell waiting to be read. She reached down and unstrapped her broken shoe, cursing it's weakness. Rache took off the other one as well, the hard wood floor was cool and covered with dirt. But dirt would wash off, it always did.
The bartender was old crone, wrapped in black like Charon's daughter, offering 3 ounce rides across the river Lethe and as she poured, the chance to forget, to dive in and drink deep the burning waters. Rache asked for a double scotch.
"Not a very ladylike drink, Clarissss." observed the man beside her.
Rache gave him a cool look. "She's playing pinball."
On the other side a pretty blonde woman was leafing through an REI catalogue. Rache looked over the girl's shoulder: camping supplies. "In the market for some new tent pegs?" Rache didn't wait for an answer, she spied the fat man sitting in the corner drinking something green.
Rache made her way towards the fat man. An old Cuban grabbed her by the arm. His eyes were dark and watery, as if peering through the depths of a morass sea. "I've gone eighty-four days without catching a fish." He whispered.
"You're salao. Beat it, I've got troubles of my own." Rache shrugged him off and kept her deep brown eyes fixed on the table in the corner. It hadn't seemed that far away, but distance isn't always measured in feet.
Near a gaming table a little boy stood still, catching Rache with his pale innocent eyes. "I see dead people." the boy intoned, his voice filled with the merciless truth.
Rache looked around the table, 5 men all holding aces and eights in one hand and colt .44's in the other. Slumped and bloody corpses playing an eternal game; she felt sorry for the one who hadn't cheated. "No shit Sherlock, what was your first clue?" Rache kicked the boy in the seat of his pants. "Morbid little freak."
Rache sat her drink down on the fat man's table with a solid thud and sat lightly in the hard wooden chair opposite his bellicose bulk. "Are you happy to see me? Or is that a cucumber in your pants."
"Heh Heh, very good...Heh heh. It is indeed a cucumber!" The fat man pulled the long vegetable out of his trousers and set it on the table. "How very astute my dear."
"I've come for the travel papers."
"You have it?" The fat man suddenly leaned forward, his ample girth pushing the table slightly and his eyes became intense, small and ratlike, boring into Rache's.
"Yes. Mr. Cairo and I came to an...Arrangement."
"The Black Bird!" the fat man whispered, mopping his brow. Sweat beaded out of him like water through a showerhead. Rache turned away in disgust. "It's my whole life...My whole..." His eyes had taken a faraway look and he suddenly focused back on Rache. "Where is it? I must have it!"
"The papers first."
"Yes. Heh heh. Oh you are a clever one! Joel Cairo is he....?" The fat man raised his eyebrows. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. But I see it wouldn't do to underestimate you. Heh heh, no wouldn't do at all."
Just then the doors crashed open and a dozen soldiers rushed in with submachine guns. "Achtung! Nobody move!"
"Our German masters, how unfortunate." The fat man sad sullenly. "Quickly, into the back room." He hustled Rache into his small office, closing the door on her weak whispered protest and locking it.
Rache's heart was beating quickly. Nazi's! She knew that voice, it was OGF. He'd only narrowly missed her at Sea-Tac and now he'd followed her here. She also had no doubt that the fat man would give her up in a second; he'd probably enjoy seeing her tortured and almost certainly he'd make arrangements to secure the black bird in exchange for her life. Rache cursed herself for walking into so simple a trap.
A thought occured to Rache. She was in the fat man's office. No doubt he was clever in addition to being greedy, but perhaps too clever? She rifled his desk quickly, unsure of how much time she would have. The fat man loved to negotiate, he wouldn't let OGF agree to quickly to his conditions; he'd want to enjoy his mental fencing first. There! The second drawer had a false bottom. Rache pried it up with a letter opener and found the documents she'd need. They were authentic, signed by the Great and Powerful Oz himself, and would afford her safe passage from this God forsaken place. She stuffed them into her brassiere and looked for an escape. Her plane left in an hour!
A crease of lightning tore through the night and illuminated the room through the skylight high above. But it was so high! Rache considered moving the desk, perhaps stacking the chair on it. But it would still not be high enough she thought. She needed a .... Ladder!! There, propped in a corner was a 16' high ladder. Rache opened it in the center of the room and climbed up. She could here OGF's jack boots goose-stepping towards the door. She reached up and found the latch, but it was stuck! She pounded with her fist in useless frustration, crying out as it suddenly shattered in a crisp cascade of rain and jagged glass. Her hand was cut but she paid it no mind, the door was opening and Rache climbed through, ripping her dress on a razor shard; a small price to pay for freedom!
Below OGF watched with a deep frown. His prey had escaped him once again. He pictured himself standing before Reichsfuhrer Himmler, explaining how a dysfunctional teenage girl had outwitted him across three continents. It was not the most pleasant thought he'd entertained that day. His most pleasant had been strangling Rache with her own intestines.
"Heh heh, a most clever girl! Most indefatigable, I must say!" The fat man mopped his brow, staring at the soldiers who blocked his path. "If you will excuse me sir."
OGF turned around and stared at a very uncomfortable and sweating fat man. The rain fell on them through the hole in the ceiling, like tears from a jealous god. OGF heard the deep rumbling of thunder like the crash of waves on a distant shore. It mocked his frustration and echoed his fury; a dark kaleidoscope with one recourse. He lifted his Luger and shot the fat man in the left eye. Well, it helped a little.
The end.
You're right Chuck, not much of a story. I just wanted to finish all my projects. OGF-JB, thanks for your help (I hope you don't mind - hugs!)
Rachael