Right now, Harry is thinking to himself, Great, this is really my day. First I get rear-ended and assualted on the highway, with a ratsticker in my leg, and now I'm going to be mauled by wild dogs. Well, they don't maul me while I'm standing still... that makes them more civil than most members of congress.
As Harry prepares to wet himself, then shoot...in that order, Roberto opens the front door.
"Aye! Juanito! Carlito! Sienta te!"
The dogs sit on command, still growling at Harry. Roberto walks over to him.
"I hope you weren't going to shoot my puppies. They are only here to keep me and my guest safe. Now that everything seems to be under control, my servants have prepared a small dinner for us."
"Thanks. I wasn't really intending to shoot the dogs, but I'd rather pay for the dog than more hospital bills. I'm sorry. Now, what's for dinner? Carne asada? Lengua?"
"Eh? You guys don't get to Spain much...do you? We have paella and some other things. I do have beer and sangria on ice...you people do drink? No matter...let us eat, drink, and forget about your many problems for a while. Oh, about your friend with the gunshot. Fortunately the bullet did not stay around when it hit him. I sewed up the mess it made and he should probably be on his feet in the next day or so. Until then, you are my guests, just be mindful of los perros that walk outside."
Artis and Harry pick up and answer their respective phones that they filched. The response is in very hastely spoken Spanish (you think). Upon not hearing an equally hasty reply, the voices go into English.
"Who is this? What has happened to (Artis' phone) Juan and (Harry's) Felipe?"
Meanwhile, Gavin is sitting in bed carefully chewing his food as to not aggrevate his wounds.
I say, "Felipe? Hey man, I work highway cleanup. I work my ass off twelve hours a day to feed by wife and four kids. Today, I hear there's a god damn shootout on the freeway. I drive up, and these spanish motherfuckers that look like they came off the fucking driving range drop their phone and peel off in some pansy-ass blue piece of shit, leaving me with two dead white guys, and someone else paying me money to say nothing about it. Now, I don't care if they were in the CIA, IRA, IRS, whatever. They're dead, and I had to bust my ass wiping little. So if I can surmise correctly, Felipe got away, and I had to wipe up little pieces of brain. Are you happy now?"
(Edited by Threadbare at 12:44 am on May 22, 2002)
The voice on the other end of Harry's phone goes silent for a long second...too long for Harry's taste. It comes back in English.
"Listen...whoever you are, I just wanted to let you know that while we both impressed and appreciative in you ridding us of those two pendejos, we do consider this a challenge to our authority. My advice would be to leave the city immediately and don't come back. Trust me, amigo, next time you won't see us coming..."
The phone goes deathly silent for what seems like too long. It then sounds as if the call is in the process of being transferred to another line.
*click* *click*
A voice comes over the line, sounding much like the guy Bucho from Desperado.
"Alright, amigo. You have interrupted my dinner party, so this better be good. First, you must tell me...who are you working for?...No, wait....let me guess...An aged man in his late 60's with a penchant for fine women? Whatever he's paying you and your friends, I'll triple."
"Reeally?"
(OOC: Do I have anyway to record this conversation?)
"So what were Juan and Felipe, and Miguel and them? A test to see if weren't incompetent goons like they were? Your offer's tempting sir, but I need some assurance that we won't be used for a similar suicide mission. I'm not daft enough to suggest you meet us alone, nor am I stupid enough to accept any meeting place you specify, but perhaps we could agree on some sort of neutral ground?"
(OOC: Unfortunately you're not using your personal phone, which has a built-in record feature. So my answer is, no...no such way of recording the conversation.)
The man retorts
"....Spoken like a true Agency lapdog. I admire your try at professionalism. I should tell you now that your employer, Mr.Mason, and his pet Harper should not be trusted. Mason and the Agency are relics of a bygone era. Enough of my banter, if you truly wish to meet...arrangements can be made with the ever-wise doctor you're having dinner with. I hope this is not the last time we speak. Good evening."
"Bunch of psychos in this profession," I mutter, then I say to Harry: "Gonzales says that the doc can set us up with his people. Did you get anything?"
"I'm wondering why people like us never seem to get lucky on cases like this. Any of you ever had a villain who didn't question the integrity of the Agency and offered to take you on their payroll ?"
"This being my first "villain", I take it as a sign that we're doing pretty well. Speaking of which, this isn't a Bond movie. Who's to say we wouldn't do better working for this guy?"
"I tried to bluff 'em," Harry admits, "and I don't know if it worked. If it didn't, then we were meant to eliminate those guys anyway, but we should stay out of it."
"Yeah. He's definitely someone to keep in mind. But I think if we can't learn anything from the good doctor, we ought to push on. we're already plenty behind schedule. We should try and figure out this missle fuel thing." Harry does, however, pull out a well-worn notepad and scribble a couple of notes in his incomprehensible shorthand.
threadbare
