Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Your Machete; My Cleaver

*a continuation of No Meat; No Creamer

"You want me to do what?" He scarcely believes his ears. No, he doesn't believe them at all. Merlot's lost her damned mind.

"Cut his head off." Her expression is blank. That it is underneath her dark red wig and behind overpriced Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses only adds to the effect.

Coffee doesn't speak Arabic, but he can only assume that the sudden sounds from the bound and gagged man tied at their feet are muffled pleas for mercy. "I..." Coffee doesn't know what to say. Or to do. "I've never killed anyone before."

He can't see it, but he knows Merlot just winked at him. "Baby steps, Coffee."

"Baby steps?" Coffee screams, clumsily brandishing the machete Merlot handed him a few minutes earlier. "You want me to cut his fucking head off!"

***

"Keep moving, Coffee," Merlot ordered, "And quit looking at the buildings. You're making us stick out."

He was used to observing his surroundings discreetly for cops - and even government agents, a bit - but an assassin presented a new challenge entirely. "What about snipers?" he whispered to Merlot.

She put her arm around his and gently nudged his cheek with her nose. "Snipers would have to know where we're going."

Damn, she smelled good. "Where are we going?" He almost didn't ask the question as he briefly wondered what her nose felt like just above his...

"I have no idea," she said through a smile. Her arm slid away and she grabbed his hand. "So how would they?"

Damn, she smelled good.

***

Grayson studies the imagery from the kidnapping. The local police aren't touching this one - the kidnapped man is a known terrorist - and that's a bit of a relief for Grayson. Less interference that way. Tying these loose ends has already taken too much time and the last thing he wants is more bureaucratic red tape.

The problem here is that the kidnapped man is also a known asset. Everyone's been too polite to ask - so far - but it's only a matter of time before Grayson's going to have to answer some questions.

For the briefest of moments, he considers sending out more muscle, but he knows such an action would be career suicide. Not to mention it would probably expose him. Though he excels at fudging numbers, he's aware that he's fast approaching the limit of feasible deniability. He's already spent too much of his operational budget on his pet project. His personal project, he reminds himself.

No, this should be over soon. Keep confident. He did bring in the best, after all.

***

She lied. She knew exactly where they were going. Coffee should've run when she pulled a .40 caliber pistol out of her waistline and handed it to him, but he spent too much time trying to figure out how she hid a gun there without interrupting her curves. He definitely should've run when she pulled another one out of her purse. There is no question he should've already been running when she yanked the 9mm hold-out from her boot.

She thought about it for a moment, then took the .40 back from Coffee and handed him the 9mm.

"What? Why do I get the small one?"

Ever concerned with their cover, she leaned into him, kissing him just on the side of his lips. "Grow up."

They stood in front of apartment 712. Merlot embraced Coffee fully, taking his mouth with hers and pressing his body against the door. He couldn't help it... she turns him on. To her credit, she barely acknowledged the erection and pressed against him more firmly.

Coffee didn't know it at the time, but she was testing the strength of the door. He figured it out after she threw him into it. He watched from the ground, lying on top of the broken door, as she apprehended the Arab. Bitch was fast. And smelled so good.

***

"Baby steps," she almost purrs. "Take a finger first."

"Oh," Coffee responds, bobbing his head quickly up and down as if in the act of losing his mind, "that makes it much better."

The bound and gagged man, Nassir, slowly realizes that the man standing above him is no killer. The woman, however...

Merlot takes the machete from Coffee and before Coffee can stop her, she chops two fingers off of Nassir's left hand. Well, two and half.

"What the fuck'd you do that for?" Coffee screams.

"Asshole. If you hadn't grabbed me, I'd have only taken one finger."

Coffee freezes. The look on his face is priceless. It makes him innocently cute. To those with maternal instincts, anyway. Merlot doesn't have many maternal instincts.

Nassir does his best not to scream in pain, but finds it impossible not to wince and cringe. He can't see the wound but knows parts of him are missing. Still, Nassir begins to doubt that either one of his kidnappers can bring themselves to cut off his head.

Just as Merlot planned. Fact is, she can't bring herself to behead Nassir. Or anyone, for that matter. But she had to prove that she's more than willing to dismember.

Nassir begins his canary song before Merlot can even finish pulling his trousers off.

*Continued in Matches? Check. Charcoal? Check.

6 comments:

  1. Wow, I did a double-take! Fabulous new template. I love-love this piece. My favorite line? "...he spent too much time trying to figure out how she hid a gun there without interrupting her curves".

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  2. Oh please don't cut his willy off! Great start, looking forward to the next. That's a lot of hardware for one woman to carry around.

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  3. With my lightning fast grasp of the obvious, I just noticed you've got a new look here. Nice.

    Our man Coffee is a bit of a wimp. Merlot, on the other hand, seems a master (mistress?) of psychological manipulation (of both the enemy and her cohort).

    Oh, and in keeping with your insistence on good grammar, perhaps Coffee "should've run" in the fourth section?

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  4. I'm back for a read from Tenth D. I don't think I could ever dismember.

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  5. Oh, jeffscape is YOU. You killed off the animal character I liked. I still haven't forgiven you. Off with your head!

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  6. for some reason i kept seeing brad and angelina slamming each other around in mr and mrs smith as i was reading this.

    this is great stuff, really great stuff. do you write for tv? film?

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