*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*
Mokoto reached into her pocket. With a flick of her finger, her Nokia flipped open. “What?” she asked, in a tone that indicated her responses would be brief, and that her mood was several notches below good.
“Have you located the information?” came a familiar voice that had no familiar elements, other than that it was unremarkable, thanks to the voice scrambler.
“No. I’ve had some…things come up. I can’t seem to locate our friends.”
“That’s too bad. If you can’t find them and offer a jacket, it will be a cold night for them.”
“I don’t know if that’s necessary. I don’t see the weather going that way.”
“My dear, I’m the one with the meteorology degree. So I’ll be the one to say when it’s getting cold. Are we clear?”
Mokoto straddled her motorcycle, and frowned. “Clear as a bell.” She shut the phone and put it in her pocket. Based on the cold comment, she knew that J & J were still in town. She hated working with them, but since she let Phil and Bob slip through her fingers, they were back on task. If she didn’t find them first, there would be no point in finding them. Her Kawasaki revved up, and she guided it back to Minnesota Avenue.
The clerk of the liquor store slowly opened the door and looked out at the scene. He saw one man half lying in the truck bed, half hanging over the side, and other man lying in the semi caved-in windshield of a truck. The man in the windshield was still breathing, but he wasn’t sure about the other victim. He walked back inside, unsure whether to call the police or an ambulance first.
***
A can of frozen orange juice concentrate shifted upward. It tilted and found a willing ramp on a bunch of celery. The can rolled forward, and at the end of the celery it hit a small can of tuna and was airborne for less than half a second. The can hit the carpet and rolled. A large black boot rose up and gently came down, with it’s heel about a foot before the can. When it was close enough, the rest of the boot came down and the can came to a stop. The boot was connected to Jeremiah “Smith”, who had leveled a gun at the head of a suddenly very frighted Mabel Gravley. Her hair was still black in spots, but streaks of gray made her look older than the rest of her did. She had thin framed glasses, brown eyes, and her sweater was red and a bit frizzy. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeremiah saw Jebadiah’s trigger finger move ever so slightly. Jeremiah lowered his gun. “Ms. Gravely, we’re not unreasonable. Let us take a look around apartment 203. Nobody has to get shot tonight. What do you say?” Mabel swallowed hard, and lifted her hand towards Jeremiah, her keys jingling as her hand trembled. Jeremiah smiled, but Jebediah didn’t.
***
“No, there’s no way I’m hiding in there!” Phil exclaimed.
