smokeandmirrors

[[A-SIDE->SIDE A]]

Oates catches your eye from the other side of the bar. The two of you are sitting on opposite ends, pretending not to know each other while you watch the room. It's a small place, but not as small or run-down as some bars you've been to, and not as dirty, either. A solid 5/10, as far as bars in the middle of nowhere generally go. Maybe a 6/10 on account of [[the bartender]] not looking at you funny when you ordered a margarita. //[[Drinking]] on the job,// Oates says, his voice clear as day inside your mind. //Tsk-tsk, Hallsy. Unprofessional.//

The last bar you were at, in Kansas, the bartender asked if you were a queer. You broke his nose and knocked out three of his teeth before security tossed you out. Didn't even get to drink your margarita. Waste of good [[money->SIDE A]].

//What do I think?// you ask back. //About what?// //About the price of tea in China,// Oates deadpans, taking a long sip from his drink. //Don't be an ass.// //I meant, d'you think he's going home with Jenny or not?// Oates indicates the couple you're looking at with a small nod of his head. The guy is finishing his story. He's been doing most of the talking, as far as you've been able to tell. Jenny - the woman sitting next to him - looks extremely interested in what he has to say, so interested that she hasn't even touched her drink. //Honestly? He seems like a prick.// Oates laughs again. //Okay, but what do you [[really think]].//

//I dunno. Probably.// you say, taking a sip of your margarita. You keep watching Jenny and the guy in your peripheral vision. They're getting up from the bar - the guy slides the bartender a wad of cash, and walks out of the place just ahead of Jenny, holding the door for her on the way out. She doesn't look at either you or Oates, or even so much as signal for the car keys, so she must be riding with the guy. //Oh, wicked,// Oates says, coming to the same conclusion at the same time. Sometimes you're not sure if it's because you can read each others' minds, or because you're naturally on the same wavelength even without the powers. //We've got the car. Fancy a [[pickup game?]]//

He clearly knows what your answer is, because he's gone from the bar by the time you look up at him. You smile around the salted rim of your margarita, casually giving the [[rest of the crowd]] a once-over while you drink.

You don't see Oates anywhere. He must have gone to the toilets - one of his go-tos. Maybe he figured it would level the playing field, in a tiny place like this. Save you from having to fight over the same mark. You're almost glad he did. The bar is pretty nearly empty, though it's a Sunday evening, so it's not too hard to tell why. There's [[a pair of college kids]] - a guy and a girl - sitting at a little booth in the corner of the room. There's also an [[older woman]] who's been sitting near your end of the bar, flirting with the bartender all night. And, of course, [[the bartender->bar2]] himself. //[[Find anyone yet?]]// Oates asks, as you're eyeing up a guy in the corner, trying to gauge if he looks like a drug dealer or not.

//Piss off,// you say, again. Oates laughs. You can't tell if he's checking in on you out of genuine curiosity, or because he's winning. Fucker. The girl in the corner booth gets up, crossing to the side of the bar Oates was on and disappearing down a hallway that you assume is the way to the toilets. You glance back towards the booth just in time to see the football player shaking something out of a small, plastic baggie into his hand, and dropping it into the girl's drink. //Actually,// you say, //I think I [[found a guy]].//

You slap a ten dollar bill down on the bar next to your margarita glass, and stand up. Best to be quick about this before the girl gets back from the toilets. The football player barely glances up at you as you move towards the booth, but once you're standing in front of him, he gives you an annoyed look, like you're blocking his light. "What," he says. "So sorry," you say, "I just couldn't help but notice you drugging your friend's drink, there." [[The football player's face goes white as a sheet.]]

The guy might be a good mark. He's got the vibe of some kind of athlete. Big, loud, wearing a letterman jacket in the middle of summer. Football player, maybe. Well, American football. The girl's also got the body of an athlete, maybe a cheerleader or a gymnast, but she's dressed normal. She'll most likely be in the way if you try and take the guy as your mark, but you could always figure out a way to get her up and out of the booth. Or take them both with you, but that's always a hassle, and Oates will pitch a fit about you [[cheating->rest of the crowd]].

She's pretty drunk, and she reeks of perfume and hairspray. If you pretended you were interested in her, she'd probably come along with you, but you'd feel bad about it. You prefer your marks to be at least a little morally reprehensible. She just seems...[[sad->rest of the crowd]].

The bartender, of course, is right out. Everyone would notice if he walked out with you. Unless you wait until shift change, but hell if you know when that'll be. Probably no time before you get [[back->rest of the crowd]] to the motel.

This is your favorite part - well, your favorite part of the foreplay, anyway. Most people don't expect to be confronted outright about an indiscretion they just made, especially an indiscretion that most other men would pretend not to see. The football player opens and closes his mouth like a fish drowning on dry land, and it's really quite beautiful. "[[What do you want]]?" he asks, finally.

He's very well behaved until you actually get him out behind the bar, in the mostly lightless spot where you and Oates parked the car. You barely have to dig the tip of the switchblade into his side to get him to keep walking. But he starts talking again, as you start digging through the [[trunk->trunk of the car]], and it really, //really// starts to grate on your nerves. "Her brother sent you, right?" he asks, like he knows what he's talking about. He sounds a little more confident now - and, to be fair, he is a lot bigger than you. He could probably have snapped you in half whenever he felt like it, if he wasn't afraid of your knife. "To make sure I'm not trying to fuck Vera? How much money are you gonna offer me to stay away from her?" "You have the wrong idea," you say. You slide your bat out, smiling at the familiar weight of it in your hand, and use its tip to shut the trunk. "My family's got money," he tries again. "If you let me go back in there, I can -" "Oh, I'm already getting paid to be here." You lean on the back of the car, letting your bat dangle down towards the ground. "You're just a little bit of [[fun on the side]]."

You have to use your car keys to get the trunk open, and you don't immediately spot anything out of place when you're grabbing your bat. Maybe Oates hasn't been back to the car yet? Maybe you're [[winning->outside]]?

"So, what, it's a sex thing?" he asks. "No, asshole." You roll your eyes, though maybe he won't see it in the dark. "I'm going to [[kill you]]. Was the bat not a tip-off?"

"What do I //want//?" you ask, pasting on a friendly grin. "I want you to get up and leave the bar with me, right now, without making a [[scene]] about it."

"Let's take a little walk," you say, "and I think everyone will leave here as [[friends]]."

He doesn't say anything, but he stands and lets you lead him [[outside]].

[[His eyes take a moment to fill up with fear before he bolts across the parking lot.->bolts]]

Or, well, tries to bolt, anyway. He gets a good speed going, makes it maybe five yards out from the car before you focus all of your mindpower into [[yanking]] him back the way he came.

[[You overshoot, a little.->overshoot]]

You're not so good with the fine-tuning aspect of your powers yet - Oates is a little better with the smaller stuff. You tear the football player off his feet like a ragdoll and send him flying into the forest that comes right up to the edge of the parking lot. Seriously, every building around here has forest between it and the next one over. It's as backwoods as backwoods gets. Anyway, you're fairly sure you hear a significant amount of the football player's bones shatter against a tree. You wonder if he really had time to process what was happening to him before he [[hit]].

"Didn't really stick the landing there, eh?" Oates asks, and it takes you a second to realize his voice is coming from [[behind you]] instead of the inside of your head.

"Yeah," you say, "I never did get to use the bat." You turn on your heel, ready to gloat, but stop short when you see that he's alone. Even in the dark, you can tell that he's flushed and breathing heavily, and as you let your eyes wander downwards, you realize he's holding a dripping knife in one hand. "//How,//" you say despondently. "It's the shitter. Easier to get people alone." He shrugs. "Who'd you get?" "Well, the men's was empty, but [[some girl]] walked in while I was having a smoke outside the women's. So I followed her in, waited for her to finish her business, and," he slices the pointer finger of his empty hand across his neck.

"Well, Jesus, Hall," he says, "I'm not a [[mind reader]]."

You both laugh, hysterically. There's tears in your eyes, and you're pretty sure you're gasping for air more than you are actually laughing, past a certain point. You're surprised no one's come out of the bar to see what the ruckus is, but maybe that's just your [[luck.]]

"Hey," Oates says, "do you [[hear]] that?"

"Hear what?" you ask, almost certain he's fucking with you. Oates shushes you, and you shush, closing your eyes and listening for anything out of the ordinary. You hear Oates's breathing, and your own, and your heartbeat, slow and calm in your chest. You hear leaves and branches rustling in the forests, the low hum of insects pervading the entire [[soundscape.]]

You start to laugh. You can't really help it - the irony is just [[too much.]]

"Jesus, Oates," you say, sitting down on the trunk of the car to try and catch your breath. "What?" He gives you an odd look. "It's not the worst way I've ever done it, and we've both killed girls -" [["I just killed that girl's boyfriend so that he couldn't roofie her!"->roofie]]

"What'd you do with the body?" you ask Oates, once your breath is finally caught. "Floated her out the window in the women's." He jabs his thumb over his shoulder, at the back of the bar. You can vaguely see a humanoid shape lying in a heap on the ground. "I came out to get some tarp to wrap her up in. Figured we could chop up her and your mark, and dump both in that lake outside of town before we head out tomorrow." "You'd really leave two bodies in the car all night?" You raise your eyebrows at him. "They'll make the whole thing stink." "Well, we can always drive out to the lake tonight, after we check in on Jenny," Oates concedes. He sidles up to you with a grin, standing right in between your spread legs, his gut against the hood of the car. "It'll be romantic." "Sap," you say, but you tilt your face down and put your forehead on his [[anyway]].

"Sounds like your guy isn't as [[dead]] as you thought," Oates says.

"Ugh." You slide off the hood of the car, scraping your bat along the uneven blacktop as you make your way into the woods. "You did say you wanted to use your bat," Oates reminds you. //I know,// you say, blinking to try and adjust your eyes to the darkness. The moaning is gone, but you can hear someone breathing, hard and labored. It sounds close. //But it's still a [[pain]].//

You follow the breathing to the base of a particularly wide tree, where you find the football player slumped, twitching, trying to drag himself away in the dirt. His legs are probably broken, or maybe something in his spine. You watch for a long moment as he sobs and claws at the ground, using your bat as a support so you can squat down right next to his face. [["Please," he says thickly, the sound of someone with a broken nose, or maybe a concussion. "I don't understand -"->understand]]

"That's fine," you say, standing up and taking a [[really good whack]] at his head.

It takes a few more whacks before he's done making noise. You wipe your bat in the grass and float the football player's body out of the woods in front of you, up the slight incline to the parking lot, where Oates is [[laying out the tarps]].

He's already got the girl on one. You drop the football player on the other, wincing a little at the //thud// as he hits the ground. You let Oates roll up the tarps while you clean up the trunk a bit, moving your bat and the rest of your bigger weapons to the backseat. It's a good thing your and Jenny's luggage is all out of the car by now, or else you'd never be able to fit two bodies. "Gonna be a tight squeeze," Oates comments. "Right," you say. "Let's get them loaded up and go see how [[Jenny's doing.]]"

[[A-SIDE->SIDE A]] [[B-SIDE]]

"So where are you from?" [[Bryan]] asks, leaning in towards you. You lean in, too - even though his breath smells like locally-brewed beer, and he's already loud enough to hear when you're sitting five feet apart, your [[body language]] has to look interested. "Oh, here and there." You twirl a lock of hair around your finger. It's hard to look right at him instead of keeping an eye on the rest of the room, but at least it's working. "East coast, mostly." He looks a little startled. "How come you're all the way out here?" [["Business."]]

And then, under all of that, a pained [[moaning.]]

"Oh, yeah? What do you do?" Bryan takes a swig of beer, thankfully giving you time to come up with a lie as you mirror him and pretend to sip your own drink. You're not sure that he's actually noticed that your glass has stayed full this whole time. "I teach," you say, pulling the first profession you can think of out of your ass. No one in their right mind would ever let you into a classroom, but you've been told before that you look like you'd be good with kids. "I'm actually heading out to Reno for a teacher's conference, but I flew in early to visit a friend in Aspen. The conference isn't for another couple of days so I figured I'd rent a car and drive there, get to see all the scenery." "You teach?" he says, ignoring everything else about your expertly crafted lie. "I'm a librarian! That is so cool." "What a coincidence," you say brightly, like you haven't been [[tailing him all day.]] "So how are you liking [[Antlers]] so far?" Bryan asks.

Despite how Hall and Oates act, you're all professionals. You wouldn't have even spared this guy a second look if you weren't completely sure he was the [[right guy.->"Business."]]

"It's..." you struggle for something generous. "Quaint." Bryan laughs. "Yeah, mosts tourists don't know what to do with it. Not that we get a lot of tourists anymore - we had a whole thing a while back with some wild animal attacking people who were staying at the motel. Antlers is, uh, it can be unlucky like that." "Unlucky?" You tilt your head to one side. It's a strange choice of word. An unintentionally perceptive word, coming from Bryan. "Yeah, I dunno." Bryan shrugs. "There was a big mining disaster here that we had to learn about in school every year, and people think it cursed the town or something. Like, the ghosts of the people who died were pissed off, so they started taking revenge on the rest of us." He laughs again, toying with his beer bottle. "I think it's just a weird superstition thing. Bad stuff happens in just about every town, right?" [["Right,"]] you say. You weren't expecting Bryan to be so talkative. He's not giving you anything particularly useful, but at least it means you can show interest in him without really holding a conversation.

"My boss is really into history and stuff," Bryan tells you. "Like, she's written a bunch of books on the history of the town, and she gives lectures at the college. It's pretty cool - I mean, I've never read any of her stuff, but I think it's cool." "I bet." You struggle to keep your voice in the interested-but-not-patronizing range. "I could probably get you a copy of one of her books, if you want," he says. God, this conversation is going nowhere fast. If you actually want to get Bryan out of here with you, you're going to have to [[save him]] from himself.

You've learned to be hyperaware of your body language on jobs like this - it keeps you from trying to focus on your environment, instead of the person right in front of you. Plus, it helps sell your attraction to him. If your whole body is in on the act, he's less likely to question what you [[want.->B-SIDE]]

Bryan takes another sip of his beer. You reach out and put a hand on his wrist, your dark purple nails almost black in the dim lighting of the bar. [["Do you want to come back to my motel? We can talk more there."->talk more]]

"Uh," Bryan says, and then, "yeah. Yeah. [[I'd like that.]]"

"Great," you chirp, very nearly disgusted with your capacity to make your voice do something like that. "Let me pay for your drink," he says, and digs a wad of cash out of his wallet to give to the bartender. You've got more than enough money to cover your own drink, but you don't complain. Bryan puts an arm around you on your [[way out]] to the parking lot, and you don't complain about that either, though he's a little sweaty.

"Let's take your car," you suggest. Hall and Oates still need a way to get back to the motel, and you don't want Bryan to see you approaching one of them for a car key when you implied you were traveling alone. "I can [[drive]] if you're not feeling up to it."

"Yeah, okay." Bryan unlocks the driver's side door and presses the [[keys]] into the palm of your hand. His car isn't anything special - a station wagon with peeling wood paneling on the sides, trash and fast food wrappers lining the backseat. Every cupholder inside, you notice, is filled with a coffee cup in varying states of age and decay. The cardboard air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror is so sun-bleached that you can't tell what the picture on it was supposed to be. An orange? A lemon? A coconut? [[The door slams shut on the passenger side as Bryan gets inside.->gets in]]

A [[car->drive]] key, a key to a house or an apartment, a couple novelty keychains. One might be a laser pointer. One is almost certainly a plastic bottle opener, and the next is a picture of Jesus encased in a clear plastic rectangle, so scratched and battered that you can hardly tell what it is at first. Probably a gift from a parent.

You twist the key in the ignition, and the car [[sputters to life.]]

The motel is just down the road, and the ride back doesn't take more than five minutes. Bryan fools with the radio and chatters about some local late-night show that he likes, and you nod like you have any idea at all what he's talking about. "How long are you in town for?" he asks, as the two of you are getting out of the car. "A couple of days." You hand him his keys back, reaching into your own pocket for your room key. "Just tonight and tomorrow morning, really. I'll probably be on the road by noon." "Maybe you could stay a little longer," Bryan says, and you almost feel bad. "I don't think so." "Maybe I could get your number," he tries again. You very nearly have to stifle a laugh as you unlock the [[motel room door.]]

"How come there's two beds in your room?" Bryan asks, taking stock of the place. "Oh, you know, they didn't have a smaller room free, and I didn't mind paying a little extra." You grin. "It beats sleeping on the side of the road." It's a good thing Hall and Oates's luggage is stashed away in the closet, where Bryan can't see it. You'd hate for him to start asking questions that you don't really [[care]] to asnwer.

"Do you live in town?" you ask, mostly to distract him from snooping as you duck into the bathroom to tie your hair up. You already know where he lives, of course - in an apartment complex near Main Street. You've seen him coming and going from there at least three times today. "Yeah," he says. "I live right off Main Street, in the big apartment complex." "Roommates?" "A couple, yeah. They're grad students." "Are you in school?" You cross over to the closet, choosing a few things out of your open suitcase and carrying them back into the bathroom with you. "I'm just going to put something more comfortable on. You can [[turn the TV on]] if you want."

Bryan isn't particularly handsome, but he's not //not// good-looking either. He falls somewhere safely in the middle, with messy, dirty blond hair; thick, rectangular glasses; and a sharp jawline covered in patchy facial hair that's somewhere between a five-o'clock shadow and a proper beard. He has a metal ring through one nostril (you wonder if he's allowed to wear it to work), but looks otherwise respectable in a short-sleeved button down and jeans that seem to [[fit him properly.]] He's not your usual type. But you can't really be choosy when you have a job to do.

You're starting to wonder if you overdressed for a night at the bar. Everyone else here is in t-shirts and jeans, or jean shorts, for the most part. Hall seemed to think he could get away with wearing a Hawaiian shirt over a tank top that you're pretty sure is Oates's - or maybe you've just seen Oates wearing it more. Oates seemed to think he could get away with wearing a shirt with a pentagram and the words PARTY HARD on it. Nobody's given them a second look since you all walked in the place. You thought that wearing a dress would help you [[keep Bryan's attention->B-SIDE]] - and you were right - but you suspect that a tight pear of jeans would have done just the same. And you wouldn't constantly have to keep tugging down jeans so that they didn't expose too much of your thighs, or worry about your bra shifting and showing itself.

"I'm not in school," Bryan says. You can hear him hunting around for the remote in the main part of the motel room. "Or - well, I'm taking a couple years off before grad school. I figured I'd get a job first, then figure out what I wanted to get my master's in." "Not a terrible idea," you say, reaching up behind you to unzip your dress. You step out of it, and leave it folded in a little pile on the windowsill, where it will hopefully be out of harm's way until you come back for it. "Hey, so you're kind of young for a teacher, right?" he asks, and it takes you a minute to realize what he's talking about. "Doesn't it take kind of a while to get certified or whatever?" You are technically old enough to have a teaching license, but it's flattering that he thinks you might not be. You smile, tugging a pair of jeans up to your waist and zipping the fly. [["How old do you think I am?"->how old]]

"I, uh," Bryan stammers, then decides to change the subject. "What do you teach?" "Chemistry," you say, picking the first thing that comes to mind. You unhook your bra and slide a sports bra on in place of it. "Wow, so, high school, huh." You can hear other, muffled voices talking underneath Bryan's, so you guess he must have found the remote. "That must be tough." "Not really." You barely remember high school, but dealing with Hall and Oates often feels like dealing with a couple of teenagers. You're pretty sure you have a feel for what handling a whole room full of them might be like. "You just have to know when to put your foot down. And you've got to build mutual respect." "Makes sense," he says knowingly. You pull a tight, black t-shirt down over your head, shaking your ponytail loose, and wait for him to say something else, but he doesn't. Not for [[a while.]]

[["So," he says, "have you ever fucked a student before?"->student]]

"Why don't you come unhook my bra," you say nonchalantly, picking up the pearl handled revolver you brought into the bathroom with you, "and I'll [[tell you all about it.]]"

You hear him scramble off the bed, his sneakers padding heavily against the carpet as he walks over to the bathroom. You position yourself right in front of the door and try to remember just how much taller he is than you, picturing in your mind's eye where his sharp jawline will be. [[The doorknob rattles.]]

[[Bryan opens the door.]]

"Hey, wh-" he says, and that's all he has time for before you pistol whip him right in the face. You were expecting to have to do it a few more times, but he goes down [[like a sack of bricks.]]

It's so jarringly fast that you actually have to check that he's still breathing before you unpack the [[zip-ties]].

[[A-SIDE->SIDE A]] [[B-SIDE]] [[BONUS TRACK]]

[[The guy - Bryan - hasn't even started to stir or come to by the time Jenny has him zip tied to the motel desk chair.->chair]]

smoke and mirrors

marn

Double-click this passage to edit it.

"A̧̢⥕̢̨l̸̡͢ᶲ̴̶͟⥽̸̵͢͞e̵̕̕∳҉̸!(click-replace:"A̧̢⥕̢̨l̸̡͢ᶲ̴̶͟⥽̸̵͢͞e̵̕̕∳҉̸!")[Albatross!]" Hall shouts, making Jenny jump. "Mother//fucker//!" "Guess that explains what our guy was on about," Oates says contemplatively. "Thought he might have just been going nutty. [[How long've you been up there?]]"

She searches around the room for something to get him up. Water, probably, unless she's planning to hit him again with the gun. As she's filling up a cup in the bathroom sink, the door of the motel room [[rattles]].

Jenny freezes for a second, her hand straying towards her revolver. But she doesn't need it. Hall and Oates tumble into the room one after the other, laughing about some joke one of them told on the other side of the door. Hall's Hawaiian shirt has little red flecks on it amid the flowers and palm trees. Oates has dried, crusty blood under his nails, in his cuticles. "Alright, Jenny," Hall says in passing, not seeming to mind the unconscious guy attached to a chair as he makes his over to wash his hands. "You're back early," Jenny says. "Kill anyone?" "Yeah," Oates says, swelling with pride. "We each got someone. So that's thirty-two for me, and twenty-eight for Hallsy." "Twenty-nine," Hall corrects him. "Did you [[talk to the guy]] already, Jen?"

"Oh, we talked," Jenny says, stepping out of Hall's way and taking her cup of water over to Bryan. She considers him for a moment, then considers Hall and Oates. "Not about anything important, though. I was about to wake him up so we could get down to brass tacks." "Can we help?" Oates asks. His lopsided grin says a lot about his definition of //help//. "Only if you promise to behave," Jenny says warningly. "What constitutes as [[behaving]]?" Hall asks, his voice carefully innocent as he scrubs at a spot on his shirt.

"Let me do the talking," Jenny says, "but you can rough him up if he won't answer. It's easier to scare people if we look like we're organized - like we've been running this operation for a while. Otherwise he won't tell us shit." "So we're your hired muscle," Oates offers. "You //are// my hired muscle," Jenny says. "I'm just saying, you need to act like it for once in your lives." "Fine," Hall says. "Can we kill him when we're done?" "As long as you're quick about it," Jenny says, and [[turns up the volume on the TV.->volume]]

She pours the cup of water over Bryan's head and he wakes up gasping, pitching forward and rocking the desk chair as water streams down his cheeks and nose. His hair is plastered down to his forehead, his glasses crowded with droplets and their trails. "Wh -" he gasps, resuming a question he never quite got to ask. His eyes dart around the room, wide and panicked, taking in Hall and Oates, who leer right back at him. Jenny sits down on the corner of one of the beds, facing Bryan diagonally. She crosses one leg over the other, and laces her hands together on top of her knee. [["I need you to make a phone call to Austin Jones,"->phone call]] she says.

"Austin?" Bryan laughs nervously. "What, uh, what's your [[business]] with him?"

"That's not important," Jenny says. She stands and walks around behind the chair, reaching into one of Bryan's pockets and sliding out his cell phone. "You work with him, right?" "Y-yeah. Yeah, we work together," Bryan says. He's still looking at Hall and Oates, trying to figure out how they got there, what they're doing. Hall is picking his teeth with a switchblade. Oates is rubbing a pair of brass knuckles on his shirt, maybe trying to get blood out of them. "I mean," Bryan says hastily, as Hall moves a little closer to him, "we don't really work the same shifts. I work nine to five, usually, and he comes in around eleven, or noon sometimes. Uh, but, I've got his number in case we need to trade shifts. Everyone at the library does that." "You really like to hear yourself talk," Hall observes mildly. Oates snorts. Jenny shoots both of them a [[warning]] look.

"You're doing very well, Bryan," Jenny says soothingly, though it's not particularly soothing at all. She flips open his phone and browses through his contacts, landing on Austin's almost immediately and bringing it up on the screen. "All we need you to do is call Austin, and ask if he'll cover your shift tomorrow." "Wh-why?" Bryan asks. "Not important," Oates says, checking out his own reflection in his brass knuckles. "He's right," Jenny says, "it's not important. And if you mention where you are, or any of us, while you're on the phone with Austin, we're going to have an issue." She presses Bryan's phone to his ear with one hand, and puts the barrel of her revolver up against the base of his neck with the other. "Do you understand?" [[Bryan nods.]]

It's impossible to discern what's sweat and what's water on his face, now. Jenny slides her thumb along the keypad of his cell phone, and presses [[Send.]]

[[The phone rings.]]

It rings for a very long time, in fact. Hall and Oates share a look, wondering if they'll have to come up with a Plan B. Jenny watches Bryan and the phone expectantly, listening to the tinny ringing sound as it warbles out of the speaker. It goes, and goes, until finally - the gentle [[click]] of someone on the other line picking up.

"Hey," Bryan says, "[[Austin?]]"

A voice on the other end of the line answers, too faint to hear. It could be anyone. But it's Austin Jones's number that Jenny pressed send on, so it ought to be Austin Jones picking up the phone. "Hey, man," Bryan says. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, straining himself to act normal. "It's me, Bryan. I, uh, I need a favor." He pauses, listening to the other line, and then laughs. "No - um, actually, I need you to take my shift tomorrow. I'm feeling kinda under the weather, so I was hoping - yeah, yeah." Oates snickers. Jenny gives him another look. "Yeah, nine to five," Bryan says into the phone. "You're a lifesaver, man, seriously." The voice on the other end says something, and then the phone clicks again. Jenny [[snaps]] it shut.

"Okay, I did what you wanted," Bryan says, "so you're gonna [[let me go]], right?"

"Oh, Bryan," Jenny says, gently putting his phone down on the desk. "I really wish we didn't have to [[kill]] you."

"So - so don't kill me," he suggests. Hall and Oates both laugh at him outright, circling the chair like sharks who smell blood in the water. Bryan looks agitated, straining against the zip-ties. "You're after Austin, right? I set him up for you - go kill him instead. I won't tell anyone. I mean, he's not my friend or anything. We just work together." "It's not that I don't //want// to kill you," Jenny says, reaching out to tousle his hair. "I'm just not looking forward to the [[mess]] it's going to make."

"We'll clean up after ourselves," Hall promises, grinning fit to burst. Oates nods. "We'll chop and dump him with the others tomorrow. No mess. Promise." "Fine," Jenny sighs. "But it's your responsibility to get up and do it before we have to leave. No complaining, and no stopping to make more bodies on the way. We're on a tight schedule." "Hey," Bryan says, his voice little more than a squeak, "[[who's that?]]"

"Who?" Jenny asks, looking sharply towards the door. There's no one there. "I think he's [[fucking with you]], Jen," Hall says, the long scar down the left side of his face bending slightly with the force of his grin.

"I'm not," Bryan says. His eyes are wide behind his glasses, his pupils contracted to wavering little pinpricks. "There's - there's [[someone there]]."

"Oh yeah?" Oates asks, and punches him across the face with his brass knuckles. "Where?" "Uh," Bryan moans, spitting blood up over his bottom lip, "u-upside down." "Pull the other one," Hall says, using his switchblade to slit Bryan's shirt open from neck to belly. "M'not joking," Bryan burbles pitifully. He rocks against the zip-ties, shaking the chair back and forth as bubbles of [[blood]] burst through his teeth. "S'a person. On t'ceiling."

"Shut up." Oates punches him again, low, in the stomach. The wind leaves him in a choking gasp, rattling around in his throat. "Could you [[get on with it->wrap it up]] already?" Jenny asks, washing her face in the bathroom sink. "The walls aren't exactly made of cinderblocks in this place."

[["Sure thing," Hall says.->sure thing]]

[[Without either Hall or Oates touching it, Bryan's head twists around on his shoulders.->snap]]

[[The snapping of bone rings out in the room like a gunshot.->gunshot]]

"Not very much finesse," [[you say]], from your cross-legged position on the ceiling.

"Long enough," you say. "Are you sticking around?" Hall asks. "Nah," you say, unsticking yourself from the ceiling and floating gracefully down to the floor. Very Mary Poppins, if you do say so yourself. "[[How many]] are you two at?"

"Thirty-two," Oates says. "Twenty-nine," Hall says. "Nice," you tell them. You heard them talking before, but it wouldn't hurt to get an official report while you're here. "You've got some catching up to do, Hall." He looks at you. "I thought -" "Yeah, there's still no time limit. But, you know, for the sake of friendly competition." You shrug. "I wouldn't let Oates pull too far ahead, or else you'll never get neck-and-neck with him [[again]]."

Jenny pops her head out of the bathroom. "So, if neither of them summoned you, is there a reason you're here?" "I just like to [[watch you work->watch you]]," you say, with a shrug.

[[And really, can they blame you? They're pretty much the best act in town.->END]]

END [[INSERT COIN TO REPLAY->Start]]

He tips his half-full glass of Long Island Iced Tea at you with a smug, closed-lipped smile. You roll your eyes. //Piss off.// Oates laughs, and you let your attention slide towards the [[couple]] sitting near the center of the bar.

The lighting's dim, and you can only really see them in profile, but the guy looks a lot more at ease than he did the last time you checked in. He's grinning, telling some anecdote and toying with his bottle of beer. //[[What do you think?]]// Oates asks.

His face goes from white to red, and you can see his piggish little eyes darting around in his skull, looking for a way out. He's really starting to sweat - literally. You can see it beading on his forehead and neck. "That's -" he starts, and you know it's going to be some sort of protest, so you [[cut him off]] before he can really get going.

"You know, the girl you're with should be coming back pretty soon, and //I'd// really hate to make a scene about the drugs you put in her drink." You put one hand on his shoulder, the other in your pocket. He looks offended. "Don't fucking touch me." "[[Language]]," you say calmly.

Careful that your body is blocking it from view of the bartender, you take your hand out of your pocket, and show the football player your [[switchblade]].