I don’t even get a chance to apologize as Perri’s right wing shot out and she delivers me the harpy equivalent of an open-handed slap.
Yeah- I definitely had that coming.
“You ass! What are you even doing!?” Perri hisses as I rub my cheek. Even though she doesn’t raise her voice, the harpy’s anger is still palpable.
Well, damn- that’s the million dollar question right there.
“Perri….I can explain….” I begin, but she cuts me off as her left wing shoots out and I’m on the receiving end of another harpy-slap.
Come on now- I can’t explain if she’s going to keep smacking me. Still, I should be extremely glad she hasn’t decided to use her talons or capoeira acumen on me.
“What’s wrong with you!?” she asked, never raising her voice, but making her agitation quite apparent.
Nope- not gonna dignify that question with a response. I keep quiet as I suddenly catch a whiff of formaldehyde.
“You’re making this too easy, Custer.” a voice familiar taunted.
God damn it- of course it had to be Zombina. FUCK! That smirking ginger zombie had to be enjoying every moment of this.
“Tell that chopper to move to the assembly area- I can’t fly five feet thanks to the rotor wash!” the cupid barked to somebody over the radio.
“Ma’am- this is a crime scene.” I can hear one of the other officers say. “I’m going to have to ask you to keep back.”
Only she wasn’t talking to Zombina.
“Hold up! Hold up!” another familiar voice called out.
The pushy raccoon-dog drew incredulous glares from the cupid and zombie as she made her way through the police cordon as though she was daring anybody to stop her.
“I’m sure you girls would get in really big trouble with the U.S. Attorney’s Office if their big case got thrown out because my client was roughed up while in your custody.” Akagane continued, looking around reproachfully at Bina, the cupid and other officers still in tactical gear.
“You broke my nose,” wheezed Snake as he stumbled back. He was clutching his nostrils as blood gushed down into his mouth. He spit out viscera as he pointed at Marin Le Tiec. “Why the fuck-” He reeled back again as the smaller Frenchman lunged past his accusation like a dog unleashed. A straight punch from Marin’s left drilled into Snake’s ribcage. It broke a few lower rib bones and elicited second, shallower gasp from Snake as his bulk crumbled onto the gravel parking lot of the Silver Bar. “What- what do?” The beleaguered ranch hand uttered between desperate gasps. Marin tossed something the size of an unfolded wallet to Snake. Under the pall of the Bar parking lot’s dim lamppost, Snake squint and tried to make out what it was. The pain kept the answer just out of reach despite its alarming familiarity.
“Don’t recognize your handiwork?” Marin asked in his best Midwest impression. He grabbed the birch-core, Lousiana Slugger from his back. He choked up on the grip as he saw the American batters do just before stepping up to the plate. He tested it with a swing above Snake’s head. The sound it as it cleaved through the air reminded Marin of a whooshing plane taking off next to him.