Feisty Repartee

Domino Returns

(This is going up here so I can finish it. Enjoy!)

Break Left

Tapping the cabbie on the shoulder, he motioned for him to pull to the right, then handed him a couple of twenties as he slipped out of the car. Two steps onto the sidewalk, he paused to take a long drag and slowly surveyed his surroundings through the dim lights of the old city street.

As the seedy dampness of the cracked concrete seeped into his soles and the dank aroma of the quarter began an assault on his senses, he smiled smugly to himself.

Hell, yes! shouted that voice in his head.

Too damn long.

Then he whispered out loud. “Too got-damned long.”

Flicking the butt absently down beside him, he walked the last few blocks to LaFitte’s and deftly slipped in from the back. His small frame was barely noticeable among the shadows. Eyeing his favorite corner, he snagged a wooden chair and with one motion propped its back against a wall, assumed the seat, and rested his heels on a table. Within moments, the party occupying that table glanced at him, one another, and departed.

Shaking her head, as well as her ample hips, the matron of the establishment approached him. “What’ll it be, Yabu?”

“Mark me neat, Constance, twice even.” He replied.

Cutting her heavily painted eyes to her novice bar maid, she ordered: “Maker’s Mark, double, no ice.” Slapping his feet from the table, she sat down beside him and offered him her cigar.

Ignoring her, Yabu gazed appreciatively as the voluptuously nubile maid approached. She attempted to hand him a glass, but he tapped the table instead, wanting her to bend forward before him. When she did so, he tucked her tip deep between the exposed cleavage. Shocked at the touch, she jumped and quickly backed away. Instinctively, he knew she was hot with blush from head to toe.

Snorting derisively, the older woman warned: “Go easy, Yabu, that one is my half-brother’s bastard. He in Angola now and can’t pay tuition no more. All she has ever known is Catholic school; however, for the right persuasion I let you teach her right.”

Draining his glass, he ground out: “I’m not here for her.”

“Ahhh,” nodding her understanding, “the one you seek, then, is not here.”

Unleashing the full power of his steely blues on her, his raspy voice dropped in timbre: “Where?”

Laughing at his need and ignorance, Constance rattled the table as she heaved to her feet. “Domino will be found only when she wants to be found.”

Snaking out to grab her thick arm, he pulled the corpulent and aged prostitute to him. Nose to nose and with a blade under her left udder, he drew blood before whispering, “Where?”

Seething with fury and eyes cut to slits, she spoke slowly: “Blue moon, you bastard, blue moon.”

Hotlanta

She watched him stride from the building. His tall frame cast long shadows in the late afternoon. Despite the damp heat, he appeared fresh with a sure spring to his steps.

Always the night owl, she thought with a twinge of melancholy and guilt.

Folding his long legs into an Asian import, he quickly navigated the parking lot and pulled onto a side street, rather than a main drag. Keeping a safe distance, she waited several long moments, before following suit.

First stop was Barnes & Noble at Gwinnett Place. After an hour, there was a quick drop at Blockbuster, closely followed by a pick up from Lin’s Chinese.

“Not bad for a Thursday night.” She whispered to herself.

Driving through the iron gates of an apartment complex, he soon disappeared behind several rows of buildings and trees. Checking her watch, she pulled away without another glance.

Blue Moon

He had traveled little more than a block when the hair on his arms and neck began to tingle. Wrapped in his tormented thoughts he had foolishly disregarded the usual precautions.

Chiding himself, he absently lit up and glanced at a street post. He was approaching rue Dauphine and Dumaine. Furrowing his brow, he wondered if he headed east whether he might be able to find that place Domino kept all those years ago.

“Monsieur, a sweet voice urgently beckoned as a slender hand touched his arm. “Monsieur Yabu. Wait, s'il vous plait.”

His gaze followed the fingers up the arm, and rested briefly on the deep cleavage of her breasts before halting on the pleading blue-green eyes. Despite the beauty and youth of her face, it was the breasts he remembered. He also noted the absence of his tip there.

“Well, well, what does Constance want now?” He drawled.

Her eyes darted quickly behind them as she pulled him around the corner with her. “No, no, Monsiuer, mon tante did not send me, non.”

Releasing his arm from her clasp and turning away, he finished: “If you say so, darlin’.”

With eyes widening and her voice rising, she insisted: “Oh, non Monsieur, un seconde, s'il vous plait! You are in danger. I make you un marche’,” she pleaded, “a transaction, a bargain!”

Losing patience, Yabu spun around and pinned her to a wall. “Listen to me, little girl, YOU have nothing to bargain with. Your aunt is a snake and will slit your throat as quickly as she will mine. Now turn tail and tell that broken down old cow to fuck off.”

“Please, listen! She rang for someone as soon as you left. She say you were here looking for that woman. Take me with you. It’s only a matter of time before she sells me to high bidder. I have been here three days. Saturday night I go on the block. Oh, please…”

Releasing her, he asked: “Who did she call?”

“Me, I don’t know.”

“Where’s Joe?”

“Joe?” she stammered.

“Joe, the piano player. Where the hell is Joe?”

“Me, I don’t know no Joe. The guys who play music at tante’s also play somewhere in Algiers. I heard ‘em talk. I think it go by ‘The Dive’.”

Minuit

Dusk to dawn lights from the nearby parking lot cast a dim yellowy glow across the room, just enough to outline the living room and dining area which opened up from her perch in the kitchen. Sliding down from the window, she dropped her shoes and bag quietly to the floor.

Stepping over a corpulent cat which acknowledged her presence with a slight flick of his tail, she sat on the edge of an overstuffed sofa. Casually rifling through the manual-laden coffee table she noted Linux and other computer language and code material, as well as a graphic novel or two. One title caught her eye: 100 Bullets, Vol. 9: Strychnine Lives. Pulling it from the pile, she switched a lamp on low and settled in, trying to remember the last time she had read anything for pleasure.

The visions of Agent Graves, a brief case, and vengeance were abruptly shattered by the bewildered voice of one man standing bare before her: “Whaaa? Whaaa?? What are you doing here? How did? How did you get in?”

Removing a different hefty feline from her lap and returning the comic to the coffee table, she straightened and tried to wake fully. “Hello, Zee,” she purred and with a side long glance drank in all of his appearance before heading toward the kitchen, “You know, if you are going to sleep with your windows open, you might want to invest in a pair of pajamas, not that I am complaining.”

Flustered, he addressed both cats: “Geez, guys, you could have let me know we had company.”

Once fully dressed he emerged to join her in his kitchen. “So, what brings you here?”

Sipping her tea, she answered: “I missed you. Can I make you some coffee?”

“I’m not buying that.”

“You already have, it’s right here in the cabinet.”

“No, not the coffee. Why are you really here?”

“I require your assistance, of course.”

Shaking his head, he asserted: “You know I’m out. I’m clean. All that is behind me.”

Placing her hand over his, she squeezed it gently. “I do know. This isn’t business, this is personal. I just need your help writing some software codes. I don’t really want you to hack anything.”

Still wary, he inquired: “What kind of script?”

“Just a loop. I basically need to insert a loop into a system to show everything is status quo.”

Unconvinced, he could not keep himself for asking: “A loop so you can download the information you need and run?”

“Actually,” she countered, “I need to correct a small bit of data so when it backs up, it will save over the old information. Very simple, you see.

“No,” he stated, “I am not going to take on any financial institutions.”

Taking a deep breath she closed her eyes for a moment before continuing: “No, Zee. No banks. The target is the Vital Records Registry in New Orleans.”

She could almost see the cogs turning as he assessed his exposure. She could feel him warming to the challenge. She even thought she saw his fingers twitch with excitement.

“Even if you could overwrite the information, there are still hardcopies, possibly even microfilm…”

Interrupting him with a wave of her hand, “I have that covered.”

“You of all people should know, Domino, there are other ways to change your identity with far less risk.” He offered.

“Will you help me?” She asked.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Slipping on her shoes, she rinsed her cup in the sink and gathered her bag. Kissing him on the cheek, she winked and strode out the door as the first rays of the sun stretched across the morning.

Posted by Christina at October 10, 2007 09:21 AM

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