Page 13 of Hell and High Water

“What?”

“Nothing.” This. He gets me as flustered as Hellena. Not at all in the same way.

“And Remus and Romulus are kickass biker names.”

“Maybe if you’re a fourteen-year-old Sci-Fi geek,” I whisper under my breath.

“I’m a twenty-seven-year-old Sci-Fi fan, Remus. Now clamp your trap or they're going to ream us.”

“I’m about to ram-you-less face first into this bar.”

“Oh! He almost manages a functional pun!” Tell elbows me in the ribs. I swear, I am going to throw him out of a moving vehicle one of these days.

Our bickering is cut short as the burly bartender comes back. “No dice. No meeting.”

“No dice? Who even says that?” Tell growls out in his scummy, gritty biker-thug dialect. “Who talks like that, I mean, right, Remo?”

The bartender glowers at us, his lip pulling back. “I talk like that, you piece of shit. Now get the fuck out of my bar before I kick you out.”

“Come on, Sal. Did he at least tell you why? I mean, I’ve got some news he really should hear…”

“Look, dickweed, the boss doesn't tell me why, doesn’t tell me shit. He doesn't have to. Because he’s the boss. He said no. And I'm starting to think that ‘no’ needs nailing home with this baseball bat.”

“Whoa, I get it, big fella. Too much heat going on all over town, am I right?’

“Yeah, something like that. Now scram and find some other sap to make a dime off.”

Tell nods slowly, taking a deep breath, sneering at the massive bartender. “You know what? I don't need this bullshit, anyway. You tell your boss when he's ready, when he realizes he’s in the dark and needs a good scout, I’ll see if I’m available.”

“Yeah, eat shit, you lummox,” I add, finally getting into the mood and character a bit more. Tell’s eyes widen as he glances my way, his neck tensing. It almost looks like he’s trying to shake his head without shaking his head.

Too far, I guess.

“Leave. Now, you twats.” Sal’s eyes are bloodshot, his face turning purple as he flexes his arms, itching to grab that baseball bat. Definitely too far.

I flex right back at him as I stand, nodding like I could use a good fight, and head toward the door. Right about the time I notice every eye in the place on us, every knuckle popping as a dozen ratty looking street gangsters clench their fists.

Whoops.

“Go, go, go,” Tell rattles softly, nearly shoving me out the door.

“Sorry,” I shrug as we hop back into Tell’s beater car.

“Eh. Not your fault. Or mine. Shit’s locked up everywhere. Nobody’s talking. It’s like the whole town knows everything is about to go South.”

“They’re not wrong.”

We drive off in uncomfortable silence. Not because we aren’t comfortable around each other. We’ve spent the last week working together, non-stop. Gathering intel. Or trying to.

A duo is easier to pass off, work off each other, at least with some of these groups. Not to mention the fact that they’re all cagey and on edge, which means someone needs to be there to have Tell’s back in case anyone decides he needs a knife in that back.

Aside from that, Tell has been helping me do research, deliver on favors, attempt to keep people calm in Sanctum, and keep the useful populace from running for the hills and causing a mass panic.

I would be lying if I said it was working very well.

People are scared. A foreign presence has infiltrated our town, but it’s impossible to pinpoint who Marco’s guys are. Every time we chase one down, they vanish, or they turn out to be one of the Holy Ghosts, using the threat of an impending invasion as a means to extort everyday people.

Worse than all of that, it seems like someone, who we have to assume is Marco Vice, is targeting key informants in Tell’s network and key providers in mine. He’s wiping out our infrastructure.

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