Two for the Moneyby euhal allen |
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| part 2 of 3 |
Quorn Sulti tipped the glass and chugged down his third Scotch in as many minutes.
“Sir,” admonished Hensin, “alcohol usually just makes worry more evident. You will be meeting with the board in a few minutes and you must be cheerful and confident, you know.”
“Yes,” replied Sulti, “but it has been a number of weeks since you sent my daughter out on this mission and we still have not heard from her. Sometimes I have to wonder if a stamp collection is worth it all.”
“A stamp collection, Sir! The Martio-Jovian Philatelic Society is the preeminent philatelic institution in the Galaxy. We, sir, carry in our collection and in the library that deals with that collection, the history of the Galaxy. Worth it, sir? It is worth it if nothing else is. And, you know that Sidris feels the same way.”
“Yes, Hensin, of course. But I am not just a philatelist, I am also a father.”
* * *
Sidris was becoming quite familiar with the man in the cell opposite, and enjoyed many short conversations — when there seemed to be no one watching — and learned many small things about the organization that was holding her prisoner.
The man in the cell opposite only learned that Sidris was a typical spoiled rich girl who had read too many books about too many fantastic adventures and was longing for one of her own. He also learned that the thing that made the girl most angry about her imprisonment was that her purse, along with its make-up kit, had been taken from her and she knew that she looked “a fright” without it. It was a subject he soon became excessively tired of.
His reports to his superiors, accompanied by the recordings of their conversations, were becoming less and less interesting each day. So, in order to induce her to speak of other things, after very careful examination, the purse and its make-up contents were returned to her — minus anything that smacked of electronics.
Having gained one small victory, and having to wear the same dress day after day, Sidris began to talk of how she missed her wardrobe and how this or that piece of clothing made her feel. Then she would talk of how this color would match that color and how this garment would enhance, or detract from, another garment. It was all very interesting and never very vital to those listening.
Eventually those listening began to tune out such things and determined to just record what she said for later retrieval, setting their equipment to monitor — and alert them — only when something new might be spoken of.
That alert never came.
* * *
They brought in the strange Northerner tightly bound and gagged — not the customary way such ones were brought in, but the usual drugs had not seemed to affect him, and his fighting skills were enough to keep several of the members busy. Indeed, had he not slipped in a bit of water and fallen hard on the road, he would have bested his antagonists and gotten away, causing the I Ho Ch’uan thugs a serious loss of face.
Such a thing was not well accepted by the I Ho Ch’uan and always called for serious remediation. It would not do well for the people to lose respect for the I Ho Ch’uan.
Now, sitting in an extremely and purposefully uncomfortable chair, his gag was removed and the questions started — and in the tongue he had been using.
“You are looking for rich Occidental girl. Why?”
“Money.”
“Money from whom?”
“Why ask? Find the girl and get the money. What does it matter who gives it?”
“Just so. It is not a good thing to become involved in I Ho Ch’uan business. Those who do find themselves in uncomfortable situations.
“Since you want to find the girl, you shall. We have been watching you and we know that you understand her speech. You shall know the blessing of her endless prattle.
“Let Ling Chou out and send him back to his regular assignment. Put this barbarian in the cell across from the girl he seeks. Soon, he will wish we had been kinder and used the water torture instead.”
* * *
Sir Rupert Ollney sat at his desk and stewed over the problem before him. “Fenton, are you sure that there have been no reports on where that woman has gone?”
“No, sir.” Fenton answered, “she eluded us some time ago and we have had no clue as to her whereabouts since. And, sir...”
Sir Rupert waited for Fenton to continue, then, angrily said, “‘And, sir’ what?”
“It would seem, Sir Rupert, that Charlie Littlebear has also disappeared. Johnson was following him when he went into an alley and disappeared.”
“Both of them are on the loose and you didn’t tell me! Fenton, you idiot.”
“Since I was unaware of it myself until just minutes ago, I couldn’t inform you, sir. I have alerted Security and doubled the guard around the Institute and I sent Wheeler and Grossman to Hong Kong to try and pick up their trail.”
“And Johnson?”
“He has been transferred to guard duty outside your arctic hunting igloo.”
* * *
Sidris watched as they brought the strange native in and placed him in the cell opposite her, releasing its former prisoner — who smiled at her and gave a little bow — and sending him, alone, down the hallway towards the stairs that led to the world outside.
The new prisoner had not looked too well, with bruises covering the flesh that showed and the rest of his body concealed with clothes made of dirty rags. “Perhaps,” she thought, “they are being a little gentler with me than I realized. I shall have to encourage that to continue, if possible.”
A little later, as the prisoner seemed to be coming around, Sidris heard the low rhythm of a song and what seemed to her to be the words, “Weiß nicht wie gut ich dir bin.” Her face reddened a little at the message and, feeling a bit sad at some of the things that they had to do in their work, she sat down and began to think of the next steps needed to complete their mission.
* * *
Sidris waited until she was sure the prisoner in the other cell was fully awake and, assuming he was possibly a fashion lover, began to talk, as she had of the former prisoner, of the clothes she missed and make-up that had been returned to her.
The prisoner in the other cell only grunted at her friendly efforts and did his best to cover his ears — all of which was captured by the guards, who, having heard all this before, began to feel a little sorry for man in the cell. They could, at end of shift, could escape, but the prisoner had more than bars 24/7 to contend with.
Sidris talked on and on about the lovely dresses she had in her closet at her home and began describing them in detail until, as she praised her blue velvet evening gown, the man opposite her yelled “quiet.” “Blue,” she thought, “how interesting.” Then she went on, only switching to other types of clothes that were just right for ‘the season’ at home.
After an insufferable amount of time — the other prisoner not responding to any of that talk — she began to describe her make-up kit to him, covering every color and type of powder and got no response until she mentioned the black eyeliner.
“Quiet, woman!”
Next she began to describe the various brushes and cosmetic pads in the kit, giving the needed details as to how and where each was most useful. She had barely gotten past the eyebrow pencils and starting on the applications brushes, when the inmate of the cell opposite shouted, “Woman you have the mouth of a river, always open and always flowing!”
At that, Sidris, obviously very hurt at the rebuff, forced some tears from her eyes and some sobs from her throat, and sat angrily on her cot, her back to the cell across the hall.
* * *
In the other cell the prisoner ripped a rectangular piece of fabric from his shirt and poured a little of his drinking water on it and then wiped his brow with it.
Having done what he could to get the sweat off his itching forehead, he tossed the fabric under his cot, then sat down on the cot between the unwanted fabric and the cell’s camera and began to clean the dirt from beneath his fingernails, rubbing the unwanted filth into other dirty spots on his pants.
Fingernails clean he picked up the plastic water bottle supplied by his jailers and began to drink. Suddenly having to cough, he found himself spurting the water out of his mouth and down his chest, making his clothing a soggy mess that he would have to sleep in.
* * *
In her cell, Sidris was busy brightening her mood with her make-up kit. Looking into the built in mirror, she tried one shade of eye shadow after another, carefully cleaning her brush each time so that the colors did not get mixed in any way. It only accomplished getting her little waste tray cluttered with bits of color powders and the occasional brush fiber.
Tiring of the eye stuff, she began to do her lips, but the lipstick tube she first chose was stuck and she could not get a good cover on her lips so she decided to take it apart and fix it. Soon, bits of lipstick were added to the little waste tray as she sought to get the gooey stuff off her fingers and out from under her nails, one of which, with an outcry of frustration, she broke.
Then, the cell not being equipped with the nice soft cosmetic cleaning pads she liked to use, she tore a small, rectangular piece of cloth from her slip and, after getting it a bit wet, began to scrub the mess off of her hands.
That not being very successful, she threw the cloth under her cot and lowered herself to actually use some of the paper product that was in the cell for sanitary purposes.
All in all, those watching on their security screens had an entertaining evening.
* * *
Sir Rupert Ollney did his best impression of a Cheshire cat when he heard the news; “They have captured both of them? That vile Sidris and her ugly husband? Oh, won’t they look good sprouting bamboo? A-ha a-ha a-ha.”
“Yes, Sir Rupert,” said Fenton, “they are being held in some sort of dungeon and our contact in that organization indicates the there are very intricate plans for their future.”
“Fenton! Surely you don’t mean that they may kill them. That cannot be for that is to be my pleasure and my pleasure alone. Contact those I Ho Ch’uan people and offer to buy them for us. Whatever it takes.
“I am quite sure that we have a cellar somewhere that can be made to accommodate them for the special ‘social interaction’ I should like to indulge in. Do it, Fenton.”
“I have, Sir Rupert, already done so, and they deny that they have them and have rebuffed any offer for their acquisition. I even offered them a collection of Philatelic gems from the ‘Hundred Flowers’ campaign — not our prize specimens, of course — and they refuse all contact with us.”
“Then, Fenton, get the Rim Force in from the home system and send them. But make sure that our men know that I want those two alive.”
* * *
“Sir, it has been confirmed, the I Ho Ch’uan has them in their custody.”
“Really, Hensin, and how was that confirmed?”
“Our contact in Sir Rupert’s people let it out. It seems that Sir Rupert wants to go in and kidnap them from the Chinese and take them to his rather inadequate dungeon.”
“Of, course,” said Quorn Sulti, “Sir Rupert, the man who has more money than brains — not that such a thing is much of an accomplishment in his case — and do you have any information as to when this event is to take place?”
“Almost immediately, Sir. Sir Rupert has sent for his Rim Force. We may have to abort the present plan in order to be out of the way before Sir Rupert’s catastrophic planning style gets us all in a pickle.”
“Well,” replied Sulti, “you have to give Sir Rupert some credit; he always finds a way to make his next failure bigger than the last one.
“And, we at least, have a new track on Sidris and Charlie. I wonder if those I Ho Ch’uan people really knows what is going to happen to them?”
“Oh, Sir, and do you know?”
“No, but I am looking forward to the report.”
* * *
Sidris spent the day with her make-up kit, putting on one face after another and then, in disgust, removing each in order to put on another.
The guards in the screen room wondered if all non-Chinese women were as empty-headed as she was, and found themselves laughing at her attempts at beauty. Still, her antics at least relieved the usual boredom of guard duty.
By contrast watching the pictures from the male’s cell was like watching sawdust rot, and, so, the guards found themselves spending more time spying on Sidris, exactly as she hoped they would.
Already the trash pile in the corner was growing with discarded, make-up smudged tissues from the overt quest for cosmetic perfection that someone of them would have to enter the cell to remove. Even now the guards were arguing among themselves as to who would have to do that job; arguments that could even be heard in the cells.
Hearing that commotion and guessing that the screens covering his cell would not be watched at the moment, Charlie Littlebear reached under his cot and pulled the rag he had thrown there earlier. Only it was no longer just a rag; from the water he had earlier spilled on it, it had curled into a nice useful, hard fabric tube.
Concealing the tube inside his shirt, Charlie got up and walked over to his cell door, and shouted, “Stupid woman, stop playing and let the guards sleep. Their noise keeps me awake!”
Sidris, angry now, grabbed some of the make-up smeared tissues and wadded them up into little balls, squirted water on them making them hold together, and screaming, “Here, it is your turn to play,” threw several of them through her cell door window at her antagonist, hitting him in the face.
Charlie wiped them off his face, carefully concealing three of them, and threw the rest back at her. Not having as good an aim as the female prisoner, he at least got the pleasure of seeing one of the guards having to clean up the resultant mess.
* * *
Copyright © 2010 by euhal allen
