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The Chief watched as his men did the deed then finally shoved the girl toward Bullets with biting words that brought fifteen gun cocks filling the air behind him. Bullets didn’t need to look to know they were all aimed at Chief Barbie-Doll Head.
“Smart move,Chief,” Bullet said, putting his arm around the girl, back to staring at him. The man finally figured out they weren’t moving till he was out of their sight.
Before granting them that blessed miracle, he performed another five second glare-off then left them to it.
He turned to their Wife-Beater and greeted him with a fist to his mouth. “Pick him up and drag him,” he grit, eager to get him to interrogation to learn all about his sinful ways.
****
Bullets didn’t like the way the woman attached herself to him like a puppy or that he had to bring her home. But he couldn’t find another alternative on such short notice and didn’t think it right to subject her to more humiliation among strangers. He lived alone, he had a spare room and as one of The Twelve, his home doubled as a sanctuary to any who needed his protection. End of discussion.
“This is your room for now,” he said, opening the door to the spare. “It uh…doubles as an armory,” he muttered, eyeing the mess of ammo everywhere. “I don’t get company much,” he grumbled.
He stepped out and pointed down the hall. “That door is the bathroom. My room is that one. Knock on it if you need anything that you can’t figure out on your own. You saw the kitchen already. Eat whatever you want.” He eyed her lowered head. “They’re bringing clean clothes for you. If you want to shower, you can. What’s your name,” he wondered, needing something to call her.
She moved her gaze a foot away from him. “Mia Juni… Haraldsdottir.”
“Uh…I’ll call you Miss Mia.”
She nodded, and he noted the slight tremble in her body. Skittish? Ashamed? Traumatized? Probably all. And it boiled his blood to see a woman acting like an abused animal.
“You don’t need to be afraid here. I won’t let anybody hurt you. You’re safe.”
A knock sounded on the door, and she gasped.
“That’s probably the clothes I told you about,” he said. “Stay here if you like. I’ll be right back.”
He opened the front door and 38 handed him a brown paper bag. “From Mrs. Leblanc.” He looked around Bullets. “She alright?”
“She will be. Where’s the Wife-Beater?”
“He’s sleeping on the rack tonight.”
“Good. I’ll start dealing with him at first light. You got the Watch Em’s in place?”
“Every inch of parameter’s Hawk-Eyed. Anybody crosses our border, we’ll have em’ in our sights, quick as a hair-trigger.”
“Good. Bolt the place down, I’ll see you at the crack of dawn.”
“Aces,” 38 nodded.
“And Spades,” Bullets said, shutting the door.
He found the spare bedroom door locked and knocked softly. “Putting a bag of clothes for you—”
It opened.
“Uh…this is for you. There’s things in it. Not sure what, I didn’t look.” He handed it to her, and she took it, pulling it to her chest.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice nearly inaudible.
“You’re welcome. I’m fixing a bite to eat. I’ll make enough for you and leave it on the table in case you get hungry.”
She nodded, hugging the bag to her chest, gaze still lowered.
“Alright, I’ll leave you to it.”
He went to the kitchen and got busy, but his appetite was shot to hell after seeing her battered face again. He opened a can of spam and sliced it up then chopped an onion and garlic. He tossed fresh butter into the black iron skillet and lay the spam in it. While it browned, he grabbed two plates and the fresh bread, slathering mayo and mustard onto four slices. He removed the spam and tossed in the onions and garlic, sautéing them. Moving the onions aside in the pan, he grabbed two eggs from the basket and cracked them into the skillet.
