Over the course of my 27 years of existence I’ve found that when I need to sober up in a very short amount of time, there are few things that are more effective than a Prairie Oyster—and I’m not talking about fried bull testicles. Worchester sauce, tomato juice, an unbroken egg yolk, dashes of vinegar and pepper, all in one glass. Drink it all in a single chug, because that’s the only way you’ll have any chance of keeping it down. If you’re not totally alert, then it’s time to get directions to the nearest AA meeting, because you, my friend, are way too drunk for your own good.
However, there are some things that are even more effective eye-openers than a Prairie Oyster, such as half a dozen men with machine guns standing right outside of the building. Sure enough, no sooner had I told Jet and the bartender to take cover than the bullets started flying. Unfortunately, my warning came about a second too late for the bartender, who encountered a very bloody death. Jet was luckier, and managed to jump behind a vintage pinball machine that soon lost most if not all of it’s collector’s value thanks to the Red Dragons’ firearms. I, meanwhile, rolled over the counter to where our now deceased host lay.
In all honesty, I don’t know why I bothered ordering a martini—this guy clearly didn’t know how to make one. I have no idea why so many bartenders feel the need to make martinis with vodka and shake them instead of stirring them. Jet claims its because that’s the way some 100-year-old movie character liked them, so that’s become the most popular way to prepare one—but I don’t want popular martinis, I want good ones. Still, on a whim, I picked up the shaker anyway and sampled the contents—which, I now remembered, is exactly what I had done in the dream. And again, exactly like the dream, there was way too much vermouth. I tossed the shaker over the counter and started opening fire.
Within a few seconds, Jet had managed to get over to me from his spot behind the pinball machine. “Who are these guys—ugh!” A bullet suddenly tore into Jet’s leg, putting him in a lot of pain and me in a seriously creeped-out state of mind. This happened, too. He was shot by a guy standing in the doorway.
I turned and saw the guy who’d shot my partner, and was seriously considering not returning fire, because if I waited long enough… The gunman didn’t have time to fire again, because he was suddenly hit with three shots from his side. Being right is nice most of the time, but this was insane. When our rescuer showed up in the doorway, I really wanted to be surprised, but that didn’t happen.
“Shin?”
He ducked down and quickly moved beside me, the standard black trench coat uniform of the Red Dragons billowing behind him. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m almost surprised that you didn’t mistake me for Lin.” He did have a point. I’d worked much more closely with his brother when I was in the syndicate—in fact, I think I might have only met him once or twice before. Still, Shin didn’t dwell on this; given the fact that there were still gunmen to deal with, we didn’t really have the luxury of dwelling on anything. Instead he shot the guy who was clambering over the counter (I knew he’d be there).
“Once you cross this line, you can never go back to the syndicate.” I’d said something like that, too. “What happened, Shin?”
“Vicious is going to be executed.”
“Tried to pull off a coup against the elders?”
“Yeah… how did you know?”
“Educated guess.”
Fortunately, Shin seemed willing to accept this explanation (like I said, it’s hard to dwell on anything when you’re surrounded by gunfire). “Right. Anyway, the coup backfired, and now they’ve got him in the chambers, and you’re a target now, too. So is Julia.”
I was really, really beginning to hate being right. “Julia?” I’d said it before, but it was worth saying again.
Shin didn’t have time to reply directly, because he was distracted by what was either a very powerful gun blast, or a very small explosion. (Needless to say, this was pretty damn familiar, too.) “They’re in Tharsis City. I’ll cover your escape. Please, go now, while you can.”
“I owe you, Shin.”
“Good luck.”
As I dragged Jet out of the bar, I was certain that something weird was going on. Still, now wasn’t the time to think about that. Jet needed help, and I knew where to take him—and just importantly, I knew that we wouldn’t be followed, at least if my dream was anything to go on. I’d be able to start puzzling this out once I got there, I was sure of it.
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(Posted Fri, 14 Dec 2007 04:12)
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