|
"Bananas in Space "Written By: Asymphototropic
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam wing. Author: Asymphototropic (attracted toward the
light, but never quite arrives there) Email: asymphototropic@aol.com Pairings: 1+2+3 (Preventers) Rating: NC 17 Summary: Duo's banana doesn't have a tattoo. What's
a guy to do? Warnings to date: sequels are never as good as
the original story
"Bananas in Space " Part 6.
The swelter of the L2 day cycle slammed mercilessly down upon them. Convection strata shifted the dry anthropogenic detritus, each insufferable layer hotter than the last. The penurious colony had no choice in the matter. If the structure wasn't baked to the core during the day cycle, it would freeze to death during the night shift. The street was strangely empty of life. Bad news traveled fast. A murder victim set down in the midst of the neighborhood was a good reason to stay hidden. No witnesses. Minding our own business. No need to kill us too. So went the logic. Maxwell sat cross legged on the entryway of his tenement, staring at the evidence of violent homicide visited upon it. Yuy had called the local street police as a courtesy gesture. But Preventers were first on the scene. It was clearly a Preventers case. The one cop who responded to the call obviously was a native. As the two men conferred, the L2 accent was dreadfully thick between them. Even Trowa had trouble following the conversation. "Yer ken da shiv-stiv?" the officer asked. "N'savv 'is kinny. Jes' seen tha punk hiss ownself," the phrases slipped effortlessly off Duo's lips. "W'hrabouts?" "Ganged wid' Sharpsten. Turney-joe." The cop whistled at the news. "Wid da bikkboss backin'm, shoodna'a c'm ta 'rm." "T'war a fallin' out. 'Eard Sharpsten real riley t'im, ma ownself, jes dis A.M." " 'N whyf'r dat?" The Kid grinned. "Spillt da beans ta me, ee'did. Didn fix to, but blurped da stuff shorely still. Reckon then, bikkboss loss da stuffin' mega." Trowa labored over a rough translation of the exchange: 'Do you know the knifing victim? I don't know his family. Just saw the fellow himself. Where? He was a part of the Sharpsten gang, a lawyer. With a big boss in charge, he shouldn't have come to harm. They had a disagreement. I witnessed it myself. Sharpsten was very angry at him this morning. Over what? He revealed something to me. It was unintentional, but he certainly did. I imagine the big boss really lost it ('it' being face, control, his temper, everything?)' Or something to that effect. According to the Kid, Sharpsten had killed his own legal advisor and dumped the body on Maxwell's doorstep. Trowa shook his head, shivered in the heat. An unveiled threat, extremely vicious. The cop took several photos. Then he reached a steady hand down to unbutton the jacket, revealing the torso. The bloodless body had been thoroughly gutted. Barton gasped softly. He'd heard of such things. Ritual cannibalism. Kill an enemy. Eviscerate them. Then devour the organs. "Oh yuck," said Trowa's cock. "Blech." Barton told himself quite firmly he was not going to succumb to queasiness. Food was too damn valuable to puke. And his losing face in that manner could put Maxwell in further jeopardy. Losing face. What an expression, in view of a bladed corpse. But the face was still intact. The victim clearly identified for all to see, a terrifying warning. Stare at it. Prod it. The only way to overcome this abject fear and nausea was to immerse in it, disperse it. Barton spoke aloud. "They actually cook and eat the heart and lungs and stuff? Or is that just some wildass street myth?" Maxwell grinned at him, a thoroughly dangerous expression. " 'S' truth. Seen it done m'ownself. More'n once," he nodded emphatically. He did not reveal whether he had been a partaker of said ritual feast. "Dun' wanna know," Trowa's cock protested vociferously. Yuy returned from up the stairs. Addressed the policeman. "I called Preventers' M.E. for pickup. Working on the assumption that you'd just as soon not have to deal with the remains?" He handed off cool cans of drinking water to Maxwell and Barton. Then offered one to the cop. The gray haired fellow stood. Wiped his hands carefully on a pocket handkerchief. His face flushed suddenly. An offering of water on a home threshold was an honor. Another L2 ritual. He accepted the can in both hands, head bowed. "For'ich, m'thanks," he intoned. The Kid smiled softly to himself. There was a strong instinct to kindness in Heero. It wouldn't surprise him if Yuy knew about the many water rituals on L2, had researched them thoroughly. But Duo felt the gesture was mostly of a humane nature. He winked at his friend. Or tried to, rather. The gesture reminded him of how painfully swollen that side of his face had become. Yuy drew Barton aside, muttering into his ear. Meanwhile transport arrived from Preventers HQ. The meat wagon. The driver and attendant seemed like carrion raptors just about then. "I'm going with the case," Yuy stated sternly. "Barton and you will proceed to the clinic as planned." Maxwell stood evenly on both feet, facing the two of them. " 'Dun like us splitting up just now. Not one bit," he offered determined defiance. "One of us needs to stay with the case. Its a matter of safety for all of us now, to see this through," Yuy was unflinching. "So? I'll just go along to Preventers' infirmary," Maxwell clenched his fists stubbornly. "No good," Barton intervened. "We've been over that already, remember?" He grasped Duo's arm firmly. Moved his lips against the Kid's ear. "It'll save time to go straight to the Med School. Yer wanna be in a full upright 'n locked position fer takeoff, right? Yer need a specialist pronto. No messing around. Savvy? Can't afford to be down for the count." Maxwell elbowed him back. "Can you make Yuy toe the line? Fer sure he dun listen to me. Tell'im, no going off solo? No going off half cocked?" His whisper was urgent, his expression pleading. "Yuy. You'll wait at HQ, right?" Barton's look was telegraphic. Yuy received Barton's message reluctantly. "I don't like making promises I can't keep." "You damned well better." Barton could glower with the best of them. He was beginning to see the Kid's point of view. Yuy in full mission mode, without backup. Not a pretty thought. He dropped Duo's arm to take up Heero's. He whispered furiously. "Listen. Maxwell's about all I can handle just now. You want him AWOL? If not, give him some fucking reassurance. Or I'm going to let him just have his bloody way, and to hell with it. Think about it, Yuy," he hissed. "Hn," Yuy thought about it. Then eased one notch, grudgingly. "I won't proceed without contacting you first." Barton wasn't at all sure that was enough for Maxwell. Or himself, for that matter. There came a sudden noise. The cop called out, swearing, leaping back to stumble off the steps, onto the pavement. The velvety black object that had been in his hand, escaped, flew in an artistic arc, flopped down to land on the stairs. "Dead," Maxwell announced, nudging it with his toe. "It was in his security pocket. I was just searching for I.D." The old man shuddered. They all stared silently. The gauntlet, cast down. Declaration of war. Dire warning. Prediction of doom. A dead tarantula, left upon the corpse. ~ * ~
|
