M. Gaspion

“Alas! How deeply painful is all payment”

-Lord Byron

We had a great night at the Angus, one of the premiere steakhouses in the area. Then he and Hugo decided to find out who could “drink you under the table.”

Hugo won the contest, but then had to be dragged to the car by Rayleen and I. Luckily, we could put Jeff in a cab, because the management of our friend was all we could handle at the time.

Rayleen and I found it very funny that the two guys were so plastered by such a relatively small portion of alcohol. That is because both she and I are gifted with the ability to drink incredible amounts of booze and have a small rebound effect.

My body has always been resistant to chemicals of any kind. I could drink and drink and drink, and still no one in the room could detect any change. I didn’t use this to drive, because I am not an idiot. The fact is that I don’t much like feeling drunk. I suppose I am too much of a control freak and don’t like the muscular loss of control that drinking can bring. When I drink, it is because something tastes good. Amaretto, Grand Marnier and the occasional frou-frou cocktail (Mai-tai & such) are about it. Now pot is different, but that is a discussion for another time. But again drugs have little effect on me. This is good until you understand that that includes pain killers also, something that you would like to have effect you.

Now, Rayleen’s chemistry had a strangely different answer to the question of booze. She could down more alcohol than most men, but only liquor. One beer and she was wiped out. I had never met anyone who had this particular reaction, but I had seen it on more than one occasion. I even had a t-shirt made at a silk screen shop just for her. It said, “Blasted on Bud!” No one knew what it was about but us.

After our rowdy night, the office was an unusual scene.

Rayleen was bright and chipper, and I was more lively than usual, given the hour.

But 9 a.m. was not good for Hugo.

I had seen him beaten and shot before. He looked worse this morning. It was funny and pitiful at the same time.

We had to fight not to laugh as he stood with an ice pack held to his forehead. His low moan was truly heartbreaking.

“If I give you my gun, Boss,” he asked, “would you shoot me?”

I responded, “You want me to use a silencer?”

His facial reaction was absolutely serious and a bit surprised that I would have to ask, “Yes!”

“Boss!” Rayleen broke in, handing me the phone receiver, “They’ve gone to get Marcel for the call.”

“Mr. Savage?” A man with a deep voice and a French accent spoke.

“Yes?” I answered.

“Bon! I have sent my driver to bring you to me,” he said, “She should be there within 20 minutes.”

“That was unneeded,” I told him. “I have a driver. (I looked at Hugo) He is not in great shape but he should be able to get me anywhere in town.”

“Security is a great concern,” the deep voice explained. “I would not want to give my location over the phone. You see the depth of secrecy I have employed so far?”

“I certainly have.”

“I fear for my life. I have the address to locate one of the most legendary artifacts in the world, and there are those who also know and do not wish to share that knowledge,” his voice was straining, as though he were looking around furtively. “When we have recovered it, we will all be safer.

“I don’t know that . . .”

At that moment the line went dead.

The next second the lights in the office went out.

I couldn’t get a dial tone.

Somewhere in the building a multitude of gunshots could be heard, followed by breaking glass.

Hugo jumped to his feet and pulled his .45 from his holster.

Rayleen was out from behind her desk. She threw my holster and gun to me and I saw her shotgun in her other hand.

They would have to come up the stairs since there was no power to the elevator.

There were two stair wells, one on each end of the hallway.

I pointed Hugo to the southern stairs. I took the northern, and we stationed Rayleen behind a massive planted palm pot in the center, just outside our doors.

No one was going to take us by surprise.

Well, not at this point anyway.

I wondered if Hugo wanted to share the ice pack.

seymoure

The Ilium Obligation (A Matt Savage Adventure) Chapter 10

M. Gaspion

“Alas! How deeply painful is all payment”

-Lord Byron

We had a great night at the Angus, one of the premiere steakhouses in the area. Then he and Hugo decided to find out who could “drink you under the table.”

Hugo won the contest, but then had to be dragged to the car by Rayleen and I. Luckily, we could put Jeff in a cab, because the management of our friend was all we could handle at the time.

Rayleen and I found it very funny that the two guys were so plastered by such a relatively small portion of alcohol. That is because both she and I are gifted with the ability to drink incredible amounts of booze and have a small rebound effect.

After our rowdy night, the office was an unusual scene.

Rayleen was bright and chipper, and I was more lively than usual, given the hour.

But 9 a.m. was not good for Hugo.

I had seen him beaten and shot before. He looked worse this morning. It was funny and pitiful at the same time.

We had to fight not to laugh as he stood with an ice pack held to his forehead. His low moan was truly heartbreaking.

“If I give you my gun, Boss,” he asked, “would you shoot me?”

I responded, “You want me to use a silencer?”

His facial reaction was absolutely serious and a bit surprised that I would have to ask, “Yes!”

“Boss!” Rayleen broke in, handing me the phone receiver, “They’ve gone to get Marcel for the call.”

“Mr. Savage?” A man with a deep voice and a French accent spoke.

“Yes?” I answered.

“Bon! I have sent my driver to bring you to me,” he said, “She should be there within 20 minutes.”

“That was unneeded,” I told him. “I have a driver. (I looked at Hugo) He is not in great shape but he should be able to get me anywhere in town.”

“Security is a great concern,” the deep voice explained. “I would not want to give my location over the phone. You see the depth of secrecy I have employed so far?”

“I certainly have.”

“I don’t know that . . .”

At that moment the line went dead.

The next second the lights in the office went out.

I couldn’t get a dial tone.

Somewhere in the building a multitude of gunshots could be heard, followed by breaking glass.

Hugo jumped to his feet and pulled his .45 from his holster.

Rayleen was out from behind her desk. She threw my holster and gun to me and I saw her shotgun in her other hand.

They would have to come up the stairs since there was no power to the elevator.

There were two stair wells, one on each end of the hallway.

I pointed Hugo to the southern stairs. I took the northern, and we stationed Rayleen behind a massive planted palm pot in the center, just outside our doors.

No one was going to take us by surprise.

Well, not at this point anyway.

I wondered if Hugo wanted to share the ice pack.

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