Cyber Kittens and Cowboys (18 page)

Pamela requests, pleadingly. “Who is BOA?
What’s this all about, Geneva?”

“He’s dead now….finally.” Geneva eye burns
red dirt clay, then Pamela. “But, I do need extra help, darling. I
can’t do what I need alone this round. You’re a smarty, Stockton
called ya right.”

“NO.” Pamela yells, loudly, crosses arms over
chest.

“Defiance and smarty, pick up the shovel,
start digging…” Geneva shuffles Southeast direction, points, rudely
with gun barrel at last spot of Thurston’s alive body. “…over here.
Now!”

Pamela lifts, heavily full size shovel,
walks, slowly to spot & digs, carefully where invisible line
shoots from gun barrel. “What am I digging for?”

“You’ll see.”

“Come on, Geneva, tell me, spill the
fun.”

Geneva grins, toothy. “OK? A box.”

“Box of monkey’s. Not right!” Pamela giggles,
silly. “That’s a barrel of monkeys. Maybe, a box of crackers or a
box of Cracker Jack’s, the sweety, tasty treats.”

“You talk…way too much, Pamela. How about
silent while digging?”

“Only if you shoot me with that gun. What’s
this all about, Geneva?”

“Box of cracker Jack’s, very apropos. It’s
the prize inside I’m seeking.” Geneva chuckles, silly.

“O! So, you do know the prize. Is it gold
nuggets, paper bonds, silver coins? What else is small but worth
millions of dollars? How about….uh?” She grunts, heavily lifting
dirt, talks, rudely. “Manual labor sucks.” Geneva laughs, hardy.
Pamela guesses, loudly. “Small but valuable… found it!”

Geneva gasps, nosily, exclaims, loudly,
steps, closely. “Found it…where?”

“Found it…in my brains.” Pamela points to her
skull, giggles, lightly.

“Dig faster, Pamela.”

“When you get mad or upset, Geneva, you use a
person’s first name instead of last name?”

“I don’t know their pet names, darling. But,
tell me! What’s your lover’s pet name you cry during…?”

“Preston!”

“YO.” Deep baritone trombone voices, loudly
from Southern corner of Chalk Cave as Preston appears, magically
with Dewy. Pamela drops shovel, steps, gingerly toward Preston.

Geneva points, rudely gun at her. Preston
stops 20 feet, suddenly with hands in air. Pamela kneels,
immediately, eye burns gun. Geneva shrieks, obnoxiously. “I killed
you.”

Preston talks, casually. “Wall got injured
does that make ya feel meaner, Geneva?”

“The hero?” Geneva hisses, serpentine.

“The bitch!” Preston rumbles deep baritone
trombone. He kneels to dog, pats, tenderly furry head, points,
rudely at Pamela. “Hey, look Dewy! Pamela’s here, playing in the
dirt just like you, buddy. Protect Pamela!” Husky gallops to her
legs, then jumps into her face, licking & pawing her body
parts, happily.

Pamela rubs his furry body with both hands.
“Hi, Dewy! Glad to see both…my men, here.”

Geneva poses, admiringly, sways gun at her.
“So, Pamela, are you dating boy wonder here?” She tilts, angularly
skill as Dewy body twists, directly at Geneva, growls,
threateningly.

“Shut up, bitch!” Preston eye burns her,
orders, commandingly. “Release Pamela, I’ll do

anything you want.”

Geneva decides, quickly. “No, Pamela wants to
stay and see the prize.”

“You don’t know where the diamonds are
either, bitch.” Preston claims, boldly.

“You do?”

Preston nods, once. “I do, bitch.”

“I think you know half of the info I require.
So, we should share?”

“Fine, I’ll obey ya, bitch, if you release
Pamela freely.”

“She stays. However, you can take her place.
Move out of the way, Pamela.” Geneva sways gun at her face. Pamela
and Dewy pace, sideways out of gun range.

Preston shuffles, slowly to shovel, lifts,
easily, digs, carefully in red clay. “You’re the triple agent.
Thurston, the double agent. But you double-crossed him and me.”
Geneva smiles, victoriously. Preston grunts, heavily, digs, slowly,
continues. “Ya see, Thurston toted that box in right hand since
he’s lefty with a gun. When you blow his ass to Pluto, body parts
scattered in different geographical directions. You need glasses,
bitch or you didn’t really know Thurston that well.”

“You didn’t know Thurston that well.” Geneva
offers, swiftly.

“I suspect ya’ll communicated passing love
notes.” Preston guesses.

“He serviced me…very well.” Geneva sways gun
in air.

“What’da ya use C-4?” Preston eye burns
Geneva, inquires, curiously.

“Gave him new armor vest with some punch.”
Geneva spits, literally saliva, squawks, loudly.

“Your face got some of that punch as well.”
Preston laughs, hardy.

Geneva touches, tenderly scarred cheekbone.
“Caught in the backlash of explosion, running.”

Preston drops shovel. “Tough shit, bitch!” He
squats to clay, calls, softly. “Dewy, come here, boy.” Preston
pulls torn fabric from coat jacket. Dewy sniffs, nosily cloth.

“What’s that?” Geneva demands, surly.

“What’s left of Thurston’s jacket sleeve…”
Preston informs. Dewy’s nose sniffs dirt, walks, slowly, then
gallops in southeastern direction away from Preston, Geneva.
Preston points, rudely at dog. “His hand’s that way….”

Dewy digs, viciously into dry clay with paws,
unearths, slowly an object behind dirt. Preston compliments, pats,
roughly. “Good boy, Dewy. Protect Pamela.” Dewy obeys, faithfully,
halts, twists in front of girl. Preston bents down, clears more
dirt from object as Geneva watches, impatiently. Preston snarls,
lightly. “Here…your precious prize.” Geneva squats, swiftly,
ratchets box from hole, lays on dirt. Preston points, rudely
Southern direction of cave, orders, protectively. “Return, Dewy.
Follow him…”

Geneva raises, swings Colt .45 at Pamela.
“No!”

“You got both…prize and me, Geneva.” Preston
holds, vertically arms and hands in air, freely. Geneva swings gun
at Preston, grins, toothy. Preston demands, protectively. “Return,
Dewy. Pamela follow Dewy, he’ll lead you out of here.”

“Preston?” Pamela moans, sadly.

“Everything’s fine, Pamela. Go with Dewy,
you’ll be safe. I promise.” Preston orders, protectively. Geneva
lifts shovel, slams tip into box, smashes wood into pellets and
dust, lifts 6 inches X 5 inches in free hand, examines contents,
gasps, nosily.

“Empty, bitch?” Preston boasts, loudly,
laughs. Hard.

“What?”

“Kinda like your Colt .45, family heirloom,
Geneva?” Preston taunts, mysteriously.

“Where are the diamonds, BOA?”

“Gimme your tattle tail source, now. Then,
I’ll tell location of real diamonds, Geneva.”

“Tattle tail source, why, now, why
important?” She pauses, dramatically, arches eyebrow, left. “Ya
know, we can find the diamonds, together, share the prize. No one
will suspect.”

“Too dumb, bitch to act alone. I want the
mastermind of your crimes for killing Thurston, murdering Ashley,
Larry and Stockton.”

“Where are the diamonds?” Geneva demands,
viciously.

“You’re alive…well sorta. Money’ll help your
bad looks.” He scratches finger pads against dusted whiskers,
grins, toothy.

“You might be the mastermind, Preston,
playing me? How are your involved, darling?”

“Just an innocent country bumpkin from the
farm, first assignment from FBI…”

“Like me?”

“You ain’t innocent, bitch.”

“I’ll tattle tail, only if you promise the
location of diamonds.” Preston nods, once. “There were 4

double crossing agents on that stake out. Me,
Thurston, and Ashley…”

“Paul.” Preston fills, completely.

“You don’t know that, Preston.” Geneva
snarls, ugly.

“I can guess good.” Preston grins,
toothy.

“You’re a shit ass, Preston.” Geneva barks,
nasty.

“Many times over.” He grins, toothy. “Ya see,
bitch. We figured out Thurston’s one of the bad guys. Did me a
favor, Geneva…killing him, thank ya, kindly.” He smiles, sweetly.
Geneva grunts, loudly. “Poor Ashley got caught in your surprise
deadly explosion then you disappeared off my radar for two long
years, showed up at Cyber Crimes as director…” He shakes, sideways
black skull. “Then, I’ll be damn.”

“You discovered me?”

“Naw, bitch. I just hate your guts, nothing
personally, Geneva.” Preston smirks, handsomely.

Geneva shakes, sideways blonde skull, blinks,
twice eyelids. “I am totally confused, Preston.”

“Picture this, bitch. Dewy’s my best friend,
Pamela’s my girl. So, I love and protect both of them to the
death.”

“And…this involves the diamonds…how?”

“I saw Thurston, Ashley with a stray puppy
that day…in here for the exchange of American technology data with
diamonds. Fake American techno data, did ya know that, bitch?”
Preston laughs, hardy. Geneva parts, widely red lips. Preston
continues, soberly. “Thurston fires pistol at you, misses. You
disappear. I chase after and catch that puppy. Then, I hear
explosion echo inside this cave.” He pauses, dramatically. Geneva
lowers gun, slightly. “I return upon seeing Ashley covered in red
clay. Thurston blown into body parts, scattered everywhere. Ashley
chants over and over. ‘Find it’.”

“She barked exclamation in physician’s
office.”

“Yeah, she did. Ashley is sick…mentally sick
in the head…unlike, you, crazy sick in the head.” He pauses,
dramatically. “Ashley was covered in dirt on fours, scratching the
earth for…that damn box.”

“Ashley knew about the diamonds.”

“You mentioned it first, four double-crossing
agents, triple-crossing each other.” Preston chuckles, lightly.
“Ya’ll got your just rewards.”

“The diamonds?”

“Yeah! My puppy named Dewy finds the box
along with Thurston’s right hand. See, told ya, he was a lefty,
holding the gun. When blast imploded this body, his forearm, hand
and box landed over there where Dewy dug out the box…two years
later.”

“You stole the diamonds.” Geneva gasps,
nosily, relays, quickly, whips Colt .45 at Preston.

Preston grins, toothy. “You and me just like
the Wild, Wild West, bitch.” He holds palms vertically in air. She
aims, accurately at him.

Geneva yells, angrily. “I want them…now.”

“Be fair, Geneva. Gun in hostler, or your
pants, then we shoot on…three.”

“I shoot you…now.” She fires as bullet
launching to red clay. THUD!

“Shit happens!” Preston smirks, nasty, calls,
loudly. “My draw?” Preston glides Barrett pistol from back muscles,
aims, accurately, fires single bullet directly between her
eyebrows. Geneva tumbles, wildly & flings, weirdly arms and
hands then drops, solidly on back muscles as last breathe
expires.

Arthur calls, loudly, advances, quickly into
cave. “Preston? You okay, buddy?”

Preston eye burns him. “Too late, Arthur. I
proclaim self-defense, man.” Preston struts, manly, stands over
Geneva, eye burns ugly face and dead body. He kneels, swiftly,
removes box from hand, stands, swiftly, walks to hold, re-buries
box, prays, silently over Thurston’s skeleton hand.

“Damn, I’m not filling out the FBI paperwork,
Preston.” Arthur moans, loudly.

8:16 pm. Monday. Federal Building,
Birmingham. Alabama. 89*F. Sunny.

Preston wraps steel biceps, protectively
around Pamela, educates, truthfully, sitting together in Cyber
Crimes office. “Geneva was double agent. Thurston was triple agent
working for himself.”

“How ya survive, Preston?” Arthur inquires,
curiously.

Preston explains. “Geneva’s a lefty holding
and firing the gun, weakly being only a sorry-assed trained
programmer, rather than real US bad ass spy…like us.” Arthur
chuckles, lightly. Preston continues. “Colt cowboy holds six
rounds. She shot 2 each in Dr. Kirby and receptionist…”

“Four.” Arthur counts, loudly, marks on
notepad.

Preston informs. “Then, she switched fully
loaded second Colt to her left strong hand, murdering… poor Ashley
and Stockton with lucky single shots, then Larry with two
bullets.”

“Four plus four is eight, Preston.” Arthur
frowns, ugly, marks data on notepad.

“You forget Geneva wounded the wall.” Preston
boasts, bossy, grins, toothy.

“That bullet fired, intended and missed at
you, bro.” Arthur reminds, curtly.

“Of course! Two years ago, Geneva returned
single fire at Thurston in Chalk Cave, missing, of course.” Preston
informs, historically.

Arthur reviews hand written notes, counts,
double-counts bullets, silently, talks, confusingly. “Total adds to
10 bullets. Did she fire twice at Thurston that day?”

Preston smirks, lightly, tattles, lastly.
“Shot a rat in cave when Dewy and I chased after her successful
escape.”