Killing Time
Predator Press
[Mr Insanity]
Lindsay Lohan opened the plain unmarked envelope, and procured a piece of paper.
She unfolded it to find only two words, made up of glued magazine letters:
C oP P e R hEA d
fl O T il La
This was code for some very bad news.
Immediately, she dialed a memorized phone number she hoped she never would have to.
"This is Number Four," answered a digitally disguised voice.
"Where is Number Two?" asked Lindsay.
There's a brief pause. Then the sound of a phone in motion.
Like it's being hung up.
Lindsay smacked her forehead softly; she had forgotten to identify herself.
"There are raccoons in the barn," she added quickly.
"Hm," says the voice. "Are you on a secure line Number One?"
"Yes of course," replied Lindsay. "Now where is Number Two?"
"Number Two was slain a few hours ago."
Shit
"What happened?" asked Lindsay coolly.
"We're not sure yet ma'am."
"Not sure yet?" demanded Lindsay. "Have you any conception how much you time-traveling bodyguard ninjas are costing me?"
"Yes ma'am," replied the voice with detectable nervousness. "Number Two was on assignment to assassinate LOBO as planned. LOBO and an unknown subject were coming out of a restaurant, and Number Two reported he was about to move on the target. That's the last we heard from him."
"How do you know he's not in deep cover still following the target?" asked Lindsay.
"We found his body ma'am. He had a large Dennys serving tray imbedded in his skull. Judging by the angle and velocity, we calculate that the killshot was hurled from the window of a vehicle, most likely a 2007 Cadillac of some sort."
"This is very unfortunate Number Four," says Lindsay. "Unfortunate and very, very sloppy."
"Yes ma'am-"
Lindsay hung up, and sat on the corner of the bed.
Well well, LOBO, she thought. By killing Number Two, you were obviously a much more formidable enemy than I might have suspected.
Opening her closet, she peered at the series of pictures.
Gerald R. Ford, Chuck Yeager, and Charles Nelson Reilly already had large black 'Xs' drawn over them.
This left only LOBO and David Hyde Pierce.
"We will meet again, LOBO," she promised the photo softly. Crumpling the cryptic envelope and note, she threw them in a metal waste paper basket.
And watching the small fire, she repeated, "Indeed LOBO. We shall meet again."
[Mr Insanity]
Lindsay Lohan opened the plain unmarked envelope, and procured a piece of paper.
She unfolded it to find only two words, made up of glued magazine letters:
fl O T il La
This was code for some very bad news.
Immediately, she dialed a memorized phone number she hoped she never would have to.
"This is Number Four," answered a digitally disguised voice.
"Where is Number Two?" asked Lindsay.
There's a brief pause. Then the sound of a phone in motion.
Like it's being hung up.
Lindsay smacked her forehead softly; she had forgotten to identify herself.
"There are raccoons in the barn," she added quickly.
"Hm," says the voice. "Are you on a secure line Number One?"
"Yes of course," replied Lindsay. "Now where is Number Two?"
"Number Two was slain a few hours ago."
Shit
"What happened?" asked Lindsay coolly.
"We're not sure yet ma'am."
"Not sure yet?" demanded Lindsay. "Have you any conception how much you time-traveling bodyguard ninjas are costing me?"
"Yes ma'am," replied the voice with detectable nervousness. "Number Two was on assignment to assassinate LOBO as planned. LOBO and an unknown subject were coming out of a restaurant, and Number Two reported he was about to move on the target. That's the last we heard from him."
"How do you know he's not in deep cover still following the target?" asked Lindsay.
"We found his body ma'am. He had a large Dennys serving tray imbedded in his skull. Judging by the angle and velocity, we calculate that the killshot was hurled from the window of a vehicle, most likely a 2007 Cadillac of some sort."
"This is very unfortunate Number Four," says Lindsay. "Unfortunate and very, very sloppy."
"Yes ma'am-"
Lindsay hung up, and sat on the corner of the bed.
Well well, LOBO, she thought. By killing Number Two, you were obviously a much more formidable enemy than I might have suspected.
Opening her closet, she peered at the series of pictures.
Gerald R. Ford, Chuck Yeager, and Charles Nelson Reilly already had large black 'Xs' drawn over them.
This left only LOBO and David Hyde Pierce.
"We will meet again, LOBO," she promised the photo softly. Crumpling the cryptic envelope and note, she threw them in a metal waste paper basket.
And watching the small fire, she repeated, "Indeed LOBO. We shall meet again."
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