[h2]”Travis. Abby Travis” - (Part 2)[/h2] [img]https://i.imgur.com/nalNq9e.jpg[/img] [color=ffd700][b][i]”When you’re a spy, you make tough personal choices to support the assignment…”[/i][/b][/color] “Um…” Mickey offered as he pedaled his rickshaw through the streets, “you know everybody can see you, right?” “They got time fer that,” Abby arched her back, shoulders pressed inta tha seat as she pulled them chinos up over her hips, “means yer not pedalin’ fast enough.” Trash bag was gone, stuffed inta tha duffel what she hid inside it. The gen’ral’s bag was tucked inside that’n, along with her boots, clothes, an’ pistol. [i]A bag inside a bag inside a bag.[/i] Notion tickled her when she first thunk on it. Mickey pushed on through the humid night air. “Not that I mind the eyeful I got,” he said, “but I saw that bandage on your bottom. Can I ask what happened?” Abby bent deep, groanin’ soft as she pulled up ‘er boots. “Gunfight,” she grimaced, “with tha last fella stared at my [i]pi gu.”[/i] “Hope you brought lots of bullets.” Pegleg Pete’s. She had a feelin’, and that feelin’ come out right. The moment she laid eyes on the hemp rope an’ fishin’ nets all strung about, Abby knew she’s bein’ coerced inta a tourist trap. Joint was playin’ hard on old seafarin’ lore, with swashbucklin’ pirates an’ pitchers ‘o’ sailin’ ships scattered all about. [i]Works, too,[/i] she conjured as she passed the gift shop afore bein’ waylaid by a smilin’ woman in pleated shorts an’ a staff shirt. “Welcome to Pegleg’s! Wait for a table’s running about an hour.” That much was true, judgin’ by the tourist types all lined up on them benches out front. “Meetin’ someone at tha bar,” Abby replied. Woman eyed her curious fer a minute. Abby’s wearin’ her boots an’ dark chinos hid legs what looked like barber poles from gettin’ sun on one side only. She’s in her fav’rite shirt...grey mechanic’s button down hangin’ open over the sleeveless pink tee. Name of “Earl” embroidered above the breast pocket. Abby never met no “Earl,” but when she seen it in that thrift shop on Regina it just struck her funny. Had her duffel slung on her left shoulder, Ms. Baker’s….Marisol’s...bag all hid inside. She knew carryin’ it about’s like a big neon sign fer ev’ry footpad an’ con artist on New Melbourne, but leastways tha average Fed wouldn’t give ‘er a second look. “Got ident?” the hostess asked. “Sure ‘n I do.” She’s still catchin’ a wary eye. “Sorry,” the woman, name of Mia on her badge, offered. “Your face is just so…youthful.” Abby shrugged. “Git that alot...usually from them’s tryin’ tah bed me.” She didn’t bother with touchin’ the Colt on her hip. Deadpan expression an’ a flat tone of voice did the trick. The hostess’ face started goin’ all crimson like. “Right through there,” she managed with a nervous point. “Follow the music. Bartender has menus, too, if you wanna order food.” “Thank yew.” [hider=Trawler Man] [youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5m4Vs2BISs8[/youtube] [/hider] Saloon was kinda noisy. They’s a band in tha corner, all beltin’ out somethin’ she took tah be sailor songs. Few folk was parked at tables, all hootin’ an’ poundin’ rhythm tah tha music. One fella caught her eye. Looked tah be her age. Sorta purty, with blond hair in a couple curls. He give her a grin, then offered an open hand towards tha empty chair at his table. Abby shook her head. No time tah dawdle. She’s runnin’ tha mission. [color=ffd700][b][i]”...always read the room..."[/i][/b][/color] Abby cut loose a fresh gasp ‘o’ pain as she got sitiated. Set herself all careful onta the barstool, leavin’ the bandaged right cheek tah hang in midair. Duffel’s parked at her feet, but she got the strap within reach. Not takin’ no chances. She looked about, checkin’ other folk at the bar an’ around the room. Ain’t nobody showin’ interest in ‘er, but she kenned that fer a ruse also. Like in that one super-spy book she tried readin’. Some fella named Dirk Piston. She’d give up on it after three chapters, ‘cuz Dirk Piston spent more time bird doggin’ women than he done any spyin’...but he always conjured tha way out. [i]Most like,[/i] she figgered at tha time, [i]tah escape pissed off husbands, way he’s taggin’ somebody’s wife ever’ other page.[/i] But good advice was good advice, she couldn’t deny. Abby’s countin’ doors when the bartender come saunterin’ up. She durn near did a double take at tha sight. Rex never talked about no twin brother, but she conjured she done found ‘im. Big fella with a goatee, tats on his arms an’ a shirt what looked like a floral massacre. “Hiya, doll,” he offered all friendly. “What’s your pleasure?” She woulda jest asked fer Captain Bob’s...but not tahnight. She’s on a mission. Secret handoff. Browncoats an’ tha like. Trouble was, she ain’t never ordered no drink in a saloon. “Ummmm…” “While you’re decidin’, Babyface, let’s get John Law taken care of.” Barkeep whipped out his reader. “Lemme have your ident.” [i]”Ku.”[/i] She give her card over. Man slipped it inta the reader, caught the green light, an’ then give it a closer look, afore meetin’ her eye with a smile. “Well happy birthday!” “Thank yew.” “I’ll whip up a special cocktail...your first legal drink! Big occasion!” The bartender set tah work. Abby didn’t bother tellin’ him t’was her first ever drink. She turned her eye toward the band as they led a singalong. [hider=John Kanaka] [youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sZxoMNbtXDE[/youtube] [/hider] Didn’t see them blond curls there no more. [i]He was purty,[/i] she mused afore the bartender set down somethin’ powerful scary. “On the house!” he near shouted over tha ruckus. Drink was tall. Glass had a couple handles. An’ ever’where, stuff’s hangin’ off tha rim. Cut limes, cherries, even a fresh peeled shrimp. They’s toothpicks stickin’ outta the whole mess with fruit n’ olives, one ‘o’ them little parasols, an’ toppin’ it all off, coupla sparkers all fizzin’ an’ smokin’ away. Fer tha life of her, Abby wasn’t sure if she’s meant tah drink this thing or watch it break atmo. A voice come from over her shoulder. “Drink like that,” he said, “sends a message. Tells folk ‘I’m not from around here.” Abby turned a harsh eye what softened a touch when she seen it was her blond haired boy. “Oh yeah?” she raised an eyebrow, sendin’ a hand tah rest upon the Colt. “What’s this sayin’ tah yah?” He spent a might longer’n she liked studyin’ her hip. “Party girl?” the boy smirked. “What’s of interest to me,” he raised his eyes, “is the way you’re side saddlin’ that barstool. Seen that before, every time my dad’s ‘roids are actin’ up.” He give her a charmin’ smile. “You got the ‘roids?” She scowled. “What I don’t got,” Abby bristled, “is no time fer messin’ with some scrub. Step off, now. I’m meetin’ somebody.” His smile went all crooked an’ amused. “I know. I’m the one you’re here to meet. Thomas Jinks,” he give his name as a hand come up tah shake. “Was hopin’ I’d meet you when China Doll landed, but you weren’t about when we picked up our crates.” [color=ffd700][b][i]”...treat new contacts as if they’ve been compromised...”[/i][/b][/color] “Jinx, huh?” She fixed him with an eyeful ‘o’ mistrust. “Never heard ‘o’ yew.” Abby left the hand hangin’. “Most like, yer jest another land shark out fer a…” “Did Mei Lin and her [i]ba ba[/i] cross the mountains yet?” “What?” She looked at him all kindsa confused. “Book you’re readin’,” Thomas’ hand remained up, patient as he give the proof. “They get chased by that bear yet?” She looked him over, ponderin’ hard afore it all come back. [i]”My girls loved the ‘Mei Lin’ series,”[/i] Marisol tole her that one day. So this was it. That was tha code, tha secret ident. Nothin' fancy a'tall. This Thomas Jinks was her contact. Deep down, that pleased her a touch, but she weren’t gonna let that show. “Thanks fer spoilin’ it, jackass,” the girl grumbled as her hand joined his. “Travis. Abby Travis.” She ‘membered that from one ‘o’ them spy movies. Thomas chuckled. “Well hello, Travis-Abby-Travis,” he answered. “Nice meetin’ you, too…” “Hey Birthday Girl,” the barkeep interrupted. “Something wrong with that drink?” “Birthday?” Jinks’ head turned. “It’s your birthday?” Abby nodded sorta absent as she eyed the drink. The fireworks afore her was fixin’ tah set light to the parasol. “Not sure how tah drink it without I lose an eye.” “You don’t drink that,” Thomas pushed the glass away. “C’mon, Nick, get her something that doesn’t scream “date rape,” okay?” He looked at her. “What’s your regular drink? Gin? Whiskey?” Apparently he seen the confusion on her face. “Ohhh,” he said, all understandin’. “Let’s start easy. Nicky, set her up with vodka and Boom-Boom...single shot. I’ll take a Barnacle Bill.” “What’s a Barnacle Bill?” “Only beer I can afford,” Jinks chuckled as an eyebrow lifted. “Less you’re buyin’? Oh, alright....can’t blame a man for tryin’,” he winked at the sudden thundercloud on her brow. “Jest make sure yah don’t ‘try’ nothin’ else,” she answered...but somethin’s wrong. Words come out more playful soundin’ than she intended. Nick set drinks down afore ‘em. Jinks lifted his brew. “You got nothin’ to worry about. Girls I like wouldn’t be caught dead in this place.” She didn’t know she should be relieved or indignant like. But laughin’ out loud? Hadn’t banked on that. “Well, that makes it all right clear,” she giggled. “My pleasure! Cheers!” After clinkin’ her glass tah his bottle, Abby tasted her first alcohol. [i]Funny,[/i] she thought on it. [i]Don’t really taste like nothin’ a’tall.[/i] The ‘Boom-Boom’ was nice ‘n’ sweet, with a right zesty sorta tang to it. Gorram, but this was good… *********************To Be Continued********************