Buildup and Breakup (a Tale of Breaking Benjamin) Page 2

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  “Welcome to Casa de Raspazzi.” With arms outstretched, he lead them into a dingy hotel room with two beds, a television, and hideous yellow wallpaper. All of the gear from the second car was piled on the dresser, and in one of the chairs.

  Jiri went straight for his gear, and unpacked a number of gadgets from the hard suitcases. These were laid in neat rows on the bed, as if they needed to be in certain positions for him to use. After this he brought out several lengths of different wiring and attached everything together. Soon he took a plug and brushed back a bit of hair behind his ear, revealing a small rectangular metal port. He slipped it into his head and touched a few keys on a keyboard.

  “This monitor will show you what I’m looking at,” he explained. “I’ll be able to talk and listen, but it will be difficult, just like driving with earmuffs on. Don’t interrupt unless it’s something important.”

  Crandall nodded while Mike cracked open a two liter of soda and downed a swallow of Jack Daniel’s.

  “Also, only unplug if I go into seizure. This is crucial. Unconscious, don’t unplug. Seizure, grab the mouth guard and inject me with this, right in the thigh.” Jiri held up a little syringe filled with yellow liquid and a button at the bottom side.

  “Got it?”

  “Yeah Jiri,” Jess said, still holding her head. Jiri tapped a button and went rigid.

  They watched the jumble of images pass from the Net sites and into Jiri’s consciousness. Some were windows with only a half completed image before they vanished. Others were status bars going from zero to a hundred. Jess couldn’t watch, the whole thing made her nauseous. Instead she found Raspazzi drinking himself retarded.

  “What the fuck do you two think you’re doing?” she asked.

  “God it tastes like ass,” Raspazzi said. “But I can already feel it. Jess you should check this out, it fucks with your head.”

  “You drank it all!” Crandall shouted, looking at the swallow of remaining Jack Daniel’s in the little bottle.

  “What was that sound?” Jiri asked, “Is everything fine?” They ignored him.

  “What you think any of it was for you? You didn’t have to work to get this, I did. It’s mine. This ain’t no free for all.” He burped, and went wide-eyed.

  “Fine, I’m going to go get some too. Where’d you get it?”

  Jess punched Crandall in the face.

  “I’m not going to ask again, because normally you two aren’t fucking retarded. One of you is going to answer me.”

  Crandall rubbed his cheek and stared at her. “What was that for?”

  “Are you kidding? You’re going to get drunk on our Final Assignment? Didn’t you learn anything from Bates’s Living Skills class? Alcohol messes up your perception, timing, and coordination. It dehydrates you, and loosens your inhibitions. Which of those things are going to help us complete the mission, huh Crandall? Which one?”

  “Too loud,” Jiri said, but was ignored completely. “Quiet down.”

  “You know what Laramie, you’ve been acting strange ever since that corpse got his hand up your shirt. Stand the fuck down, that’s an order.”

  She laughed. “Now you want to play by the rules, is that it?”

  “I’m in charge here,” Crandall said. “And this is going in the report for insubordination.”

  “He’s in charge here,” Raspazzi echoed, his voice strange. “Let him get shit faced if he wants to, party pooper. We’re not even gonna deal with the bodies tonight.”

  Jess stared between the two of them, back and forth. At last she cracked her neck and went to stand over by their other equipment. When she heard Crandall stand, she moved.

  For the graduates of Clements, a thought-out move seems both instantaneous and fluid. Jess picked up the silenced heavy pistol from the suitcase and fed a clip into it, then cocked it. At the same time she whirled and sighted Crandall down the barrel.

  Crandall stared at her as if he’d forgotten every bit of their eight solid years of training. She said nothing, but only stared down the sights and the barrel toward her target.

  “Stand down Laramie,” Crandall said in a warning tone. His arms began to rise up from his sides, slow and sure. “We are a team here, understand me? And I am in charge. Now put the gun down, Jess. Put it down.”

  Still no word came out of her. Her eyes flickered toward Raspazzi, who stood up, teetered, and managed to stay standing.

  “Fuck that shit, Crandall,” Raspazzi said. “She knows us, she ain’t gonna shoot anybody in here. She don’t want you to go, that’s fine. I’ll get you some Jack, he’s my new best friend.”

  “Don’t move, Raspazzi,” Crandall said. But Raspazzi headed toward the door anyway. “Laramie stand down, that is a direct order, do you understand me? Laramie!”

  Jess put one bullet above Raspazzi’s kneecap, and another above his elbow. The sound from the gun was insignificant, but it stayed in her brain as she watched the blood shoot out and Raspazzi go down.

  Next she knew Crandall was pulling the gun out of her hand and pinning her arm against her throat, choking her. He’d gotten her on the floor, was straddling her. She came up with her legs but didn’t have the leverage or the length. Five foot four didn’t beat out six foot one in many cases.

  “I’m hit! Crandall did you see that, she shot me!” The cries and curses kept coursing out of Raspazzi like drainage from a sewer pipe.

  “I said stand down,” Crandall hissed, and punctuated down with a hard right cross to the face. Still she said nothing, and grimaced at the pain blooming in her face. She brought her hand up and grabbed Crandall right at the base of the balls, crumpling him up like a lunch sack. He fell away still in her grip as she got up and walked him back into a chair. Her grimace transformed into a snarl. She gripped his sensitive materials hard.

  Crandall was starting to whimper when Raspazzi shouted, “Jiri’s seizing! Fuck, unplug him!” Jess looked back. The only glimpse she caught was the huge body of Jiri Kolenkhov hunched over his equipment, convulsing in great shudders. She felt pain overcome her again, and everything went black.