Domestic Disturbance *HF* Chapter 4
By Gene
"This looks like Spain," Alice said.
"Sure does," Gene said, looking around. He wiped his brow. "HOtter than shit, too. Let's get what we need and go."
"You just can't take heat at all, can you?" Alice said. "It already looks like someone tossed water on your face. Doesn't it get hot in Wisconsin?"
"Uh huh," Gene said. "Summer sucks. It gets into the 80s, 90s, even 100s or more. High humidity, lots of bugs. Hated it, every year. No matter where I've lived, the plan for the summer is the same: stay inside when it's 85 or hotter, bitch about the heat, and wonder why people go to the beach."
Alice laughed. "WEll, this doesn't bother me. I want to get some clothes, though. We don't really fit in here in our Scotch garb."
"Suit yourself. I'm happy with looking like a tourist. Where are you headed, Malachi?"
"Shopping, sight seeing," the young man said. Gene followed his gaze to a pretty Spanish girl across the street selling fruit. He grinned.
"All right. Stay out of trouble. Let's meet back here in two hours. Malachi, set up a link."
The young man touched Gene and Alice on their shoulders and concentrated. "This isn't so hard anymore. Gomurr gave me some pointers that helped."
The three of them felt a sudden push in their minds, as if they were hooked or clasped by something.
"Feels like that worked," Alice said. She smirked at Malachi. "Now you have to stay out of trouble. Mom knows where you are all the time."
Malachi rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You know I'm not the problem."
"Watch it," Gene said. "See you guys back here in two hours." He gave Alice a hug and a passionate kiss, then clapped Malachi on the shoulder.
***
Gene had never been to Spain before, but had heard it was beautiful. All the same, given the heat and the lack of interest he had in most of Spain's attractions, he never made a point of going there. One bowl of seafood paella and a glass of fine wine later, he was sorry he hadn't made the trip sooner. He used the ring as a translator to speak to the locals and so they could understand him. Alice had taken Spanish in college, so she didn't have that problem, and it appeared Malachi had a natural talent for understanding languages. Gene and Alice had made a mental note to bring that up with Grover when they returned to 2002.
After finishing his paella and paying in what Gene hoped was an acceptable amount of British currency, Gene left in search of a blacksmith or swordsmith. He scanned the streets, looking for any indication of what a shop contained or which direction he should take. After living in or near cities most of his life, he kicked himself for not paying more attention.
Passing between a wagon of fruit and another of chickens, Gene felt a large hand grip his shoulder and he was pulled down to the ground and punched in the face. Stunned, he felt himself dragged into an alley behind the fruit cart. He blinked his eyes and found himself staring up into the face of a thin Spanish man with dark hair and a goatee. His arms were still being held by an unseen but apparently very large man, while another large man stood to the side of the thin man. The thin man spoke.
"Do you have any money for us under that dress? All the other whores on the street do, but they have better legs." The man laughed and the others joined him.
"Kilt jokes," Gene thought. "Why am I not surprised?"
He nodded, then said, "I have money. It's tucked in a pouch under my belt. I'll get it for you, but you have to let me get up to reach it."
The thin man backed up a few steps, then nodded at the man holding Gene down. Gene began to stand, but found himself lifted to his feet first. The man's hands felt as large as Gene's whole head.
"Thank you." Gene said.
"Look - is he carrying a knife?" the thin man said to the man behind Gene.
"No. He is unarmed," a deep voice said.
The thin man nodded. "You may reach for your money. Slowly."
Gene slipped his right hand slowly behind his back. He pursed his fingertips against his thumb, then dropped to his knees and shot his hand directly into the groin of the big man behind him. Hearing the man groan, Gene opened his hand and gripped the bulge of the man's genitals through what felt like thin wook pants, squeezed and twisted.
He let go and rose up as the large man dropped to the ground.
The thin man stepped in to punch at Gene, but Gene was ready with a left hand block. He shifted his weight to his left foot and kicked out at the same time as the third man stepped in to attack. Gene's foot slammed into the man's chin and knocked him back.
Gene took a step back to his right and looked at his opponents. One down, another stunned, another coming in to attack again. This was the point where he usually toyed with them, humiliating his opponents and amusing himself. But not today. There just wasn't enough time.
"Fuck this shit," Gene said. He spun to his right, then spun again, stopping to the right of the second bigger man. He slammed an elbow into the man's sternum, jarring his heart, then flipped his forearm back, smashing the man's nose with the back of his hand. The man's nose popped like a ripe tomato, instantly coating the front of his face and clothes with a torrent of blood.
The thin man sneered and drew a sword from under his cloak. It was a Spanish rapier, but not a very fine one. The hand guard rattled as he pulled the sword from its scabbard, and there were chinks and rust and the blade.
"Devil!" the thin man said. "Now you will pay with your life as well!"
Gene stood his ground, then grinned, then laughed as the thin Spaniard stood with his blade levelled at Gene.
"Oh man, this is such a bad joke," he said. "It's a bad joke 250 years before it will sense to anybody." As he laughed, Gene's ring crackled with energy and a small pistol made of fire appeared in Gene's hand. Gene cocked the pistol and leveled it at the man, who now stood, wide-eyed.
"You, my friend, have brought a knife to a gun-fight." Gene pulled the trigger and a bullet made of mystic flame shot forth, hitting the Spaniard in the head. The man dropped to the ground, the top of his head missing. The blood and liquid that poured out from the remainder of his face steamed as it hit the streets.
The big man next to Gene screamed, as did the enormous man still on the ground. Gene stepped forward and took the sword from the dead man's hand. Pivoting around, he swung the sword into the big man's neck, then felt a jarring impact up through his shoulder as the sword stopped halfway through, then broke, leaving seven inches of blade stuck just above the man's collar-bone.
The man staggered, gurgling and reaching at his neck. He looked at Gene, or appeared to, his eyes rolling in his head.
"Jesus," Gene gasped. The huge man on the ground continued screaming and tried to scramble to his feet, still holding his groin with one hand. Gene turned and slammed the remainder of the sword into the huge man's throat. The man gurgled and wheezed, then collapsed on the ground again. Reaching under the pouch on his kilt, Gene whipped out his dirk and stabbed it into the temple of each man, killing them instantly. He wiped the dirk off on his kilt and returned it to its hidden sheath.
"That's disgusting," he said, looking at the three men. "Fucking cheap swords, they're bad all around."
***
An hour later, Gene, Alice and Malachi met again near the market where they arrived. Gene was carrying a fine Spanish rapier forged of Toledo steel with a velvet-lined hand guard and a leather grip with an engraved pommel. The blade was literally sharp enough to split a hair, or shave with, as Gene did in the shop. He now wore a goatee instead of a full beard.
Alice wore a Spanish formal dress, with her red hair pulled back in a bun and held with an ornate pin. She cooled herself with a large fan.
"That's pretty hot," Gene said as he approached her. "Care to join me at the ball?"
"If you know where they're holding one," Alice said.
The two saw Malachi even before he made it across the street. He wore an outfit similar to that of a musketeer, made entirely of silk and velvet. The entire suit was scarlet, including the enourmous wide-brimmed hat he had on his head, and the large ostrich feather in the hat. THe only things that weren's scarlet were his gauntlets, his boots and his belt. On his belt he wore a fencing foil. Seeing them, he broke into an enormous grin.
"Hey there, Shaft," Gene said, astonished. "Pickin' up some ladies tonight down in the Barrio?"
"What the hell is that?" Alice said.
"I'm trying to dress like the locals," Malachi said. "Isn't this great?"
Gene looked at his son. "You weren't listening to NSync when we were home, were you? How about Ricky MArtin or Enrique Iglesias? Backstreet Boys?"
Malachi smiled. "I'm not gay, Dad. Still want Gwen Stefani and Britney Spears...at the same time. I just thought this looked cool."
Gene sighed and shook his head. "Whatever. Let's get the hell out of here and head back to Scotland. We're bound to have visitors soon."
The column of energy soon surrounded and grew around them.
"There's blood on your kilt and shirt, Dear," Alice said as they began to fade.
"We'll talk about it later," Gene said.
And they were gone.
End Part 4
Gene
Original and Longest-Running Editor
White Bastard/King's Pawn--HellFire Club
Knight of the Long-Necked Bottle
Forbidden by Law to Eat Onion Rings
Selectively Sterile
Wielder of Unbridled Contempt for Humanity
Clearest Colon this side of the Milky Way
Messiest Underwear this side of the Milky Way
Certified Bastard-Training Specialist
K, your neck is looking overloaded... Let me take some weight off it!