Silent Partner

"On what, Frank?"

“Aw, don’t give me that. They’re trouble. You know it and I know it.” Sometimes, I think Frank missed the war. The good old days when you could blow away a couple dozen goblins and they’d give you a medal. Back then, the grays were the Enemy. They were these hideous creatures swarming up from their rat holes to rape our mothers and eat our babies. After V Day, after the Accord, they were suddenly people, and for some reason, killing them wasn’t okay anymore.

“They're not doing anything."

"Sure, Joe. Maybe they're just waiting for a lift to choir practice." Frank's snarl reflected back at me in the window.

"They're breathers. Not our problem. Leave it for the cops."

One of the punks spotted Frank and they made us. Insults and cat calls carried over the dull grumble of motionless traffic. Wide mouths stretched into predatory smiles filled with too many teeth. Fingers stood erect with that confident ease that only comes from hours of practice in the bathroom mirror. Frank’s face turned seven shades of red, his jaw clenching so tight his teeth squeaked. I looked away. "Let it go, Frank."





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