Smooth Operator.

08. Blood-Stained Tissues

CHAPTER EIGHT
BLOOD-STAINED TISSUES

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WHEN ESTELA FOUND THE FRUITS, THEY WERE LISTENING TO A PHONE CALL WITH GRAVE EXPRESSIONS. The woman took her seat beside the dead russian, not even sparing him a glance, and exhaled deeply, eyes threatening to close and send her into a deep slumber, which she would've loved right about now.

The two men opposite her watched her sit, both looking incredibly disheveled themselves.

Directly opposite her sat Tangerine, who'd lost the blazer, and was wrinkled around the sleeves, which he'd rolled up to reveal his forearms, scattered with scars and light freckles. His hair had began to lose its slicked-back hold, and was beginning to look manic, if you will. His eyebrows furrowed deeper than ever before, his lips pulled into a frown.

Beside him, Lemon sat, arms crossed, bleached fro puffing out in all directions, much a contrast than their neat shape from before. His once-perfect white shirt had been stained with splatters of bright blood, though not super fresh, like they'd had time to marinate in the white; and his creamy yellow tie was adorned in the red spots, too.

Seems like they'd all been through a little bit of shit.

"Who called?" Estelq spoke up, her voice more hoarse than she'd expected.

Tangerine sighed and pocketed his cell phone. "One of them Russian cunts," he responded. "Wants us to stop off here and "prove" we have the case and the son."

Estela looked over at The White Death's son, for the first time up close. He was already beginning to earn that dead person stench she recognised so very well, but to someone in passing it could be mistaken for B.O. Behind the Momonga glasses his eyes were wide, as if petrified, and a deep, dark, dirty sort of red.

"Alright," Lemon started, staring intently at the dead son, "we just have to prove we have a case we don't have, and a live son instead of a dead one."

Both men stared at the Russian for a moment, eyes squinting to assess the situation.

"What you thinking?" The man in blue asked, turning his head to look over at his brother.

The other man returned the gaze, turning his head around, too.

"The ol' Punch and Judy," they both stated in unison as their gazes returned to the dead Russian.

Estela stared at the two fruits, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed. "The fuck is that..?"

With this, the two brothers shared another knowing glance.

And that's how Estela Guerrero found herself situated in the four-seater beside the one she originally sat on, glancing over at Lemon from the corner of her eye to remain inconspicuous to the rock band-looking gang outside the window. From where she sat, she could fully see Lemon squatted on the floor beneath the table, his hands pushed into the Russian son's coat sleeves, moving him around like a puppet, which they assumed the gang outside couldn't see.

So this is what "The ol' Punch and Judy was;" using the dead person as a puppet. Did these men have no shame at all?

They'd told her to stay seated somewhere else so she didn't appear to be involved with them, but she sat close enough so she could be of assistance if needed. As seen previously, her standing/seating choices often came in handy.