The Imagination Latibule: Bullet Train - A Sour Taste

Chapter 2

You'd heard Lemons warning loud and clear, and to be honest you weren't looking to die. You were looking for something to snatch and grab, and although you hadn't yet been told what that was, and despite it only being an assumption that it was money - it was always money - you wouldn't be able to spend any of said money if you were six feet under. 

"Right then," you said, slapping your thighs; a very British motion made alongside the decision to leave. "Would be lying if I said it's been a pleasure. Hope to never see you again." 

"Same here," Tangerine said. Lemon held out his fist and you gave him a quick fist bump - he wasn't so bad - then you stood with every intention to leave, before noticing the man sitting in the window seat of a group of four chairs, diagonally opposite you. You weren't sure how you missed him; in a fluffy pink coat and a Trust No Bitch tattoo across his eyebrow, he was one of the most stand out people on the train. His hands were beneath the table but you could see the glint of handcuffs, and your eyes narrowed. Then you noticed the blood stain in his hairline, and the fact that his chest was barely rising and falling, like he wasn't just asleep but unconscious.

Standing in the aisle, hands on hips, you turned smugly to the twins. "So, this why you're here then?" You asked, kicking your head back towards the sleeping man.

"We ain't saying a word," Tangerine said.

"White Deaths son got himself kidnapped, we got him back," Lemon said.

"Why do I fucking bother?" Tangerine slapped his forehead. Then, as if mentioning the White Death's name for the third time lifted some sort of curse, the man shifted in his seat, lips parting just enough for a lengthy groan. 

There was a conductor marching towards you from one side of the aisle, and a hostess pushing a trolley from the other, so deciding there was nowhere for you to get out of the way, Tangerine bundled into you as him and Lemon slid across the aisle. Now the four of you were surrounding the White Death's son, and you were trapped in the window seat with an angry looking, trigger happy Tangerine next to you. As the three of you had moved, Lemon's shirt had come open slightly, and you noticed a blood splatter down it. 

"Oh Lemon," Tangerine said, noticing it too.

"Tangerine," Lemon said. 

"You're bleeding, mate."

"Oh, it's not mine, mate."

"Oh, it's not yours? Oh, in that case, just leave your jacket open, let everyone have a good old look."

"Yeah," Lemon said proudly. "I want everyone to see my tie."

It was a nice tie. A cascading shade of peach in a checkered pattern. "It's a nice tie," you commented, and Tangerine's eyes rolled so far back in his head you worried for a moment he'd go blind. 

"Fuck is wrong with you?" he asked. "Pull your coat together so no one else notices, Lemon."

"I think they'll notice the childish code names first," you said as Lemon made a right huff about yanking his coat around him. "If you're gonna stick with fruit, why not, uh, apple or orange?" 

"Apple and orange?" Tangerine huffed, smacking the table. As he did, the man opposite you's eyes snapped open, darting back and forth untrustingly. They were bloodshot, and there was a powdery residue beneath his nose. 

"Oh, well, look at this," Lemon said, prodding the man. "Sleeping beauty."

"Wakey-wakey," Tangerine said.

"Eggs and bakey." You glanced at Lemon and he shrugged like the rhyme was an involuntary slip.

"Where am I?" the man asked.