SOLOMON'S BRIDGE {Part I}

DON'T LIE, FANNY *30*

DON'T LIE, FANNY

DR. JAY

The governor's love child is still tall, still fair skinned and still wearing way too much make-up on her hardened face. This time, her spandex army green pantsuit fits her steely visage like a glove. He does not need to get up from his chair to inspect that red and white striped tattoo, the one behind her left ear... he knows it's still there, "Fanny. The last time we spoke, you told me a lot of lies. Today, its in your best interest to tell me the truth."

She looks around, lifting a lofty eyebrow, "This place is your apartment?"

Its a rented apartment in her name, towards a faded blue mountain range at the lonely outskirts of the city. One bed, one table, and two chairs... Her closest neighbour is an old woman, a retired nurse, living half a mile away. Dr. Jay scouted for an ideal site after she shot Abram Silas in the head, from her vantage position beside the sturdy Iroko tree that was opposite the parlour window. She is a clever woman, is what she is. Agent Red never caught the decoy she used, that missing security guard, who ran out the gates as soon as he burst through the front doors. It's almost funny, that Dr. Jay has the breakfast party to thank, for daily keeping him under such close surveillance. He probably should ask Rodney when exactly, and how, he was able to catch her, but seeing him carry her in here, bound hands and feet, even gagged, blindfolded and very unconscious, thirty minutes ago, reminded him of the old days. The times when they were all young and ignorant, living on pure adrenaline....

Fanny woke up sitting in an iron chair, both hands still in cuffs, blindfolds off, mouth unrestrained, trying to get her bearings, but seeing only blank walls and a lot of gray. Outside, the afternoon sun burns hot and humid, giving the house an oily, oppressive air. Good thing he got the boy to chop his locks off. He is looking thinner in brown slacks and a burnt orange cotton shirt. Sharper, wiry.

"Abram Silas saw this city's monster killer and got away with his life, but, only to be caught by a highly esteemed organization, a secret cult, an international syndicate. You sponsored his initiation into this nefarious group. You, as his protector, jailer, and his murderer, are absent quite suddenly absent... without leave. The Nsidung are right at this moment, looking for you, everywhere. But they are not going to find you."

She remains silent, watching, her face showing no emotion at all. "I will ask questions... you will provide answers.... The truth, this time."

She rolls her eyes, "Or, hmm, let me guess. The Mzungu... will torture me to death?"

Jay has a bolshevik comrade trained by a Cheka Operative who was quite active in the days of the Red Terror. The Russian taught him a thing or two about extracting valid information. He removed his penknife from his front shirt pocket, unfolding it into it's impressive length, keeping it pointing towards himself, in the center of their silver gray metal table. If his suspicion is correct, he will not be in any danger. Not with the cat properly zonked out. Best thing about witches, is that for them, it's all procedural. He is quickly learning that the only way for him to move forward in this mission, is to anticipate the diabolical. Next, from the drawer of the table he pulls out a half yard of coiled barbed wire, "I can skin you alive, or scalp and crown you with this thorny bit of iron string. With this table, I can impale, crucify, hang you or I can just stone you to a slow death in the backyard. I can also... start a bonfire, tie you to a plank... push you slowly into it, or I can lower you into a tank of boiling water, in and out, in and out, all day, then roll you around, naked, in a barrel studded with nails on it's inside. Some methods are so extreme, you can't come back from them."

Twisting necks till the heads can be torn off. Attaching an iron tube to the torso to slip a rat inside, then closing off the tube with wire netting, and holding it over a flame until the rat begins gnawing through the victim's guts in an effort to escape. So many more extreme methods, but Dr. Jay likes to keep his work simple. He observes the way she is concentrating her gaze on his penknife. It is exactly as he suspects! "I prefer to individualize all my specific methods, nothing too rude. I have something very polite for you, Fanny, but it's one of those things that... you can't ever come back from."