17-02-2020, 02:09 AM
"Yes I do. For example, I COULD just use that 'magic' everyone says I've got and make you talk. But until this man can get hold of some more Nazis to kill? A fuck who'd do business with them? Yeah, I'd let him do a lot of things to that guy."
Helen turned to Mander.
"Before I let you do a lot of things to this guy, can I tell him about your jacket? It's really cool! I'm gonna."
She turned back to Marco.
"This is Mander's jacket from his Nazi-Stomping youth back in London. He's handy with a needle and thread, so it's still in great condition and it still fits! What makes it so cool is that it's a loving re-creation of Vyvyan Bastard's jacket from 'The Young Ones'. Even has 'Very Metal' written on the back. But there's a very special difference, you see. It's these."
Helen gestured to what looked to be a string of many red tassels hanging from Mander's left shoulder. Because of the height difference between them and the way they were leaning over Marco, they were at Helen's eye level. She played with them a little like a kitten.
"You know what these are? Tell him, Mander."
"Laces. Taken off Nazis I fucked up or worse."
"You see," Helen explained with a long drag, "A Nazi can be a Skinhead, but a Skinhead is not always a Nazi. Mander was one of the non-Nazi kind, shaving his head back before Nature took care of it for him. He's got... what, fifty of these?"
"I stopped counting round thirty, so maybe."
"So, Marco, NAZI Skinheads wear red laces on their boots. That's a good first thing to look for. REAL Skinheads like Mander here, enjoy beating the shit out of Nazi ones for appropriating their culture and getting them lumped in with fucking Nazis. So, if you send a Nazi to the hospital or the morgue, you take his laces and hang one from your jacket as a trophy. He's got the others in a shoebox at home in case one breaks." Helen looked down at Marco's feet. "You'd have to ask him the policy on piss-covered loafers; but that's for after. Who'd you sell the ammo to, Marco? Let's go ahead and skip the part where you say 'I dunno, some guy!' like I'll accept that and go straight to Mander roughing you up a bit for giving me that shit."
Mander took his cue, hoisted Marco off the hood of the car, and body-slammed him into the wall before slamming him into Questioning Position on his knees, pressing the side of Marco's face against the not-burning-but-still-uncomfortably-hot metal bonnet of a car in the San Finzione sun.
"Now that the 'try and play me for a fool' part is out of the way," Helen replied, blowing smoke into Marco's face. "Let's get to it. Tell me everything about the man you sold them to."
Marco told her everything he remembered about the racist gun nut he sold the odd old piece to and the blond man he vouched for who wanted the merchandise overnight and gave him enough money to make it happen. He didn't know anything about any explosives. NOBODY would traffic in bombs in San Finzione! It'd be like trafficking in women; even San Finzione's creeps worse than him knew better than to try that in La Contessa's country!
When he was finished, Helen lit another cigarette and leaned in closely.
"You know what, Marco? I believe you." She said as she keened in closer and blew another stream of smoke in Marco's face.
"I want to really, REALLY believe you."
She stepped back and let Mander do a lot of things to Marco.
* * *
Helen turned to Mander.
"Before I let you do a lot of things to this guy, can I tell him about your jacket? It's really cool! I'm gonna."
She turned back to Marco.
"This is Mander's jacket from his Nazi-Stomping youth back in London. He's handy with a needle and thread, so it's still in great condition and it still fits! What makes it so cool is that it's a loving re-creation of Vyvyan Bastard's jacket from 'The Young Ones'. Even has 'Very Metal' written on the back. But there's a very special difference, you see. It's these."
Helen gestured to what looked to be a string of many red tassels hanging from Mander's left shoulder. Because of the height difference between them and the way they were leaning over Marco, they were at Helen's eye level. She played with them a little like a kitten.
"You know what these are? Tell him, Mander."
"Laces. Taken off Nazis I fucked up or worse."
"You see," Helen explained with a long drag, "A Nazi can be a Skinhead, but a Skinhead is not always a Nazi. Mander was one of the non-Nazi kind, shaving his head back before Nature took care of it for him. He's got... what, fifty of these?"
"I stopped counting round thirty, so maybe."
"So, Marco, NAZI Skinheads wear red laces on their boots. That's a good first thing to look for. REAL Skinheads like Mander here, enjoy beating the shit out of Nazi ones for appropriating their culture and getting them lumped in with fucking Nazis. So, if you send a Nazi to the hospital or the morgue, you take his laces and hang one from your jacket as a trophy. He's got the others in a shoebox at home in case one breaks." Helen looked down at Marco's feet. "You'd have to ask him the policy on piss-covered loafers; but that's for after. Who'd you sell the ammo to, Marco? Let's go ahead and skip the part where you say 'I dunno, some guy!' like I'll accept that and go straight to Mander roughing you up a bit for giving me that shit."
Mander took his cue, hoisted Marco off the hood of the car, and body-slammed him into the wall before slamming him into Questioning Position on his knees, pressing the side of Marco's face against the not-burning-but-still-uncomfortably-hot metal bonnet of a car in the San Finzione sun.
"Now that the 'try and play me for a fool' part is out of the way," Helen replied, blowing smoke into Marco's face. "Let's get to it. Tell me everything about the man you sold them to."
Marco told her everything he remembered about the racist gun nut he sold the odd old piece to and the blond man he vouched for who wanted the merchandise overnight and gave him enough money to make it happen. He didn't know anything about any explosives. NOBODY would traffic in bombs in San Finzione! It'd be like trafficking in women; even San Finzione's creeps worse than him knew better than to try that in La Contessa's country!
When he was finished, Helen lit another cigarette and leaned in closely.
"You know what, Marco? I believe you." She said as she keened in closer and blew another stream of smoke in Marco's face.
"I want to really, REALLY believe you."
She stepped back and let Mander do a lot of things to Marco.
* * *
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