Post by Dallas on Apr 28, 2020 1:15:53 GMT
“Ever seen a doorbull?”
“A-a what?”
“A doorbull,” Dallas laughed. “It’s uh, sort of a freak of nature, you might say. A monster born when the reactor pulls up too much of the, ah, what’s those planetologists call it?” Dallas snapped his fingers.
“The lifestream."
"Yeah, the lifestream. It’s when the reactor pulls up too much lifestream, and makes everything unbalanced.” Dallas seesawed his hands to emphasize. “Out of whack. It changes the earth. It even changes the animals. That’s how doorbulls come to be.”
“Huh.”
Dallas lit up a cigarette. “Without balance, you get monsters. Like our doorbull. And lemme tell ya, you’ve never really seen a doorbull until you’ve seen a doorbull eat a man alive. It’s got two mouths, Marty.”
Marty swallowed.
Dallas leaned a hip onto Marty's desk, his hands cupped over the top of his metal cane. "It just so happens that I know a guy, who knows a guy, who can get me a doorbull." Dallas leaned forward intently, amber eyes staring. "Marty, would you like to have lunch with a doorbull?"
Marty lowered his head to his desk, rustling his papers nervously. "I never skimmed from the Don. Not one gil, Dallas. You can check all my books."
Dallas gently lay the end of his cane across the papers. "This isn't about the money, Marty," He said quietly. "This is about what you did to me."
Marty collapsed into his hands. "I didn't know! I swear I didn't know they were gonna use it on you. I swear, I swear!" He clapped a hand over his heart. "I got kids, please."
"Who bought the bomb?" Dallas asked.
Marty's lower lip quivered. Whoever it was, Marty was afraid of them.
Dallas smashed his cane into the desk, sending splinters and papers flying.
"Who blew me up, Marty?" Dallas growled.
“The Don, the Don!” Marty squealed, flinching. “Or somebody who works for the Don. They knew all the Don’s codes. They bought the bomb.”
Dallas stared, shocked.
Marty started to cry. “Please don’t kill me.”
Dallas turned and walked out into the street, stunned. Could the Don really have tried to scrub Dallas, the Don’s very own star lackey? The Don’s Numero Uno? It didn’t make any sense. Unless…
Dallas walked back into the electronics store. “One last thing,” He said, reaching into his coat.
Five bolts from his Auto Crossbow later, Marty was put out of his misery. He’d sort of liked Marty, but it was better this way. Dallas hated loose ends. Besides, if the Don really wanted Dallas dead like Marty said, that meant Marty was a rat for saying so. Dallas hated rats even more than loose ends.
Whistling a song he heard from a banjo-playing hick the other day, he left the store again, this time turning down an alleyway. Maybe he’d pick up some dinner before the day was over...
“A-a what?”
“A doorbull,” Dallas laughed. “It’s uh, sort of a freak of nature, you might say. A monster born when the reactor pulls up too much of the, ah, what’s those planetologists call it?” Dallas snapped his fingers.
“The lifestream."
"Yeah, the lifestream. It’s when the reactor pulls up too much lifestream, and makes everything unbalanced.” Dallas seesawed his hands to emphasize. “Out of whack. It changes the earth. It even changes the animals. That’s how doorbulls come to be.”
“Huh.”
Dallas lit up a cigarette. “Without balance, you get monsters. Like our doorbull. And lemme tell ya, you’ve never really seen a doorbull until you’ve seen a doorbull eat a man alive. It’s got two mouths, Marty.”
Marty swallowed.
Dallas leaned a hip onto Marty's desk, his hands cupped over the top of his metal cane. "It just so happens that I know a guy, who knows a guy, who can get me a doorbull." Dallas leaned forward intently, amber eyes staring. "Marty, would you like to have lunch with a doorbull?"
Marty lowered his head to his desk, rustling his papers nervously. "I never skimmed from the Don. Not one gil, Dallas. You can check all my books."
Dallas gently lay the end of his cane across the papers. "This isn't about the money, Marty," He said quietly. "This is about what you did to me."
Marty collapsed into his hands. "I didn't know! I swear I didn't know they were gonna use it on you. I swear, I swear!" He clapped a hand over his heart. "I got kids, please."
"Who bought the bomb?" Dallas asked.
Marty's lower lip quivered. Whoever it was, Marty was afraid of them.
Dallas smashed his cane into the desk, sending splinters and papers flying.
"Who blew me up, Marty?" Dallas growled.
“The Don, the Don!” Marty squealed, flinching. “Or somebody who works for the Don. They knew all the Don’s codes. They bought the bomb.”
Dallas stared, shocked.
Marty started to cry. “Please don’t kill me.”
Dallas turned and walked out into the street, stunned. Could the Don really have tried to scrub Dallas, the Don’s very own star lackey? The Don’s Numero Uno? It didn’t make any sense. Unless…
Dallas walked back into the electronics store. “One last thing,” He said, reaching into his coat.
Five bolts from his Auto Crossbow later, Marty was put out of his misery. He’d sort of liked Marty, but it was better this way. Dallas hated loose ends. Besides, if the Don really wanted Dallas dead like Marty said, that meant Marty was a rat for saying so. Dallas hated rats even more than loose ends.
Whistling a song he heard from a banjo-playing hick the other day, he left the store again, this time turning down an alleyway. Maybe he’d pick up some dinner before the day was over...