"Beauregard, you son of a bitch. I love you man, but you son of a bitch."

Tasìa drank half the bottle of Guinness to douse the fire out of her mouth and throat.

"A native lass like you? Raised on chili peppers? Figured you would barely even notice."

Tasìa shook her head. There was still heat surging up her face, eyeballs, and forehead yet to be flushed out.

"Whew," Tasìa yelped out loud. "Don't believe the hype, man. Anything hotter than a Scotch Bonnet and I am flummoxed."

She took another swig from the stout. Unfortunately, the carbonization was high for the brand. A near-to-flat beer would have killed the burn right off.

"So what did you think," Beauregard asked.

The depraved man dared chuckle at her suffering. She still liked him, though.

"Couldn't make out much taste beyond the acidic burn. You could use it for flamethrower fuel."

Tasìa gave herself a strident nod.

Now that would be an interesting weapon. Reengineered to disperse controlled chemical burns instead of incineration. You would still need the high-octane fuel gel to heat the liquefied pepper concentrate into a high-pressured areosolic vapor.

But, would you need a separate chamber to heat the fuel, or could you simply add a diluted solution to the pepper concentrate and still get effective results?

Beauregard's mouth gawked wide open as she ran the idea through her head.

"What," she asked.

"My God, you are putting that idea together to make it happen."

"Yup," she affirmed. "Is it easy to buy those peppers in high volume?"

"What profession are you in that converting a flame thrower would be a practical means to solve a problem?"

Tasìa was flattered by the American's exasperation.

"Er ... Pest control?"

Indeed, if she ever needed to return to the garage, a pepper spray thrower would prove valuable.

"I bet," he reacted, skeptically.

"All the creepy crawlies in the Quadra are trying to eat us alive, Beauregard. What's so hard to believe that a distressing damsel like me isn't, in fact, a stone-cold bug stomper?"

He nodded with a side grin bouncing like rubber against his cheek. Before he could respond, a customer gained his attention. Beauregard whispered, 'one moment'.

Soon, he returned. They once more enjoyed a fair measure of privacy.

"I don't doubt it, Avellana. But something tells me you don't just limit your prey to wildlife."

Tasìa's shoulders leaned back; she bristled at this suggestion.

Before she started to accumulate a body count, Tasìa lived out her bike courier guise seamlessly without anyone the wiser.

Now, did she exude the demeanor of a stone-cold manhunter and not just a stone-cold bug stomper?

"That's how you sized me up when I walked in? The gunslinger out looking for trouble kind of gal?"

Beauregard shook his head.

"Look at it from my perspective. You came in right after -" Beauregard nodded his head towards the back rooms, "- he came in. I could tell by the way you were feeling out the crowd, you were gunning for somebody. He was by far the best candidate for that somebody."

Tasìa held the Ayinger Celebrator doppelbock bottle up. Beauregard popped the cap.

She discovered while downing the last half of the Guinness Foreign Extra Stout she could bite into three or four cashews and back them up with a swish of beer.

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Without melting her esophagus.

With a hard, scrutinizing gaze, she questioned Beauregard.

"He didn't ask you to be on the lookout for someone like me did he?"

The American waved away her concerns.

"Don't get me wrong. Personally, I hate spooks."

"Yeah. What's up with that? I thought you guys were no longer in that game?"

Beauregard nodded, sympatico.

"Yeah, me too."

"What's it your prez, what's-his-name, said like thirty years ago? 'Let somebody else pick up the tab, for a change. Shit's both too real and too weird, these days.'."

Beauregard's eyes looked up and to the side like he was scanning his memory. He then nodded affirmatively.

"Yup. I do believe that that is indeed the exact quote. So you gunnin' then?"

Tasìa gulped down three hard gulps of what could possibly be the tastiest beer on the planet. She wiped her mouth before she answered.

"Nah. I'm just looking for some answers. I got bullshitted about those jokers quitting their jobs to find peace and life affirmation in the simpler trades. So I decided to stalk that one, -" she pointed to the backroom, "- separate him from the rest of the pack, and get some answers out of him."

Beauregard turned his head and glanced down the back hallway.

"I know the crew he is hooked up with. They've been coming around for over a year, now. They worked out from the SkyTether, but, found themselves on the wrong side of a political divide, and they all got burned. Now, they are just watching and waiting for something to happen."

The bottle was half empty. She hated to ruin something as scrumptious as a traditional doppelbock with what she was about to do, but she could buy a fresh bottle.

She dumped the rest of the pack of Carolina Reaper-flavored cashews into the bottle, placed a thumb over the mouth of the bottle, and shook it.

The fizz that rose Tasìa caught with her mouth. She turned up the bottle and swallowed the beer and nuts together.

When she turned her attention back to Beauregard, Tasìa cocked her head to the side, "Interesting. You must hear a lot of gossip. You ever find out what that nasty business they were entangled in was about?"

He nodded his head. "I run drinks back there sometimes, and I sometimes do some light footwork for them. I even hooked up with their lady boss for a torrid romance last Summer. I have indeed heard things."

Tasìa folded her arms. She had an idea of what was coming next.

"Like what?"

"Even though you're a Mestiza lass, and not Russian at all, or so it appears, you somehow look just like her."

It was what Tasìa expected to hear, and pretty much the same thing Travis had told her. Yet, it turned out that with even that bit of truthful information, he was playing her.

"That's how you knew what I was up to the second I walked in here? Tatiana has been here, too?"

"Yup," he affirmed. "She wanted to know what was going on at the SkyTether. Came around on three different occasions. Poking and prodding. I didn't mind. She was nice, like you."

She gave him her most fetching gobliny smile before she followed up.

"But there was someone that did mind Tatiana coming around asking questions?"

The nod of his head was but a slight quiver.

"Three to be precise."

"Beauregard, who are those guys back there with Travis?"

"Some guys who might just owe you an explanation."

Tasìa excused herself and headed to the bathroom. Her fingers were covered in the dusty Carolina Reaper seasoning.

She rinsed her hands and dried them with a towel.

She double-checked to see if her Magellani revolver was properly loaded. When she did so, something caught her attention.

The rounds she loaded were slightly different. The cases were marked with a band of white.

It was something that could easily be overlooked when dealing with ammunition because you always used what was available to you.

The scarcity of rounds meant it was often difficult to stock up on only one favored manufacturer's ammo. A case of rounds typically included the same caliber of ammo but from several different manufacturers who all used unique designs to distinguish their line.

These banded rounds would not have caught her notice as anything more than a cosmetic distinction except for the cases not being made of brass.

Instead, they were a high-flex inversion mesh that expanded on the inside when primed for explosive thrust but remained solidly intact on the outside. It gave the piston round a little more oomph when squeezing the bullet out from the cartridge case.

From there, as she examined the bullet head of the round she twirled between her fingers, what Tasìa discovered got a little more interesting.

White phosphorus.

Damn. Ought to check all of those .22 moonclips for whatever else may be in that case of ammo. Now, this weapon on those soldiers is starting to make more sense to me.

A minimized means for conducting specialized firing conditions. Advanced warfare on the cheap.

Tasia put the round back in the revolver chamber. She wondered what its impact would do to a Manifested changeling.

She suspected all four of the spooks gathered in the room around the corner from her were changelings.

Trepidation aside, there was only one way she could find out.

Tasìa placed the revolver inside her jeans and squeezed under her belt. She covered the gun up with her tank top, and unbuckled the sheath for the stiletto she kept on the inside of her left shin.

Now ready, she walked down the hall. She came to a door where a murmured commotion wailed up from the other side.

She opened the door. Stepped inside, and she shut it behind her.

Leaning against the door, striking an aggressive pose to let them know no one was leaving without her say-so, Tasìa assessed the room.

Two of the men stood at the very back by a shelf of liquor bottles as they conversed with one another.

Travis leaned over a billiards table. He was about to take a shot. The last man she assessed happened to be the oldest of the quartet, sat on a stool with a pool stick dangling between his hands.

He sneered at her as he stared back into her eyes.

Tasìa spoke up.

"Anyone going to tell me where you are keeping my Aunt?"

The older gentleman clenched his pool stick tight. His jaw slackened just before he spoke. His tongue whipped along his lower lip. It began to bifurcate.

"Hey! We are in the middle of a game here."

With a tight little grimace, Tasìa shook her head.

Wrong answer.