Beauregard's eyes beset curious beneath shaggy brows as he gazed upon the net bag full of guns, wallets, and jewelry.

He laughed at the sight and shook his head bemusedly at Tasìa in turn.

"Hey, man," Tasìa started. "Mind if I stash these back there behind the bar? Just for a few minutes. Pay you for your troubles."

"You robbed them?"

Tasìa shrugged and looked away.

"I tend to do that to people who give me smack talk."

He offered her his hand, and she gave him the bag. Beauregard stashed it beneath an empty cabinet.

Tasìa glanced at herself in the mirror. Her face was animated. More so than usual, and in her estimation, it prettied up her appearance quite a bit.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

There it is again.

Eagerness when engaging a lady. It must be a cultural trait.

"Why certainly, Beauregard. All this excitement has me worked up. I'm in need of cigarettes. Gitanes Brunes never go out of style -," Tasìa gasped, "- you have Gitanes Blonde-Cerise? I've never actually seen a pack before."

He handed her a pack. An umbrella-toting redhead in early twentieth-century fashion adorned the cover. She could have been a dead ringer for Annebél.

At a much higher pitch than her usual raspy soft tone, Tasìa squealed, "Give me two packs. Mi mejor amiga must see these!"

Beauregard gave her the second pack just as she tore off the wrapper for the first. He handed her a lighter.

"Are you cutting yourself off?"

Tasìa glanced back towards the hallway then she shook her head dismissively.

"Fuck no. Another Celebrator if you would. Oh. Do you have plastic baggies? One that you can fill up with ice. Someone is going to be asking for one soon."

He gazed long and hard down the hallway. Beauregard's tongue wiped across his chapped bottom lip in assessment of the situation to which she alluded.

"Just how bad is it back there?"

Tasìa calculated both the chaos she wrought and what could appease him as the proprietor. He would probably reject a split of the loot that she had bagged given he operated his bar so close to the Spook Town. So, no deal there

There were also the eight Liberty gold coins she kept in a belt clip. Who turns down gold?

She looked around. No one paid her any mind. Tasìa slipped the coin under her hand, and slid it across the table.

"Some blood on the carpet. The felt board on the billiards table is ruined. A nice-looking crystal decanter shattered into a dozen pieces. Also, three billiard balls are chipped. Oh, and an electric torch is pretty busted up. This should take care of it."

Beauregard palmed the coin like an old pro. When he tilted his palm up, his eyes lit up, but not with the approval she was expecting though. His blue irises held a tense expression of anxiety.

He leaned forward, big hand over his chest.

"Honores. Honor entre Asesinos."

Tasìa shrugged nonchalant while she wore a steady grin and nodded firmly.

Don't get all wobbly and spooked on me, big guy.

"Sometimes just referred to as El Honorum. Don't worry about the previous owner. She died an entirely stupid death."

Tasìa raised her palms in denial. It was considered bad form to brag about a kill. "Oh, cops shot that dumb bitch down, not me."

To this, he appeared more relaxed and nodded back affirmatively.

"Alright. Why spoil your fun with my own ignorant drama."

Damn good sport this one!

"For a second, Beu, I thought I was going to have to talk you off the edge."

His full squinched-face smile meant he liked her nickname for him, and liked the way she teased him.

She gave another glance down the hallway. The spooks should be departing soon. Most likely, they would send Petro out first. After all, who would trust a motherfucker like that at their backs?

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

She stood up and gave Beauregard a nod.

"Be back in a sec, Beau."

Tasìa wanted to surprise the spooks when they discover she had not left. It was the best way to show that she did not fear them. To press that point, she found a dance partner in an older gent.

It was the well-dressed gent sashaying on the restaurant patio a little earlier in the evening. Tasìa raised her hands, snapped her fingers, and moved her hips rhythmically to let him know they were partnering up.

He didn't seem to mind that she was being insistent. His eyes focused on her boobs. She glanced down. Even though the matching sports bra she wore beneath her white tank top was designed for support and modesty the pepperonis poked through, splendidly.

They tended to get excited when she made a score and stay that way for a good long time.

Tasìa grabbed the gent for a hugging embrace. He copped a quick squeeze of her side boob to which she was grateful she could enjoy that kind of play now without triggering her condition.

To her ulterior motive which had nothing to do with flirtation, however, Tasìa used the hugging maneuver to turn her dance partner around so she could face the hallway.

Now she backed away a few steps. Though Tasìa was having fun, close quarters dancing distracted too much from her immediate concern. For that she needed to focus on keeping her guard up.

The gent wanted a bit more contact and tried to close into the space between them. Tasìa smiled crooked at the old horny toad, and shook her head.

Why are men never satisfied even when you give them a memory that should last them a lifetime?

Tasìa swayed to the side and kept him at arm's length.

He shrugged his shoulders and played along. Seemingly now content that she let him cop a feel.

Tasìa smiled at him with a wink.

Don't want to come across as over eager, now do we?

Petro walked out with his right hand balled in a fist, and wrapped up in his jacket. The gray svelte cloth was soiled to the point of dripping blood.

His face was Artic pale and eyes desperately focused.

Snapping his left-hand fingers, he yelped out a request of Beauregard who immediately handed him the bag of ice.

Petro stared at the ice, puzzled for a moment before his neck twisted in a sharp jerk, and his eyes shot to her.

The sudden jerk must have played hell on his sense of balance. Petro stumbled, twisted his feet together, and fell. The severed finger flung across the dance floor.

Tasìa rushed over, picked it up, and walked over to Petro while examining the finger. She rolled the digit between her own fingers.

With a shake of the head, she gave him the grim news as she pointed to the damaged knuckle.

"The only way this gets salvaged is if a titanium bearing can be shunted over this bone fragment right there. You are better off with a fully robotic trigger finger replacement for this meat and bone. You should just toss this one in the garbage."

"Give it," he snapped.

Petro's glutes flexed involuntarily. A sure sign of what exactly she needed to know on how she was going to proceed going forward with this villain. He would try to cross her again at the first opportunity.

Petro would never let It go.

Tasìa drew her chin up, narrowed her focus, and grimaced.

She suppressed the urge to drop the severed digit down her gullet and swallow it.

How badass would that be?

But, given the sanctimonious shit talk she had been giving cannibals and doing to them of late, eating the finger would make her a supreme hypocrite.

So, she handed the finger back to Petro.

"I don't want to ever see you back here again. I don't mean just this bar. I mean this Spook Town. I see you again I'll shoot you between your eyes like you tried to do to Fodor. Understood?"

She watched him leave and assessed what needed to be done. She had given him fair warning, as she felt compelled by her personal code to do.

You know in your gut that is not adequate. Not with a guy like that. You can't leave it to chance. It will come back and bite you on the ass in the worst way possible.

Tasìa recalled her promise to minimize casualties, this time, for this operation. Her body count was a bad habit. An addiction even.

It too came with consequences. People she didn't care much for like Lt. Colonel Sol considered her to be one of their own due to her ruthless propensity.

But so did the mercs who lived by principled rules of engagement. If she was to continue down this path she had to be more like them and less like a gunslinger.

But for the sake of everything, Petro had to be eliminated.

Tasìa started to follow Petro out the door when her dance partner touched her on the arm to get her attention.

"Hey, pretty lady. Are you Avellana?"

Tasia blinked in astonishment.

"Yes. How did you know?"

He raised his phone.

"Some lady called my phone asking for you."

Tasìa graciously accepted the phone.

"Hello, this is Avellana."

"Do you have any idea how hard it's been for me to get a hold of you of late?"

Tasìa smiled. It was Felicité.

"The old PA died in a fierce battle. So, how is everything up there in Ward Nueve?"

She was curious about the gossip concerning Ria's death.

Tasìa found a relatively quiet booth to rest her haunches. She smiled at the well-dressed gent to let him know she wasn't going very far away with his phone in her hands.

"Same as always here, you know. I've got some updates that will help us both. Found a few things out. Are you curious?"

"Sure."

"You met a Serbian by the name of Sylvia? I tracked her to some of your secret accounts, actually."

Tasìa nodded.

"Yes. You helped me out there. Jammed that satellite signal that was set up to kill me."

Felicité paused a second.

"That's... right. Thanks for reminding me. Let me check on something."

The Argentinian's brain was a steel trap. Swiss in its timed precision. This lapse gave Tasìa a bad feeling.

"Okay. I'm back. Sylvia is holed up in Asunción. I need you to escort her to a meeting with the HRC commissioner. With what I gave you and what Sylvia can tell the commissioner, a deal can be worked out to get me sprung. You there, Tasìa?"

Tasìa bit her lip before speaking. She tried to sound confident.

"Truth be told, I wondered how that meeting with HRC was going to get arranged given I have a price on my head."

"So it all sounded a bit daft, did it? No fears," Felicité assured her. "I have it all under control, and I found a safe meet-up location. But, I spy that you are busy and on the prowl. I'll call you back at noon tomorrow to set up a time."

"Noon, tomorrow, then."

"I won't keep you any longer. Ciao."

Felicité signed off. Tasìa gave the phone back to the well-dressed gent and rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek.

She eyed Beauregard. He was watching the exchange so she kept the kiss chaste. Truth be told, though older, he was a rather handsome gent.

She decided she was going to lay down a ground rule for her intimate and sexual exploits. Only one boyfriend per bar scene. Here, Beauregard was by far her best potential.

She walked up to the counter and finished off her Celebrator.

"Hey," she said to Beauregard. "Do you mind hanging on to my loot a little while longer?"

He grinned with a laugh.

"No. Not at all."

"Good. Let the boys know it is safe to come out now."

With that, Tasìa put the bottle down and walked out the saloon to commence her hunt.