Clean-Up on Aisle 1
#2 of The Ballad of Rosie and Manny
After far too long a time, here is the second part of "The Ballad of Rosie and Manny," which appeared in my first Patreon post. Part three is also in that post, and part four is in the most recent post. If you just can't wait, Click here to learn more about my Patreon. My posts are always in PDFs, so they can be read on just about anything.
Having neatly subdued the unwelcome visitors to their warehouse, Manny and Rosie are now in the process of cleaning up the mess. Exactly what the intruders were looking for isn't clear -- rumors about gun smuggling have been bandied about, and the Company and/or Homeland Security wants it stopped. Too bad they're up against a very clever pair of siblings who know a few things about delivery that even DHL hasn't figured out yet...
"Why am I always the one who has to haul out the trash?"
"Because you're the only one big enough to handle the kind of trash we get in this place."
"You need a better lock on the door."
Manny grinned softly at the large black bear. A full two meters tall and weighing in at close to 150 kilos of nearly solid muscle, Sydney was the original gentle giant. That changed if you threatened him or anyone close to him, but for the most part, he was a damned fine practical nurse and volunteer EMT. While Manny got his information (which took about 215 seconds, making him wonder if he were losing his touch), Rosie had been on the phone to Sydney, getting his help in taking care of the Wonder Triplets. They were sufficiently dazed and in enough pain to be little to no trouble for the bear to patch up. There were precisely two rude comments, both of which were cut short by the flat of a huge front paw applied in a firm, upward stroke to the back of the skull - what had become known popularly as a "Gibbs slap." The third member of the reconnaissance team appeared to have enough brains to shut up and let himself get patched. Manny thought there might be hope for the heathens yet.
Counting the time it took Sydney to arrive - unimpeded and, for all he could tell, unobserved - and the time he'd spent tending to the various ugly-looking but wholly survivable GSWs, nearly an hour had passed. Part of the reason for the interlopers' silence was that they had resigned themselves to having been abandoned by their commander.
"Did you get what you wanted?" Sydney asked, checking the paw cuffs on the three. Clearly, Rosie had done a good job. Not exactly top-of-the-line ASP black steel rigids, but why waste good hardware on the ordinary pest?
"Eyah." Manny's single syllable was enough.
"Why'd you leave their masks on?"
"They prefer anonymity, and I prefer not to lose a perfectly good dinner over muzzles only a mother could love. Okay, pups, on your hind paws." The wolf looked down at the smallest of the three, the one who had all the electronic equipment on his belt. "You're the exception. It's a through-and-through of your thigh; didn't clip the bone at all. Although you might be able to put some weight on it, I wouldn't recommend it, at least not for a while. I'm sure Sydney will be happy to assist."
"'Happy' is a bit strong a word, thanks." With a single tug, the bear hauled the smallest of the recon team up by his belt and pulled him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The techie shouted once, whether from pain or humiliation was anyone's guess. "Hey, no bad reviews of this bear's hauling service! Where do ya want 'em, Manny?"
"Toss 'em in the back of their van and lock 'em in," Rosie suggested, grinning toothily at the hapless trio, her tail wagging slowly with obvious mirth. "Someone'll come to claim them... or maybe just shoot 'em and be done with it."
"Now, now, mi hermanita dulce," Manny chastised without meaning a word of it. "I think you're making them all scared now, and we wouldn't want them adding other stains to the blood they've already left on our otherwise nice clean warehouse floor, would we?" The wolf tsked softly, shaking his head as he maneuvered the other two by their manacled forepaws, wondering (and not for the first time) why these "highly-trained security agents" never seemed to think about the dozen or so ways to escape that he, Manny, had all but presented on a platinum platter. It was more difficult to perform the old intentional-stumble-leading-to-sweeping-leg trick when your forepaws are cuffed behind you, but it was not only possible but probably preferable to being pranced about like clueless pups on display at the their first prom. This led the wolf to think about puns regarding the debutante's balls, but he was trying to wean himself from the cheap shots.
"Then at least allow me to get the door for you." Suiting actions to words, Rosie held the large steel door as Sydney ducked a bit to make sure that both his head and his baggage wouldn't strike the top of the entrance. Her older brother marched his two charges toward the door when one of them decided that he had to have one last shot. "Nice rack," he snarled at the female wolf, eyeing her rose-colored shirt straining against its buttons.
Almost faster than the eye could follow, Rosie's right hindpaw rose up to plant a massively hard kick right where it counted. The doubly-wounded male made a noise which sounded remarkably like the name for the area she had struck.
"I play pool too," she observed drily.
"I'll bet your granddaddy felt that one." Manny yanked the cur back to his hindpaws as best he could to keep him moving. "Don't worry too much; I hear that castrati are making a comeback in today's operatic societies."
Sydney had already opened the van and tossed his baggage into the back with more tender care than Manny would have provided. "I'm assuming this is the right van," the bear humphed, "since it's the only one in the alley?"
"That, and the plain black exterior polished to a sheen, yet having a conveniently mud-covered license plate, preventing the average joe from spotting it quickly." The wolf shoved his two captives into the back with a bit less finesse than the bear, but he figured it served them right. Getting blood out of warehouse flooring wasn't easy; the coppery scent of it would linger in his sensitive canine nostrils for a long time. "Still vulnerable to street cams, with computer imaging clean-up, but they're probably bogus anyway. Oh, by the way," he said, addressing his captives, "anyone need to relive himself before we lock you in?"
"Yeah," said the one Manny figured was supposed to be the leader. "I do."
"Learn to hold it."
He was about to slam the door shut when the leader shouted out again. "Look," he said, "would you at least do me the favor of yanking this earwig? After all this, I don't need to be forced to listen to my boss screaming at me."
"He's still there?"
"If he's really pissed, he'll play_Yellow Submarine_ on an endless loop."
"I could like that guy." He slammed the door shut, engaged the locks, and patted his friend on the back.
"I hope no one in there remembered that the corner taqueria had a special on bean burritos today," the bear mused. "Lot of electronic equipment in there. One spark..."
The wolf blinked. "You know that's not possible, right?"
"Of course. But it's funny as hell to think so, enit?"
Behind them, the van began rocking on its wheels in a rather suggestive fashion. "What do you think they're doing in there?"
"Probably trying to get it out."
"I didn't think they'd gotten it in."
Sydney grinned at him. "A filthy mind is a terrible thing to waste."
