Read Online Resurrecting Midnight by Eric Jerome Dickey - Free Book Online
Authors: Eric Jerome Dickey
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Raven’s right eye. Give her something to joke about. Horror covered her face. No longer 51-50. No longer wishing for a 10-56.
Medianoche aimed at her eye as she turned her face away. He struggled to find her eye until Señor Rodríguez grabbed his arm and wrestled the Montblanc away.
Medianoche didn’t let up on Señorita Raven. Looked in her eyes for that arrogance.
The Beast put a soft hand on Medianoche’s shoulder. Medianoche respected the chain of command, yanked his hand away from the neck of what he had frowned upon as being an arrogant wannabe-bitch-ass-feminist fool, let her collapse into the wall. Medianoche turned back around, adjusted his tie, his shirt, his hat, the patch over his eye, kept his eye on Señorita Raven’s reflection. And her gun hand. She coughed back to life, coughed hard, like she was a child reborn, sweat sprouting across her face, a river of foolishness draining into her black suit.
Rodríguez reached around Medianoche, hit the red button.
The elevator descended.
The ThyssenKrupp elevator stopped on the ground floor, floor zero, steel doors opening on the lobby. All glass and concrete.
Medianoche remained up front.
The Beast stepped up, moved to his left.
Señorita Raven picked up her fallen hat, put it back on, her breathing heated and thick.
In a firm voice, The Beast said, “Everything settled?”
“I’m not the one with the problem.”
“Not you, Medianoche. I was talking to Señorita Raven.”
“Everything is settled, sir. For now.”
Medianoche said, “Get on your knees and thank Señor Rodríguez you didn’t end up with that pen coming out the back of your fucking skull. Next time you won’t be so lucky.”
“Well, sir. You just started something I hope you can finish.”
“Arrogant bitch.”
“When I need to be. Most of the time I’m a just a regular diva, sir.”
“Diva is right. Dumb. Ignorant. Vulgar. Arrogant. A disgrace to your people.”
“My people?”
“That’s what I said, soldier.”
“I’m American. Those are my people.”
“You’ll never be a true American. Not North America. Not the U.S.”
“You’re one eye away from being invited to a camp sponsored by Stevie Wonder.”
Medianoche opened and closed his hands, made his knuckles pop. “That witty banter might work in a sitcom, but this ain’t a fucking sitcom. You will respect me. One more snappy comeback and the last sound you will hear will be the snapping of your pretty little neck.”
“Guess you expect me to kiss your ass. I’m not an ass kisser. I’ve never kissed ass. Well, once. He was cute. And I didn’t like the taste of ass, so I gave up ass kissing right away.”
He barked, “I’m not your goddamn equal, Señorita Raven.”
“And being seventeen points behind in the IQ department, you never will be, sir.”
“No matter what you scored, no matter what you think you know, I outrank you, soldier.”
“In the military. This ain’t the fucking military. Get off my case, Cyclops. If you lost that peeper in combat, yeah, I’d respect you and call you Sergeant Rock. You lost it over a piece of rental pussy? Shot by a kid in North Caro-fucking-lina? What kind of loser shit is that?”
Medianoche was about to go for her again. Rodríguez moved in between.
The Beast said, “Soldiers. Enough. Recess is over. Check your egos. Time to work.”
They left the edifice and paused at the security gate. The guard was a middle-aged Porteño dressed in a white shirt and black security pants, standard uniform, his coat black, like a parka. He saw them and a moment later handed each a black backpack. Then they were buzzed out of the premises, took to the narrow street lined with cars, taxis, businesses, and dog shit, turned right and marched into the coldness and the rain.
Señorita Raven hiked her backpack up on her shoulder and asked, “Smoke and flash?”
Señor Rodríguez answered, “I ordered stun and flash.”
“I’m partial to smoke, good for instant
Medianoche aimed at her eye as she turned her face away. He struggled to find her eye until Señor Rodríguez grabbed his arm and wrestled the Montblanc away.
Medianoche didn’t let up on Señorita Raven. Looked in her eyes for that arrogance.
The Beast put a soft hand on Medianoche’s shoulder. Medianoche respected the chain of command, yanked his hand away from the neck of what he had frowned upon as being an arrogant wannabe-bitch-ass-feminist fool, let her collapse into the wall. Medianoche turned back around, adjusted his tie, his shirt, his hat, the patch over his eye, kept his eye on Señorita Raven’s reflection. And her gun hand. She coughed back to life, coughed hard, like she was a child reborn, sweat sprouting across her face, a river of foolishness draining into her black suit.
Rodríguez reached around Medianoche, hit the red button.
The elevator descended.
The ThyssenKrupp elevator stopped on the ground floor, floor zero, steel doors opening on the lobby. All glass and concrete.
Medianoche remained up front.
The Beast stepped up, moved to his left.
Señorita Raven picked up her fallen hat, put it back on, her breathing heated and thick.
In a firm voice, The Beast said, “Everything settled?”
“I’m not the one with the problem.”
“Not you, Medianoche. I was talking to Señorita Raven.”
“Everything is settled, sir. For now.”
Medianoche said, “Get on your knees and thank Señor Rodríguez you didn’t end up with that pen coming out the back of your fucking skull. Next time you won’t be so lucky.”
“Well, sir. You just started something I hope you can finish.”
“Arrogant bitch.”
“When I need to be. Most of the time I’m a just a regular diva, sir.”
“Diva is right. Dumb. Ignorant. Vulgar. Arrogant. A disgrace to your people.”
“My people?”
“That’s what I said, soldier.”
“I’m American. Those are my people.”
“You’ll never be a true American. Not North America. Not the U.S.”
“You’re one eye away from being invited to a camp sponsored by Stevie Wonder.”
Medianoche opened and closed his hands, made his knuckles pop. “That witty banter might work in a sitcom, but this ain’t a fucking sitcom. You will respect me. One more snappy comeback and the last sound you will hear will be the snapping of your pretty little neck.”
“Guess you expect me to kiss your ass. I’m not an ass kisser. I’ve never kissed ass. Well, once. He was cute. And I didn’t like the taste of ass, so I gave up ass kissing right away.”
He barked, “I’m not your goddamn equal, Señorita Raven.”
“And being seventeen points behind in the IQ department, you never will be, sir.”
“No matter what you scored, no matter what you think you know, I outrank you, soldier.”
“In the military. This ain’t the fucking military. Get off my case, Cyclops. If you lost that peeper in combat, yeah, I’d respect you and call you Sergeant Rock. You lost it over a piece of rental pussy? Shot by a kid in North Caro-fucking-lina? What kind of loser shit is that?”
Medianoche was about to go for her again. Rodríguez moved in between.
The Beast said, “Soldiers. Enough. Recess is over. Check your egos. Time to work.”
They left the edifice and paused at the security gate. The guard was a middle-aged Porteño dressed in a white shirt and black security pants, standard uniform, his coat black, like a parka. He saw them and a moment later handed each a black backpack. Then they were buzzed out of the premises, took to the narrow street lined with cars, taxis, businesses, and dog shit, turned right and marched into the coldness and the rain.
Señorita Raven hiked her backpack up on her shoulder and asked, “Smoke and flash?”
Señor Rodríguez answered, “I ordered stun and flash.”
“I’m partial to smoke, good for instant
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