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Each heist was unique. The Little Rock job was high profile. First and foremost, it was in the downtown capitol. The gallery stood beneath the rotunda, and every wall of the kiosquon was glass. IM and Lieu had planned a sophisticated scheme for this one, repelling from a glass in the ceiling of the rotunda, and lifting the work on a pulley from the gallery and lowering it on another pulley to the ground.
Karin and Grace were to pack the work and load it onto the platform. Lieu secured the brass rings that formed the winches. IM pulled the work up from the gallery, and lowered it down to Suave and Drum. Eights guarded the exit end. Knucnuc, Doc and the unnamed contact digitally transferred the Herbal Cures Database while monitoring the front. The boys sent the girls into the City Hall early in the afternoon, hoping they could succeed in getting left in the gallery after close. If so, they could then pack the work before the break-in and shave precious minutes from the raid.
The bigger problem was that the bandits didn’t have the cover of obscurity. Since the opening of the Burial Grounds Auction, people all over Arkansas had been protesting. They clamored for the Art Bandits to cleanse the capital. The bandits had been to Little Rock when Gracie was a girl. The clinics Knuc and Doc set up had been among the best run in the Northern Hemisphere. Unfortunately, the recently hired Mayor had closed the clinics, initiating civil unrest--The Pharmacy Riots is what Little Rock called them.
To control the free falling cost of ARVs, the mayor forced any privately run clinics to close doors. A protest was staged, predictably. The protest began as a peaceful sit-in, and protestors had only started fires to warm themselves through the night. The popular version of the story called the first blaze an accident--something blew out of the fire, unnoticed and aflame. It wasn’t long before the cries from the first fire spread to protesters at the second.
Stoked by anxious confusion and circulating rumors as to the cause of the first blaze, organizers at the second blaze instigated the crowd into a raucous frenzy. Riots erupted as fires spread to nearby businesses. As flames approached the second clinic, closest geographically to the first fire, anxious protestors began to flee the scene. In the ensuing melee, a third fire sparked.
Protesters deserted the third clinic long before the fire spread to the farthest end of downtown, and those protestors joined the rioters in the streets. Tales of that night revealed the awful humanity of it all. As some patients ran out of the flames, carried by nurses or doctors, in wheel chairs and stretchers, many of the rioters stormed the clinics to raid the stocks of ARV drugs.
Little Rock’s tiny fire department could not fight all the blazes. The town had no police force. The mayor organized the fire fighters, and other volunteers, into an army. Few in Little Rock, where firearms were completely banned, had guns, so the army fought fire with fire. They set strategic fires entrapping rioters. Scores were killed. Hundreds had died as a consequence of riot related injuries. The city’s morale was low; everyone was ashamed.
Fighting had ended weeks prior. Many of the residential neighborhoods were reduced to ruins. Many of the combatants were buried in mass graves. For the time being, medical care ceased to exist. The resurfacing of the Herbal Cures Database proved serendipitous for Little Rock. The Art Bandits would not have known about Little Rock, otherwise. The Mutafarrik were stunned to see the devolution of Little Rock.
The anonymous seller intended to sell his database to the Burial Ground Auctions in order to rebuild. Superstition, however, encumbered him. The people of Little Rock would have been more preoccupied with survival were it not for the fact that spirituality so deeply infused the masses. They blamed not each other, not the mayor, but the Burial Grounds Auction for the Pharmacy Riots. Evil must haunt an exhibit of art work raided from burial grounds. The auction was an affront to the powers that truly be. It had tilted the spiritual balance and sent their lives spinning wildly in the direction of extinction. They wanted it out of their City Hall and out of their town.
Unfortunately, the fat cat holding the auction was not a resident of Little Rock, did not care about the community, and had signed a contract that the Mayor, despite his reservations, honored dutifully. The seller had already put an ad for a new buyer on the Net when he encountered a search ad from the Mutafarrik. He knew that with the Mutafarrik came the drug surges, and he hoped he could get a supply that would last him and his family through the drought until Little Rock rebuilt.
Young Dangerfield, the auctioneer, would hold his auction, anyway, and he dared the Art Bandits to make an appearance. He knew, now, who they were. He remembered, now, the international laughingstock they’d made of his father at the Alltown Museum of Contemporary Art. Then, they'd raped his his own private gallery! He trusted that, somehow, the Mutafarrik would hear and respond to the bid of the Little Rock natives. Young Dangerfield would be waiting.
Wisdom and Knowledge had always taught the Mutafarrik the value of art for art’s sake, but after the Johnstontines raided the Jamaican Spot and stole the work right off the walls, and then covered all the Bright Corners murals with black paint and death warrants, after the streets were not safe for musicians and the avenues were never a festival again, the Mutafarrik learned the importance of art in the community, and they believed that no community could thrive without access to it. A piece of art work was a man’s cultural inheritance to his children. That work contained historical information that allowed a community to secure its moorings. The Mutafarrik had returned ancient artifacts to societies who had possessed little other evidence of their origins. That work may have been sitting in the storage facility of a museum, or sitting on some heiress' sun porch holding a bouquet of dead flowers. In a time when so much of pre-Reparations society was in question, art work illustrated the past.
In the beginning, the Mutafarrik had stolen art work to fund their band, travel abroad, open clinics, and complicate the word renegade. They no longer needed the money, and the risk outweighed the thrill. Medicine required their time, and curing HIV tantalized much more than groupies and lonely heiresses.
Dangerfield remained a tempting target. However, the Herbal Cures Database, as far as the Mutafarrik were concerned, was the key to curing HIV. They had developed a treatment program that could reduce AIDS to HIV.
The bigger problem was that the bandits didn’t have the cover of obscurity. Since the opening of the Burial Grounds Auction, people all over Arkansas had been protesting. They clamored for the Art Bandits to cleanse the capital. The bandits had been to Little Rock when Gracie was a girl. The clinics Knuc and Doc set up had been among the best run in the Northern Hemisphere. Unfortunately, the recently hired Mayor had closed the clinics, initiating civil unrest--The Pharmacy Riots is what Little Rock called them.
To control the free falling cost of ARVs, the mayor forced any privately run clinics to close doors. A protest was staged, predictably. The protest began as a peaceful sit-in, and protestors had only started fires to warm themselves through the night. The popular version of the story called the first blaze an accident--something blew out of the fire, unnoticed and aflame. It wasn’t long before the cries from the first fire spread to protesters at the second.
Stoked by anxious confusion and circulating rumors as to the cause of the first blaze, organizers at the second blaze instigated the crowd into a raucous frenzy. Riots erupted as fires spread to nearby businesses. As flames approached the second clinic, closest geographically to the first fire, anxious protestors began to flee the scene. In the ensuing melee, a third fire sparked.
Protesters deserted the third clinic long before the fire spread to the farthest end of downtown, and those protestors joined the rioters in the streets. Tales of that night revealed the awful humanity of it all. As some patients ran out of the flames, carried by nurses or doctors, in wheel chairs and stretchers, many of the rioters stormed the clinics to raid the stocks of ARV drugs.
Little Rock’s tiny fire department could not fight all the blazes. The town had no police force. The mayor organized the fire fighters, and other volunteers, into an army. Few in Little Rock, where firearms were completely banned, had guns, so the army fought fire with fire. They set strategic fires entrapping rioters. Scores were killed. Hundreds had died as a consequence of riot related injuries. The city’s morale was low; everyone was ashamed.
Fighting had ended weeks prior. Many of the residential neighborhoods were reduced to ruins. Many of the combatants were buried in mass graves. For the time being, medical care ceased to exist. The resurfacing of the Herbal Cures Database proved serendipitous for Little Rock. The Art Bandits would not have known about Little Rock, otherwise. The Mutafarrik were stunned to see the devolution of Little Rock.The anonymous seller intended to sell his database to the Burial Ground Auctions in order to rebuild. Superstition, however, encumbered him. The people of Little Rock would have been more preoccupied with survival were it not for the fact that spirituality so deeply infused the masses. They blamed not each other, not the mayor, but the Burial Grounds Auction for the Pharmacy Riots. Evil must haunt an exhibit of art work raided from burial grounds. The auction was an affront to the powers that truly be. It had tilted the spiritual balance and sent their lives spinning wildly in the direction of extinction. They wanted it out of their City Hall and out of their town.
Unfortunately, the fat cat holding the auction was not a resident of Little Rock, did not care about the community, and had signed a contract that the Mayor, despite his reservations, honored dutifully. The seller had already put an ad for a new buyer on the Net when he encountered a search ad from the Mutafarrik. He knew that with the Mutafarrik came the drug surges, and he hoped he could get a supply that would last him and his family through the drought until Little Rock rebuilt.
Young Dangerfield, the auctioneer, would hold his auction, anyway, and he dared the Art Bandits to make an appearance. He knew, now, who they were. He remembered, now, the international laughingstock they’d made of his father at the Alltown Museum of Contemporary Art. Then, they'd raped his his own private gallery! He trusted that, somehow, the Mutafarrik would hear and respond to the bid of the Little Rock natives. Young Dangerfield would be waiting.
Wisdom and Knowledge had always taught the Mutafarrik the value of art for art’s sake, but after the Johnstontines raided the Jamaican Spot and stole the work right off the walls, and then covered all the Bright Corners murals with black paint and death warrants, after the streets were not safe for musicians and the avenues were never a festival again, the Mutafarrik learned the importance of art in the community, and they believed that no community could thrive without access to it. A piece of art work was a man’s cultural inheritance to his children. That work contained historical information that allowed a community to secure its moorings. The Mutafarrik had returned ancient artifacts to societies who had possessed little other evidence of their origins. That work may have been sitting in the storage facility of a museum, or sitting on some heiress' sun porch holding a bouquet of dead flowers. In a time when so much of pre-Reparations society was in question, art work illustrated the past.
In the beginning, the Mutafarrik had stolen art work to fund their band, travel abroad, open clinics, and complicate the word renegade. They no longer needed the money, and the risk outweighed the thrill. Medicine required their time, and curing HIV tantalized much more than groupies and lonely heiresses.Dangerfield remained a tempting target. However, the Herbal Cures Database, as far as the Mutafarrik were concerned, was the key to curing HIV. They had developed a treatment program that could reduce AIDS to HIV.
Through a programmed diet, a regimen of teas, vitamin supplements and an aggressive routine of yogic stretches, the attending therapist could bring T-Cell counts under control. Increasing the intensity of the regimen brought improved results.
An effect like drug resistance was inevitable. The chameleon HIV and AIDS would shift the attack often, and if a virus learned an herbal treatment, it could be evaded. The mad scientists had seen this. The boys had pined for a Penicillin or an Alegra--a single drug that would defeat the virus.
The Dangerfield Solution had cured SIV-1, but not by any single treatment. For each monkey, the medications, doses, and treatments changed vastly. The boys, after observing this, stopped trying to cure the disease and started trying to cure the person. They programmed a treatment to rebuild the individual immune system, fortify the spirit, and isolate the virus, through herbs, meditation, exercise, and vitamins. With a wider base of herbs to choose from, they hoped to identify combinations that would pressure HIV into a long-term remission. Ultimately, the herbs offered thousands more treatment options than the ARV medicine cabinet, consisting of a mere six dozen. With the herbal treatments, cost never complicated the treatment. Patients could process their own teas if they could not afford to buy them. This reduced the obstacle of drug resistance.
Long-term remission was not a cure, and IM, more than the others, felt creating such a complete treatment would undermine the search for a real cure. A particularly popular strain of the virus moved relatively predictably. The boys had treated AIDS cases of this strain into HIV with great consistency, and IM believed he could identify a controlling pattern to the virus’ mutation. Knuc and Doc pledged to persist with the treatment, if IM wanted to isolate his focus on a cure. Hope like this, arising at the exact moment that the Herbal Cures Database resurfaced, compelled the Little Rock Burial Grounds robbery.
Karin and Gracie entered the City Hall late that afternoon dressed as new secretaries, the kind of new secretaries who can go ahead the first time they forget their jackets in the office with the IDs still on the lapels.
Long-term remission was not a cure, and IM, more than the others, felt creating such a complete treatment would undermine the search for a real cure. A particularly popular strain of the virus moved relatively predictably. The boys had treated AIDS cases of this strain into HIV with great consistency, and IM believed he could identify a controlling pattern to the virus’ mutation. Knuc and Doc pledged to persist with the treatment, if IM wanted to isolate his focus on a cure. Hope like this, arising at the exact moment that the Herbal Cures Database resurfaced, compelled the Little Rock Burial Grounds robbery.
Karin and Gracie entered the City Hall late that afternoon dressed as new secretaries, the kind of new secretaries who can go ahead the first time they forget their jackets in the office with the IDs still on the lapels. The girls slipped into the bathroom of a liquor store tenanting in the City Hall and emerged two hours later in full costume. Innocent, young and fresh faced, Karin and Grace were easily forgotten in the mad rush for liquor that had become the lunch break pattern since the Pharmacy Riots. Once Karin and Grace changed into high fashion outfits, donned styled wigs, and masked themselves with cosmetics, emerging hours later supermodel sophisticated, they were too beautiful for the shopkeep’s son to dare look in the eye.
If Grace and Karin hadn’t been so utterly urbane, they would have stuck out like sore thumbs in the exhibit. The most baleful of humanity mixed in the crowd. Two women were clearly vampires. They each had sharpened teeth, and their pale, violet necks blushed with bruises. A large contention was witches. A number of native healers had come to view the vestiges from the Ancient native burial grounds. There were conjurers and African Herb men. All together, that motley crew of attendees hardly matched the numbers of death obsessed Euro trash, with no intention to buy, present only to enjoy the charged environment. It was like a haunted house of their history, and they bonded in the alternate guilt and pride they felt for their collective past.
If Grace and Karin hadn’t been so utterly urbane, they would have stuck out like sore thumbs in the exhibit. The most baleful of humanity mixed in the crowd. Two women were clearly vampires. They each had sharpened teeth, and their pale, violet necks blushed with bruises. A large contention was witches. A number of native healers had come to view the vestiges from the Ancient native burial grounds. There were conjurers and African Herb men. All together, that motley crew of attendees hardly matched the numbers of death obsessed Euro trash, with no intention to buy, present only to enjoy the charged environment. It was like a haunted house of their history, and they bonded in the alternate guilt and pride they felt for their collective past.
Grace and Karin knew the type and blended in as prep school princesses.
The girls did manage to be left in the locked gallery, but it botched the whole plan. They got locked in with Dangerfield, who was supposed to be participating via telecast. Dangerfield recognized Karin instantly. After that, plan A was out the window.
The girls did manage to be left in the locked gallery, but it botched the whole plan. They got locked in with Dangerfield, who was supposed to be participating via telecast. Dangerfield recognized Karin instantly. After that, plan A was out the window.
If Dangerfield had the faintest idea how much further IM and Knuc had taken SIV, if Dangerfield knew that his own parents had paved the way for a potential cure to HIV, and that the boys were planning to teach the healing process to anyone in the world for free, he would’ve strung them boys up as part of the exhibit. The show would include a lynching tableau. As it was, he was determined to get payback for his missing instruments. Alas, his rage was no match for his lust, and before he could carry out his revenge, he must have caramel Karin once more. He attached himself to her all night. He guessed she’d try to slip him a drug; he wasn’t totally resistant to the idea, but wanted to drag out the cat and mouse. He didn’t stop for a drink until after the last guest left. When she went into her purse for a pill to slip in his drink, she found her stash stolen.
Dangerfield agreed to Eighty Eight rolling through with some party drugs—the justification Karin offered. She called Lieu and Eights and told them to change clothes. They were coming in the front entrance. Lieu and Eights pulled up in the getaway car--a stretch limo rented, very illegally, for cash--complete with blind driver.
Dangerfield agreed to Eighty Eight rolling through with some party drugs—the justification Karin offered. She called Lieu and Eights and told them to change clothes. They were coming in the front entrance. Lieu and Eights pulled up in the getaway car--a stretch limo rented, very illegally, for cash--complete with blind driver. The car sat parked in front of the building, filling three parking spaces. The chauffeur fed each meter, turned the lights out, and left the car in accessory. Dangerfield had security open the building for Lieu and Eights.
Lieu and Eights didn’t have to see to know that Dangerfield had something up his sleeve, but before he yanked it out, Dangerfield was determined to watch Karin fuck Eights, again. Eights, of course, acquiesced. The girl had a terrible exhibitionist streak.
Conveniently, Lieu and Grace were left to pack up the work. Inconveniently, the lights were still on and all of the walls were glass. A security camera trained on the gallery reported any activity directly to display screens at the security station in front. Lieu looked at the decayed, blood stained, wood cuckoo clock above the door to the gallery. “That part of the exhibit?”
“Yup.”
“It’s right?”
“Yup.”
“Three hours. How much we got to pack up?”
“We only got six pieces on the list. They not easy to pack up, lots of delicate parts.”
Somehow that sounded very sexy to Lieu. “Laugh. Laugh. Laugh for the camera.”
Grace smiled and giggled, flirtatiously. She batted her eyes, and Lieu crossed to her. She put her hand out to prevent him from coming too close, but when she encountered his sturdy chest, her wrist lost any resistance. Still, she tried to remain composed: “I think it will take about an hour and a half to pack the stuff, right? We better take care of work, huh, Lieu?”
“How will we pack up, baby girl?”
“You know how to pack up.” She pressed him away from her a bit. He leaned into her push. His heavy chest fell against hers.
Lieu whispered into her ear, “the lights are on. They’re watching. We need a real good reason to turn them off, don’t you think?”
Grace tried to talk, but all that escaped was a deep sigh. She looked up at the corners of the kiosquon, holding the camera in her periphery. Lieu kissed her neck.
Grace moaned again. Her rib cage rattled. She struggled to gain her composure. “That tickles. Stop.”
“I can’t stop until we turn the lights off. Just let me kiss your neck.” Grace threw her neck back, and the Bad Lieutenant tickled her from her ear lobe to the nape of her neck with the whiskers on his chin. He leaned back, twisted her hips toward the lights, and swiped her stiffly on the behind. Grace turned coquettishly, draped herself against the wall, and flipped the light switch off.
The incursion went quickly and quietly. The glass lifted easily out of the rotunda. The scoop went fast. The Herbal Database transferred without error. Before Eights and Karin had petted past foreplay, Doc, Knuc, IM, Suave and Drum were changed, sitting in the limo, sipping sparkles. Dangerfield was nodding, or so the men believed. So, they contented themselves to wait for Eights and Karin to get off, get Lieu and Grace, and get their asses in the ride.
Grace turned to flick the light on, but Lieu stopped her. “It’s film, Gracie. Continuity. What were we doing in the last scene?”
“Lieu.”
Lieu dropped to his knees and tugged at Grace’s hips. She swayed easily with his touch but resisted moving forward. “Grace. Let’s try one more time.” Grace melted over his shoulder and slid onto his lap. Lieu began undressing her. He removed her wig. He smeared the make up from her eyelids and her lips. She concentrated on breathing between deep, quaking sighs. He kissed her neck for what seemed an eternity, and Grace curled into his arms and suffered the steady paroxysms. She was a stream of sound, sighs and moans, and quiet curses.
Lieu and Eights didn’t have to see to know that Dangerfield had something up his sleeve, but before he yanked it out, Dangerfield was determined to watch Karin fuck Eights, again. Eights, of course, acquiesced. The girl had a terrible exhibitionist streak.
Conveniently, Lieu and Grace were left to pack up the work. Inconveniently, the lights were still on and all of the walls were glass. A security camera trained on the gallery reported any activity directly to display screens at the security station in front. Lieu looked at the decayed, blood stained, wood cuckoo clock above the door to the gallery. “That part of the exhibit?”
“Yup.”
“It’s right?”
“Yup.”
“Three hours. How much we got to pack up?”
“We only got six pieces on the list. They not easy to pack up, lots of delicate parts.”
Somehow that sounded very sexy to Lieu. “Laugh. Laugh. Laugh for the camera.”Grace smiled and giggled, flirtatiously. She batted her eyes, and Lieu crossed to her. She put her hand out to prevent him from coming too close, but when she encountered his sturdy chest, her wrist lost any resistance. Still, she tried to remain composed: “I think it will take about an hour and a half to pack the stuff, right? We better take care of work, huh, Lieu?”
“How will we pack up, baby girl?”
“You know how to pack up.” She pressed him away from her a bit. He leaned into her push. His heavy chest fell against hers.
Lieu whispered into her ear, “the lights are on. They’re watching. We need a real good reason to turn them off, don’t you think?”
Grace tried to talk, but all that escaped was a deep sigh. She looked up at the corners of the kiosquon, holding the camera in her periphery. Lieu kissed her neck.
Grace moaned again. Her rib cage rattled. She struggled to gain her composure. “That tickles. Stop.”
“I can’t stop until we turn the lights off. Just let me kiss your neck.” Grace threw her neck back, and the Bad Lieutenant tickled her from her ear lobe to the nape of her neck with the whiskers on his chin. He leaned back, twisted her hips toward the lights, and swiped her stiffly on the behind. Grace turned coquettishly, draped herself against the wall, and flipped the light switch off.
The incursion went quickly and quietly. The glass lifted easily out of the rotunda. The scoop went fast. The Herbal Database transferred without error. Before Eights and Karin had petted past foreplay, Doc, Knuc, IM, Suave and Drum were changed, sitting in the limo, sipping sparkles. Dangerfield was nodding, or so the men believed. So, they contented themselves to wait for Eights and Karin to get off, get Lieu and Grace, and get their asses in the ride.
Grace turned to flick the light on, but Lieu stopped her. “It’s film, Gracie. Continuity. What were we doing in the last scene?”
“Lieu.”Lieu dropped to his knees and tugged at Grace’s hips. She swayed easily with his touch but resisted moving forward. “Grace. Let’s try one more time.” Grace melted over his shoulder and slid onto his lap. Lieu began undressing her. He removed her wig. He smeared the make up from her eyelids and her lips. She concentrated on breathing between deep, quaking sighs. He kissed her neck for what seemed an eternity, and Grace curled into his arms and suffered the steady paroxysms. She was a stream of sound, sighs and moans, and quiet curses.
Dangerfield had only popped the heroin underneath his skin, not actually injected the hit into his vein. He had compelled Karin to drink a tainted glass of wine. Between the drink, the drug, and Eights, Karin rocked herself into a deep sleep before wish fulfillment. As soon as Karin slumped across the desk, Dangerfield ran across the room and swung a deft right at Eights—landing it square in his face. Dangerfield had overestimated himself, high or sober, thinking, single-handedly, he could overpower Eights.
The punch hurt. It stung just enough to make Eights real mad. He grabbed Dangerfield and body slammed him onto the office desk. Dangerfield bit Eights in the groin.
The punch hurt. It stung just enough to make Eights real mad. He grabbed Dangerfield and body slammed him onto the office desk. Dangerfield bit Eights in the groin. Eights yelled, snatched up his shorts, and pounded his fists on Dangerfield’s chest. Dangerfield began to gasp hard and shake, then lay stock-still. Eights hefted Karin onto his shoulder, staggering for a second. He was tired, and Karin was woman sized. He recovered and backed out, stumbling over Lieu and Grace.
Eights fell hard, knocking over Lieu and dropping Karin hard on Grace. Eights scooped Karin into his arms, firefighter style, and broke for the front.
Dangerfield had played possum. Before Lieu and Grace could compose themselves Dangerfield entered the glass gallery and snapped on the lights. He drew a rusty dagger from a scabbard attached to the hip of a mummified American soldier and slammed the button to close the security gates. Eights ducked underneath the lowering gate and escaped, but Dangerfield beat Lieu and Grace to the doorway and blocked them. There the three stood in an uneven stand off.
The sight of Dangerfield, naked from the waist up, searching for something to use as a weapon, shocked the security guards to attention. They knew it! These had to be the Art Bandits.
Dangerfield had played possum. Before Lieu and Grace could compose themselves Dangerfield entered the glass gallery and snapped on the lights. He drew a rusty dagger from a scabbard attached to the hip of a mummified American soldier and slammed the button to close the security gates. Eights ducked underneath the lowering gate and escaped, but Dangerfield beat Lieu and Grace to the doorway and blocked them. There the three stood in an uneven stand off.
The sight of Dangerfield, naked from the waist up, searching for something to use as a weapon, shocked the security guards to attention. They knew it! These had to be the Art Bandits. The hit was going down, and the guards were taping it to play for the whole neighborhood! There remained one problem. They would definitely love to see Dangerfield get his ass whipped, but they wanted to keep their jobs.
They were security, after all. What would it look like if they saw Dangerfield get hurt or killed, and they didn’t even try to intervene? They had kids and important reasons to stay working, so they had to save Dangerfield or find a damn good reason to let him get killed. The guards decided to ‘inspect’ the Limo.
Dangerfield rushed Grace. She stepped aside, adroitly. He crashed into a coffin filled with some witch doctor's ashes. Grace and Lieu ran for the gate, and struggled to open it enough to roll out and trap Dangerfield. No such luck.
Dangerfield ran to the security gate button and raised the gate. The gates rose. Lieu and Grace scrambled out, but Dangerfield gave chase.
Enter the Mutafarrik! Drum, Suave, and IM, holding the guards’ own guns, guided the frightened looking men, who walked, carefully, backward. The Mutafarrik lined the guards up with Dangerfield and forced the three up against the office wall. One security guard backed directly into the light switch. Once again, the gallery was dark.
Dangerfield rallied the security guards for the ensuing scuffle. “Charge,” he yelled, and forward he surged. As he swept past, IM grabbed the Aussie and wrestled him to the floor. As Dangerfield wriggled, IM jabbed the tense, screaming throat with a needle full of tranquilizers. Dangerfield drooped, and the Mutafarrik handcuffed him to the mummified soldier. For a moment, all stared at one another, Suave and IM at Drum at Lieu at Grace at Eights at a rousing Karin at the guards, who both beamed with admiration. Naturally, it would be the social butterfly, Karin, who gathered herself to conduct introductions.
Of course, the guards could not let the Mutafarrik leave without passing the peace pipe around a circle. The security retrieved theirs from the front desk and opened the doors for Knuc and Doc.
Enter the Mutafarrik! Drum, Suave, and IM, holding the guards’ own guns, guided the frightened looking men, who walked, carefully, backward. The Mutafarrik lined the guards up with Dangerfield and forced the three up against the office wall. One security guard backed directly into the light switch. Once again, the gallery was dark.
Dangerfield rallied the security guards for the ensuing scuffle. “Charge,” he yelled, and forward he surged. As he swept past, IM grabbed the Aussie and wrestled him to the floor. As Dangerfield wriggled, IM jabbed the tense, screaming throat with a needle full of tranquilizers. Dangerfield drooped, and the Mutafarrik handcuffed him to the mummified soldier. For a moment, all stared at one another, Suave and IM at Drum at Lieu at Grace at Eights at a rousing Karin at the guards, who both beamed with admiration. Naturally, it would be the social butterfly, Karin, who gathered herself to conduct introductions.
Of course, the guards could not let the Mutafarrik leave without passing the peace pipe around a circle. The security retrieved theirs from the front desk and opened the doors for Knuc and Doc. Doc immediately spied a guitar in the exhibit, tuned it, and played. Karin and Eights, IM and Grace danced. Suave taught Doc a bit of “The Ballad of the Mutafarrik,” and the guards promised to pass the song around a bit on the conjunto scene; the two guys swore they were in the know. They confessed about the tape. Drum and Lieu viewed it and agreed to limited distribution. Suave let Doc record a rough track of the Ballad for the guards to mix in.
The Mutafarrik and the guards shot the breeze until the first light a couple towns East. They thanked the guards, autographed some of the higher value, less freaky shit from the collection, and promised to deliver the shit discreetly to the guards’ homes. Even if too hot to be of value now, in a few years the guards could flip the shit for their kids’ college educations.
The Mutafarrik piled into the rented limo. At the airport, all kissed Karin goodbye. Doc and Knucnuc kissed Grace goodbye, and caught their flight out. The rest of the Mutafarrik split into two cabs: Suave, Eights and Lieu in one. IM, Drum and Grace in the other.
The cabs followed each other to the hotel, where the men checked Grace into a room. The second goodbye wasn’t as emotional. The Mutafarrik were too tired and too high to feel much outside of giddy exhaustion. They hugged and kissed with little conversation.
The men loaded into the bus, and Grace went to bed . She had only until the following night to mourn the loss. From amidst the throes of rioting, Wisdom and Knowledge came to reclaim their princess.
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