Monica continued to run. I tried to keep up, but she was just too fast. She didn't even seem to be tiring, and she didn't say a word when I called to her. What was she doing? What was so important we had to run to... downtown? Why were we there? Also strange was the way she still seemed to be carrying the notebook in one hand and the pen in the other. It didn't seem to be slowing her down...
Monica finally skidded to a halt, and turned back to look at me. Panting and groaning, I caught up with her, and looked at the building she'd stopped outside. It was... The "Gentlemen's" Club.
The Gentlemen's Club was infamous for various reasons. First, they had a bouncer on the door, who seemed to arbitrarily select people to come in based on clothes, gender and skin colour. Today's bouncer seemed to be wide enough to fill the whole door, and he'd certainly have no trouble throwing out even the toughest guests. I looked down at Monica. Hmm... he'd never let her in. Her face seemed to show her years, but her body was as petite and frail as that of a 14 year old... and a small one at that. Then there were her clothes... wait, was she really going to try and enter?
"Let me in." She said this to the bouncer with such firmness that he seemed startled. When he saw her, however, he grinned.
"So, what are you doing her, kid?" he brought out a cigarette, and took a couple of puffs on it before continuing, "This place ain't fer ya. Beat it."
"I need to go in." This voice sounded different. Still a monotone, but slightly... menacing? I continued to stand back from her, on the pavement, unsure of what to do. "We should go, Monica..." I managed to mumble.
"Scram!" said the bouncer, beginning to get annoyed, "Get outta here, ya brat. We don't need little girls runnin' around in this place. It's fer our gentlemen clients and their 'entertainment', see?"
"I'll tell you once more." said Monica, in the same little voice. Perhaps the bouncer missed it, but she seemed to be... angry? No, not really the word for it. Her voice was as level as ever. It's just that... "Let me in."
"Get outta here!" The bouncer moved forwards and grabbed Monica by the shoulders. "Get out before I throw you out." It was bad... it looked like the bouncer would be able to snap her in half like a toothpick. I wasn't sure whether I should try and help her or save my own skin... I couldn't leave her here... could I? I doubt I'd be able to help much in a fight against that brute. I looked down the road... there didn't seem to be any people around. We could still escape...
Suddenly, the decision was taken out of my hands. There was a cracking sound, not unlike the slamming of a car boot. I wheeled around, and saw the bouncer collapsing to the floor, groaning. He also... seemed to be bleeding? What the heck had just happened?
"Monica?" I said, looking at the stationary figure who was still holding her notebook and pen, "What just happened?" Without saying a word, she stepped (well, more like "hurdled" for her) over the bouncer and moved into the club.
The club was a typical seedy establishment. It was difficult to see much through the fumes of alcohol and cigerette smoke, and, given the person I was with, this was probably for the best. She made her way quickly to a table and sat down on it. The table, however, already seemed to be occupied... by what appeared to be a redneck. However, he seemed a bit... out of place. Something to do with the fact he was in a supposedly upmarket establishment and smoking a cigar. He smiled at Monica as we sat down.
"Whatcha doing here, little lady?" Even from across the table, I could smell the alcohol on his breath. Considering the general reek of the place, this was quite a feat. "Bit young to be entertainin' here, aintcha? Oh well, I'm not complainin'." He looked to me and frowned. "Ain't seen you here before..."
"Tell me everything." said Monica. Hmm, pretty upfront. What did she want to know from this strange man anyway? Granted, he looked a bit strange here, but what was her special interest?
"I don't know what yer talking about" replied the redneck, "And shouldn't you be gettin' ready for the show? It starts in fifteen minutes!"
"Tell me. You know about it."
"I still don't know what ya mean" he said, smiling, "But you can meet me after the show, ok?" He grinned a horrible grin, and I felt a strong urge to punch him. He seemed to have made the mistake of taking Monica as a young and vulnerable girl...
"Tell me about the Ceeseayes." This had the same final tone to it as her earlier "Let me in". Suddenly, I realised what was about to happen. I wanted to shout out, to tell the man what was happening, to-
"Howdya know about that?!" said the man, surprised and angry, "Go away! Scram!"
Monica moved quickly. Very quickly. She dropped her notebook, and, in the same movement, drew a gun out of her sleeve. It seemed to just slide out... had she been concealing it all this time? She aimed upwards towards the man's head. For a split second he stared down the barrel in horror, before Monica pulled the trigger. I heard the same cracking sound of a powerful handgun with a silencer attached, and the man crumpled in his seat. Monica moved her hand up and slid the gun back into her sleeve as quickly as she had drawn it.
I had been expecting the entire place to be staring at us, but the noise wasn't actually that loud for the establishment - it could've been someone falling off their chair, or a clumsy member of the bar staff. However, there was no denying the man who was now slumped on the table, dead in front of us. Monica reached over, grabbed something from his pocket and dragged me out of the club. Jesus... she was strong. Already there was a crowd gathered around the prone form of the bouncer, and it seemed the emergency services had been called. Noone looked at Monica as she left, however, and before long we were running back to the shelter.
"Monica..." I didn't know what to say. It seemed like she had just killed 2 people in cold blood. Why? What was she trying to do? And how did she use the gun so expertly?
"I took his wallet." Monica's reply did not answer any of the questions I had for her. "It will make it look like the work of petty thieves."
I stared at her as she, still moving along at a remarkable pace, got out the man's wallet. It seemed to be well stocked with cash, but she wasn't interested in it. She fished into a pocket of the wallet, and produced a card. I stared at the card in disbelief.
The Conservative Crime Squad
Fight For Your Freedom! Fight For America!
We will defend your rights!