Anywho, The Baron apologizes for the long hiatus in posts but he has been debilitated with a horrid affliction known as work.
As such, he has had to cut down on recreational sex, drinking and was forced to shorten the annual Rapeosaur Festival to 13 measly days.
Rest assured The Baron's heart's cockles are heavily laden with fluid because of the sorrow of not regularly shouting his opinion into the face of any who visit the Box.
But, The Baron has not forgotten you and as such he has regurgitated a marvelous story about a cruise ship full of shit. You may not know it, but this kind of thing happens every year along with cruise ship fires, cruise ship rapes, and cruise ship murder mysteries / missing persons.
However, the cruise ship shitathon is by far The Baron's favorite as it brings back fond memories of his own poison-sandwich induced courtship of Madame Turlet.
When gastrointestinal illness hits a cruise ship, there's nowhere to run or hide, as nearly 450 passengers and crewmembers aboard the Celebrity Cruises ship Mercury have discovered. Celebrity Cruises says they they're still investigating what caused the outbreak, but the symptoms include "upset stomach, vomiting and diarrhea," according to their spokeswoman.
She also says that those who are sick will receive compensation of some sort for missing out on the actual cruise.
According to the Centers for Disease Control, the Mercury was responsible for two of the 15 recorded outbreaks of illness on U.S. cruise ships last year, both caused by norovirus (the most common cause of the stomach flugastrointestinal illness). That's not a great record for Celebrity Cruises--some competitors had zero outbreaks last year--but the record-holder for bad trips in 2009 was Holland America. Its fleet delivered seven different outbreaks on five different boats.
The Norovirus Blog (of course there's a blog) says new research suggests norovirus is spread on cruise ships via dirty bathrooms and not enough chlorine bleach (alcohol won't kill norovirus):
Remember the Wonder Years? No, not the time The Baron spent impregnating the most beautiful women of southeast Asia (1999-2002), the show!
The Baron has ridiculously fond memories of this seminal American television series even though he could in no way relate to growing up in a prefab housing development in the waning days of the 1960's.
It wasn't the plots, or the angst or the heart warming family moments that appealed to The Baron. In fact he was repelled by these factors.
Rather, The Baron was highly amused by Kevin's dad, the dictatorial Jack Arnold. He was a no-nonsense Korean war veteran with a penchant for launching into tirades of sublime beauty and intricacy. Any little thing could throw him off the handle from a poorly cooked roast to Kevin finger-banging the neighbor's cat.
In fact, Jack Arnold was such an effective and domineering character that The Baron was not even aware that the Wonder Years was a comedy until he brought up the wiki.
Now, Jack Arnold's rage was completely understandable. His youngest son, Kevin, was a complete shit head and was always getting into some kind of vaguely homosexual trouble. His eldest son Wayne, was a tremendous assmaster and if the show had continued he would have ended up in jail for statutory rape or something.
The Baron's favorite instance of Kevin's dad being a stupendous dick is the episode where the two are driving around and get a flat tire. Well, the lugnuts on the wheel were firmly rusted on and good old Jack couldn't get them loose. Naturally, he became angrier than a roughly fisted pitbull and harangued the living shit out of Kevin.
They have a long discussion about how hard life is and blah, blah blah and then Kevin asks to have a shot with the lug wrench. The dad gives him a look which loudly blares "What?! My little pussy of a son is going to try and get this wheel off? As if, you weak little vagina!"
Kevin gives it his all and the lugnut finally turns. There is a long pause during which Jack's face shows only consternation. The Baron would have put a thousand dollars on Jack pouncing on and throttling his son to death...but...but he's happy instead.
You might think that The Baron would be disappointed with this outcome, but that is far from the truth. You see before when Jack ripped on Kevin it was because everything he did was a colossal failure and he proved week after week what a gaping snooter he was.
Finally Kevin had done something worthwhile and his dad thought for the first time in his life "Maybe this kid is alright. Maybe he'll grow up to be an insufferable drunken wife-beater like his father."
The Baron likes to imagine that the pair stopped off at a bar on the way home and Jack forced Kevin to drink 8 beers while he told him sexual stories, war anecdotes and combinations of the two.
On that drunken car ride home as Jack wove between the lines, he would have leaned in towards Kevin, handed him a bag of condoms and said "Now go fuck the shit out of that neighbor girl!".
Roy's bones ached from the night chill of eastern Switzerland. He had spent the better part of the evening laboriously navigating the side streets and rural ways of this pretentious and extremely backwards country. He didn't have the time to sleep and her dared not stop at an inn.
The Escort he was driving had made his trip all the harder. From it's maximum speed of 46MPH to its factory-bottomed out suspension to its 1.9 gallon petrol tank, the fetid shitbox was exhausting to drive.
After hitting 15 dogs, 6 pedestrians and 12 parked cars, Roy had arrived at his destination in the early morning hours and parked to wait out the sunrise and his target's appearance. Roy had reviewed his plan over and over again and concluded that it was very risky.
However, he didn't have much of a choice. This person he sought was extremely powerful and could bring her considerable force to bear with alarming ferocity. She could make a powerful ally, or a fearsome enemy. The only question which remained was whether she would help Roy, or deliver him into the hands of his pursuers?
An icy wind howled over the expansive lawn of the Grandville estate and buffeted the flimsy sheet metal of Roy's vehicle. The numerous bullet holes whistled in protest as cold jets of air pulsed into the reeking interior of the car. Roy hunched down into a ball in the rickety driver's seat and rocked to and fro, trying in vain to generate even a modicum of heat. As if in response to his misery the first twinkling rays of the sun crested the frozen hills and the snow drifts began to sparkle.
The mansion sat upon an enormous tract of land which included a glacial lake, a pair of craggy mountains, a series of streams and nearly 40 acres of manicured country side in the Victorian fashion. It was nearly unheard of for a citizen to own such vast properties in the functionally retarded state of Switzerland, especially by someone not of the established gentry.
But the woman who owned these properties was no Count Von Fuckleberg or Princess Cuntbridle of Smegmapoli. No, she was an industrialist, a self made billionaire and a coldly logical strategist.
Theodora Anneline Grandville was the granddaughter of a notorious claim thief during the Yukon gold rush by the name of Theodor "Tex" Grandville who had accumulated a vast fortune through murder, intimidation and shady legal dealings. Her father was a snobbish and indolent man named Baron Grandville. As a result of Theodor's obsession, that his son wouldn't do a lick of real work in his life, the junior Grandville developed into a colossal pussy. Her mother was just that, an enormous prostitute named Missy who died of consumption mere weeks after Theodora exploded from her cavernous snooch.
Baron Grandville reveled in capturing transients in mining towns and the burgeoning slums about cities like New York and Chicago. These men were used in skeet shooting demonstrations for his plutocratic acquaintances. The feckless hobos were launched high into the air via catapult whereupon the Baron would attempt to explode them with volleys of grapeshot launched from a custom built recoiless rifle. Fragments of these unfortunate men littered the skeet grounds until a visiting safari-ist recommended importing a flock of vultures from the Congo. These great menacing birds handily resolved the issue.
Theodora was the only daughter of this useless sloth but for whatever reason she had inherited the loose morals and opportunistic ruthlessness of her namesake. She admired the vultures which adorned her family estate not for their hideous aesthetics but for the efficient manner in which they separated soiled hobo clothes from edible flesh and marrow. Indeed, she resembled those birds in their resolve if not in their appearance for she cut a ravishing figure as a young woman.
Now, even at the age of 75 she was a vivacious and effective as ever in her management of Grandville Lady Solutions Inc. Her company had been the principal competitor of Gimbel corp ever since Roy's father had founded it 50 years earlier. In recent years, her daring redesigns and revolutionary management of "pussy-problems" as she called them, had closed the gap, with GLS gaining market share at an alarming rate.
The one size fits all tampon, the Sneeze'n'Piss post partum urinary incontinence pad and most recently the "Omni-Flow" 7 day combo panty guard and tampon had been the bane of Roy's adult life. His creative department had been stunned by the eagerness with which loyal Gimbel's customers switched over to GLS brand products. The Omni-Flow alone had cost them millions in revenue. Theodora Grandville was the sworn enemy of Gimbel corp.
And yet...Roy sat in the expansive drive of her country estate willing himself to believe that she would help him to escape from his accusers. He wasn't sure what her help would cost him, perhaps as much as his entire share in Gimbel corp, but at this point he didn't care.
Roy was terrified of what would happen if the Poliz or the sinister Probe man managed to apprehend him and was thus fully prepared to do what he must to survive this ordeal and return to some semblance of a normal life.
It was now 630AM and the sun had finally torn free of the encroaching hills to cast its wan light upon the frozen earth. Exactly on time, Theodora emerged from the patio entrance for her morning constitutional. She walked briskly down a shoveled path towards the sparse wood on the edge of the property.
Roy sprang from the car lest she power walk out of sight and shouted as softly as her could yet still project.
"Theodora! Ms. Grandville!"
She stopped almost instantly and turned to face Roy, a displeased sneer upon her wrinkled patrician face. Her old eyes took a moment to focus but soon recognized Roy. A thin smile spread across her face and Roy suddenly felt exposed and uncomfortable. There was something about her expression which set his teeth on edge. Perhaps it was the superposition of a friendly facial expression over what Roy knew to be a blackened heart, he couldn't be precisely sure.
"Roy Gimble" she emphasized his last name "I can't say I expected to see you here at this hour...or ever for that matter."
"Maybe I'm unpredictable that way."
"I see...How's old Robert these days?"
Roy tried not to look surprised or agitated. It was impossible for her to know that Robert Gimbel was dead but she was so uncannily perceptive that Roy feared his facial expressions would betray that information.
"He's doing well enough for an old man."
Her mouth twisted ever so slightly and her smile spread slightly.
"Had she figured it out that easily?" Roy wondered, feeling himself starting to sweat despite the bone chilling temperature.
"Well I'm glad to hear it. This business wouldn't be any fun at all without some spirited competition eh Roy?"
"Haha, or course not Ms. Grandville." He replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
"Well then, I suppose I can postpone my exercise, why don't we step into the parlor for some breakfast. I imagine you didn't come all this way in that shameful excuse for an automobile to exchange pleasantries."
"Right again Theodora" Roy immediately regretted his choice of words.
"Again....?" Her smile grew another few degrees.
Roy decided it would be best to just keep his mouth shut and get inside before she tricked him into revealing Gimbel corp's most closely guarded secrets. After Theodora heard what Roy had to say she'd lose interest in everything else.
*******************************
A few minutes later they were seated in a wide, sparsely decorated room with marble floors, tapestry covered walls and an ornate painted ceiling. The mural depicted a bearded man impaling 7 naked women on the end of his spear. Their grotesque facial expressions seemed to pierce into Roy's very soul and he tried to keep from glancing at it.
"Admiring the ceiling I see?"
"Ah yes. What an odd painting it is."
"It depicts my grandfather as a young man fucking his way across the continent."
"Hmmm, it's splendid." Roy lied.
"Yet with all the women grandpa conquered, my father was his only child and I his. It's as if God gave them an unequaled drive to reproduce but forgot to include an adequate populations of swimmers."
"A tragic problem indeed."
"Perhaps, but I like to think that my father and I received the undiluted vivacity of our distinguished heritage."
"That's one way to look at it." Roy couldn't help but feel that she was already dominating the conversation. At this rate she was going to fleece him like a legless sheep.
"Now, I expect there's something you'd like to discuss with me....?"
"You're correct. And because the topic is highly sensitive I'm just going to lay it all on the table."
She sat quietly as Roy described the previous day's ordeals (omitting his father's death). He detailed everything from his epic bender to his framing for the murder of that disgusting manatee to his harrowing interrogation, butt-probing and escape. When everything was on the table, Roy sighed heavily, relieved to have gotten it off his chest.
"Well, my dear Gimbel, I must say that I'm surprised you ended up in such a sordid situation."
"I realized how it sounds, but you've known my father and I to be honorable men."
"Admirable competitors to be sure."
"I'd like you to help me get out of the country and provide me with a means of funding."
"I could secret you into Russia on one of my planes, and disburse a more than adequate cash flow.....but I'm not inclined to help a wanted criminal..."
That knowing smile returned to her lips and Roy knew what he must do.
"If you do this for me I'm prepared to authorize an amicable merger of our two empires."
Theodora's face remained stoic, but Roy knew she could not resist his offer.'
"We'd best get you out to the airstrip then."
"Thank you Theodora."
Roy rose and from the table and began walking towards the entry way.
"Oh and one more thing young man."
Roy turned back towards the withered vulture perched at the table.
The Baron is mired in the worst kind of work today....the kind he can't pawn off on some lowly minion.
As such he would like to post some fan art for y'all.
While the submitter did not draw either of these The Baron feels sure that his heart was in the right place and that he was sufficiently humble to The Baron.
This first one touches The Baron in a place that is normally off limits to everyone but The Baroness (when she's really drunk or has grievously wronged The Baron) and the few hundred thousand or so Asian women that The Baron deems attractive enough to pleasure him.
For those of you who don't know, this happy character is Vegeta. He relishes beating up on fools in as insulting a manner as possible with plenty of taunting and deception. As bad ass as this character is, he would be overawed by The Baron and would likely shit his pants in outright terror. Thus it is appropriate that he seems terrified by the Baron and his ponderous wang. On to the caption!
There's really nothing wrong with that sentence. Finally someone is giving The Baron the credit he is due. The Baron's power is indeed immense as many of you serfs well know. In addition, he takes obscene delight in trampling the insolent beneath his iron boots and many a would be hero has met his end in the Rapeosaur Labyrinth. The simile is also rather keen, although, The Baron's penis is typically more immense than his power level (except after swimming in the ocean, then it's only tremendous).
On to the next submission:
Ah yes, The Baron has echoed this sentiment during many an imposed group project. He would rather perform oral sex on a donkey than be forced to cooperate with a group of sac-titted nincompoops or participate in a role playing exercise (The Baron always plays the role of the guy who refuses to join in, says he has to use the restroom and never comes back).
Also, Serpentor is an unrivaled tyrant. He managed to wrestle control of C.O.B.R.A. from Cobra Commander mere minutes after he was born (from a tube containing electricity and equal parts the DNA of Julius Caesar, Napoleon, Attila the Hun, Phillip II of Macedon, Alexander the Great, Ivan the Terrible, Vlad the Impaler, Hannibal, Ghengis Khan, Rasputin and nearly the immortal Sergent Slaughter!!!). In addition Serpentor has multiple personalities and an incredibly cruel mind, just like The Baron. This submission is thus highly appropriate.
Now The Baron must return to work. You are to continue making fan art submissions for him. THIS HE COMMANDS!!!
The Baron has many favorite movies and nearly all of them are far superior to yours. Do you want to know why that is? It's because you're a dim-witted assmaster and you don't understand movies. The Baron has been dumbfounded by the number of times someone has asked "Why did they do such and such at a particular point in the movie?" or "I don't get how protagonist ended up back in the city of gold?" when it is so blindingly obvious to him that he didn't even have to think about it. Eventually, The Baron realized that nobody, literally nobody understands movies the way he does. Now, The Baron isn't saying that you're a bunch of shit-for-brains dumbasses with the attention span of a fruit fly, but in another more accurate way, he is. It's just that The Baron is so far beyond you in terms of cognitive ability and perception that you seem like ants to him. So get ready for a list of movies that will blow your insignificant little mind.
1 Terminator 2: There is literally nothing bad about this movie. Formerly, The Baron was able to recite the entire script from start to finish in about 45 minutes. The amount of ass-kicking and sheer badassery is unparalleled in any other film. The Baron has seen it at least 40 times and will never change the channel when it comes on.
2 Terminator: Again, nothing to complain about. As a bonus you get to see Linda Hamilton's boobs for about 30 seconds in the mandatory sex scene in this awesome 80's action extravaganza.
3 The Matrix: The first of The Baron's friends got his driver's license and within 30 minutes he was seeing this movie. Holy shit talk about a shockingly awesome time! The trailers were so vague that The Baron had no clue what this movie was even about and as a consequence filled his pants with 3 different kinds of stains.
4 Avatar: The Baron hadn't felt this way in a movie theater since seeing The Matrix. He knew he was in for a treat when his jaw dropped during the first 30 seconds of the film. Just a perfectly paced unbelievably compelling piece of work. Now, The Baron would like to address directly people who recycle the perpetual complaint about this movie, the "Dances with Smurfs" argument and demonstrate how you're a mouth breathing suggestible retard. Do you not want to see this movie / haven't seen this movie / didn't like this movie because you've heard the story is the same as Dances with Wolves and that the film is therefore just a special effects extravaganza? Well guess what? You've allowed a single person's opinion to infect your mind like a virus through a high susceptibility to media / internet propaganda. In essence you're so weak minded that simply by encountering the same argument in multiple forums and in a repetitive fashion you've assimilated that opinion as your own. You're the type of person who is at a political rally one minute and is helping to round up Jews the next. You don't make your own opinions, you live in a world of social permissibility where being accepted into the homogeneous whole is the most important thing in your life. Try to be more like The Baron. Well, next time, try to be born like The Baron with a massive intellect and ice cold logical thought processes and then maybe you'll be able to think for yourself.
5 No country for old men: HoHoHoly Shit! Talk about a perfect drama. The acting was spectacular, the ending was haunting, the action was brutal and the tension was non-stop. Simply untouchable.
6 District 9 : A lot of retards didn't like this movie. The Baron is flabbergasted as to why that is. Oh wait, no he's not. People didn't like the racial messages in this movie because most assmasters consider themselves Tommy or Tricia Tolerance even though most would kill a sack full of black babies to avoid being moderately inconvenienced. This movie was tense, extremely well paced and ball-fistingly intense at the end. The weaponry was inspired and the sound rectum-quiveringly effective. The chief complaint The Baron hears about this movie is that the assault on the mercenary headquarters is unrealistic. Have you ever heard the expression "the closer you are to danger the farther you are from harm?" It refers to the fact that often times if you're on the run, the best place to hide is right next to the enemy. They'll assume that you would never be so stupid as to stay nearby and instead must be running through the hills. Fact is, this strategy works unbelievably well and that's exactly what happened in District 9.
7 Back to the future: Holy crap. Just Holy crap. This movie has everything. Time travel, shootouts, high school antics, sexual angst and 50's sensibility to top it all off.
8 WallE: The Baron doesn't cry during movies. This movie made The Baron cry.
9 Alien: Slick, terrifying and gut wrenchingly tense. The Baron kept the pair of underwear he had on the first time he saw this movie as modern art.
10 Aliens: Take Alien, add a shit load of weapons and a stone cold cyborg marine and you've got yourself the makings of an ass-kicking on 120 feet of VHS tape.
11 Predator: This is only one of 3 movies that The Baron knows of that make proper use of a minigun. The classic mistake is to use the wrong sound effect and have it firing much, much too slowly. A minigun is not a handcrank operated piece of shit, it is a death machine spraying a continuous tongue of fiery death at 80 rounds per second!. Predator was the first movie to use this weapon correctly (the others were Terminator 2 and The Matrix if you're wondering). Also this movie has one of the best lines in cinema. The governor of Minnesota, in response to a crew member refusing a dip of his chaw responds "Bunch of limp wristed faggots around here, this stuff'll make you a sexual tyrannosaur!".
12 My Cousin Vinny: Hilarious, utterly hilarious. One of the best endings of any movie ever. Also The Baron's schlong still aches for Marissa Tomei (sp?) as she appeared in this flick.
13 Over the Top: You like 80's movie montages, arm wrestling, and child abuse? You're going to fucking love this movie. Ridiculous! Sly Stallone at his best.
14 Aladdin: Once upon a time The Baron nearly cut his finger off with a huge knife. The only thing that could distract him from the gushing blood and nicked bone throbbing like a whale's dong was watching Aladdin. The greatest of all animated movies. This film has it all. Violence, sex and an inspiring score.
15 Jurassic Park: HooooooooooooooWEE! Way to take one of The Baron's favorite books and turn it into a blockbuster action-fest! This movie might be the single most faithful adaptation of a book ever. And the novel kicked The Baron's dick in the face with words and only words.
16 Silence of the Lambs: The Baron does not typically like horror movies, but this is the notable exception. Stellar acting combined with a ridiculous story and The Hannibal Lecter take this movie to the next level.
17 Tombstone: You're a Daisy if you don't like this movie. Badassness flows through the veins of this blockbuster western. Val Kilmer's portrayal of Doc Holiday is truly epic. The Baron loves to get sloshed and watch this movie.
18 The Last Samurai: Yet another one that retards won't like and as is typical for sheep, everyone hates it for the same reason: "It's really insulting that they had Tom Cruise be the last samurai! A white guy? How insensitive is that?!" Well guess what you fucking twit!? You didn't get it! God how fucking stupid can people be. The last samurai wasn't Tom Cruise you colossal shitdick! The last samurai was Katsumoto (played by the delightful Ken Watanabe) the emperor's right hand man. Remember? He got shot to death at the end? God you people are stupid. Can't you appreciate nuance or do you need to have things spelled out for you in the title of the fucking movie? Maybe that explains why every movie has a subtitle these days. The Last Samurai : Is Katsumoto and Tom Cruise Happens To Be Around When He Gets Killed.
19 Enemy at the Gates: The Baron loves, absolutely loves snipers because that is what he would be if he were in the army. Fuck standing toe to toe with a bunch of machine gun wielding assholes getting all shot up. Nope sneaking around amd perforating fools is the way to go. The best part of this movie is when that dude with the metal teeth gets shot through the head in midair. Also, they killed off the annoying little kid who sold out Vasilli. Fucking A right!
20 Cobra: Another great Stallone movie. Just fantastic all the way through. When Cobretti ripped that asshole's shirt off as a rebuttal to his argument The Baron shit the front of his pants somehow.
So The Baron's life has gotten a lot more hectic this week and will only get increasingly more busy for the next 2.5 years. As such, there will often be weeks where his eminence will be limited to a handful of posts.
This week is one of those weeks, so here's a vocab smack down.
The Baron came across a word today which he anticipated would be an ass-kicking in literary form, but he was sorely disappointed.
The word is Daltonism:
daltonism
PRONUNCIATION:
(DAWL-tuh-niz-em)
MEANING:
noun: Color blindness, especially the inability to distinguish between red and green.
ETYMOLOGY:
After John Dalton (1766-1844), chemist and physicist, who gave us Dalton's Law of Partial Pressures. He studied his own color blindness as well.
Pure, red hot nausea is sweeping through The Baron's tent like scrotum. Who the shit is John Dalton? The Baron only recognizes one Dalton. The Dalton. Maybe you've heard of him...he works at the Double Deuce? He doesn't need a first name. You know why? (FYI, Dalton just killed you with a single kick for asking).
Anywho, allow The Baron to amend that definition.
daltonism
PRONUNCIATION:
(DAWL-tuh-niz-em)
MEANING:
noun: A condition of maximum badassness characterized by brawling, philosophical quotes, banging the hot nieces of local organized crime bosses, killing said boss's henchmen (even the one who raped guys like you in prison) and then leading the town's people to kill the crime boss, thus saving you from a murder rap. Also you should practice Tai Chi shirtless in front of an illiterate hick whose barn you live on the top floor of.
ETYMOLOGY:
After Dalton (1989 - infinity), Cooler and martial artist, who gave us Dalton's Law of Inverse Ass-Kickability. He studied his own porking of babes as well.
430 AM, Somewhere over an extremely pompous part of central Europe:
Ally sat staring out the tiny window of a chartered business aircraft as it cruised towards Switzerland, the land of gold, the land of secrets and the land of pretending that a lot of the gold wasn't ripped out of the heads of Jews for fear of a massive multinational reprisal.
The sun had just peaked above the curvature of the Earth although it would be hours before it was visible on the ground. Ally's entire body ached from the confrontation with whom she could only speculate was Vasili Duvonoski.
She replayed the encounter over and over again in her sleep deprived mind, troubled not by the fact that he had tried to kill her, but by the fact that he had failed to kill her. The man had had ample time to stab her through the heart or cut her throat and still escape before the police arrived so why then had he relented and fled when his triumph seemed guaranteed?
One thing was for certain. Agent Rivera was far too exhausted to ponder the details now. She closed her eyes and the perfectly highlighted lashes batted seductively at the seat-back in front of her. If chairs were male, and had weiners, it would be 110% erect at that moment.
After a few seconds Ally's eyes snapped open violently as her attempts at rest failed. Every time she tried to drift off, she saw Mostac, or rather what had been Mostac on the bathroom floor.
He had been killed with great savagery. Not merely stabbed, but flayed. How the killer had managed such a feat of barbarity without Ally or the other bar patrons hearing so much as a squeak was beyond her.
That same curved knife the Duvonoski had attacked Ally with must have been used to kill the detective. There was blood everywhere of course, but the paths of the cuts and the pattern of the cast-off on the walls belied a certain artistry to this killing.
There were no hesitation marks, only the flowing beziers of confident slashes made with pinpoint precision. In a minimum of strokes, the killer had managed to inflict dozens of fatal wounds. Mostac was probably dead before he hit the floor, hopefully unaware that his life had ended.
Then there was the post-mortem mutilation. Ally had been to some horrific crime scenes in her life and had seen terrible savagery inflicted upon bodies both living and dead and so she could say that this desecration was fairly restrained.
The detective's shirt had been cut away and a neat triangle of skin had been expertly removed. Evidently Duvonoski had taken a souvenir from Mostac just as he had stolen a lock of her hair.
Even so, that wound disturbed her the most. There was something sinister, something hidden in that final act and Ally felt cold chills when she reviewed it in her mind.
Ally had been the first to see Mostac's remains. The local police had quickly deferred to her authority when she produced her identification. Of course that was after they had tackled her to the pavement and began to cuff her. Of course, it wasn't their fault. All they knew was that a bar fight was in progress and that she was holding a gun.
Ally had directed the men to take samples of the purplish blood on the snow bank. She didn't tell them it was blood, because they wouldn't have believed her. What was she supposed to say? That she had fatally wounded a man with purple blood who had fled so rapidly that an 8 block cordon did not apprehend him?
It was better to keep that information under her bra for the time being.
Upon first entering the men's room she had felt a curious lack of emotion. Ally had known what to expect following her struggle with that vicious man so it came as less of a shock when Mostac's broken body came into view.
Ally had ordered the others to remain outside while she conducted an initial survey. The fluid cuts, the copious blood, Mostac's staring eyes. Her training dictated that she take his pulse at the neck and wrists and then failing at these points to feel the central abdomen for the descending aorta.
Of course there had been no signs of life, Mostac was already becoming cold.
It was while Ally was palpating the dead man's abdomen that she remembered the scrolls he had mentioned. Was it possible that they were still concealed beneath his skin? After all Vasili Duvonoski had prevented the detective from reporting back to his agency and revealing his startling intelligence.
Ally roughly massaged the man's stomach, pinching great rolls of skin, trying to feel the tiny scrolls. Alarmingly quickly she discovered three small cylinder stored side by side, just beneath Mostac's navel.
Quickly checking over her shoulder lest anyone observe what she was about to do, Ally roughly kinked the man's skin and pushed on the ends of the scrolls until the sharpened lower ends pierced through and she was able to pull them free.
They were constructed of some gleaming, silvery metal, roughly the diameter of a pencil lead and 3 inches in length. She could see the the blunt end had tiny knurls about it indicating a screw on top. There was no time for further investigation so Ally pocketed the tiny devices and exited the bathroom, taking one last look and Mostac's shocked face as she left.
Now, sitting in the bright glare of the rising sun, Ally fished one of the cylinders from her purse and placed it on the tray before her. She gripped the textured end cap and twisted. With a surprisingly smooth movement, the cap rotated three times and then came free. A thin tether attached the cap to the main body and it dangled in air like a small jewel.
Ally peered inside the open cavity and saw a tightly rolled object made from thin greenish plastic. She tapped the end of the cylinder on her open palm and the scroll fell free.
Carefully, she unrolled the document and was surprised that it spread to nearly 8 inches in length, the minimum weiner size of the men she slept with.
The sheet was covered with an excessively neat scrawl and at first Ally was excited. But her optimism soon turned to disappointment. The writing was some sort of unintelligible cipher. Ally tried to not to scowl. What was the likelihood that a deeply embedded agent would keep un-encrytped information on his person? It had been too much to hope for.
Ally re-rolled the plastic sheet and placed it back in the protective cylinder, sliding it into her purse (Ha! bet you thought there was going to be a vagina analogy there huh?).
Ally closed her eyes and finally drifted off to sleep as the jet screamed towards Zurich and her target, Roy Gimbel.
