Chapter 7: On Safari

***WARNING: CLIFFHANGER ENDING***

Ret? Tinker Bell whispered.

Yes, sweetie. I’m here. What do you need? Ret answered.

Porcupines.

Porcupines? What about them?

How do they, you know, make babies?

Ret thought about it for a couple of minutes. Two words. Slowly. And carefully.

Painfully?

Yes, probably painfully sometimes, too.

They must be very brave!

Yes dear one. I suspect they are very brave, Ret mused.

And horny! Tink giggled.

Mouse, Linda, and Ret exchanged glances.

Ret mumbled, quietly, Dear God.

Tink whispered, I heard that!

Linda and Mouse sighed. Tinker Bell was growing up. Linda wondered if she was going to hit puberty three more times. Tinker Bell. Kelly. Karen. Linda shuddered. Please God! No!

The five old men sat around a table, listlessly playing poker. They hadn’t received any reports from Big Tony, and nothing was in the news about his assignment. Truth be told, they were getting worried. Big Tony was the best hit-man they had left. He should have finished his business in the Caribbean and returned days ago.

The five of them had managed to escape the idiocy in the United States. Fucking cops, judges, and politicians had done nothing to protect them from the Bitch. A fucking Angel! What happened to Democracy? What about the Constitution? Innocent until Proven Guilty and all that shit? No. The Bitch could just show up and start killing people. Good friends and business associates. Government officials they had bought and paid for. All gone. They escaped to Sicily with just twenty-three men. They left fortunes behind. Wives, children, companions. Male and female. Good friends. Now most of them were dead, or in hiding like themselves. The five of them barely spoke any Italian at all. They were stuck in this god-awful place. Fucking Sicily! It was too hot and dry here. No decent nightclubs and the food was provincial. Not like New York City, Chicago, Atlanta, or Boston. You couldn’t find a decent steak on the entire fucking island. Goat meat. They fucking ate goats here! Jesus! They couldn’t even remember the last time they got laid.

The five had escaped from the four cities they operated in by being in Vegas when the troubles started. Two from New York, one each from Boston, Chicago, and Atlanta. They were at least smart enough to cut and run when they had a chance. Now, their finances were dwindling. Prospects looked dim. Nobody here paid them the respect they had always enjoyed. Life sucked.

Suddenly, with no warning, things got much worse. One of the Angels arrived in the room the poker players were sitting in. She didn’t say a word. Instead, she cut off all their arms and legs and left them there, bleeding to death. If any of them had been listening, they would have heard the air-pop when she left. They were too busy screaming! The Angel was red. Burning. The mobsters died. Godfathers indeed. They had no way of knowing, but their remaining twenty-two men were also dead. As dead as Big Tony on Grand Cayman Island would soon be.

In Iran, the Ayatollahs, three of them, sat together drinking hot tea. They were ensconced in a private meeting room inside the capitol building. Safe of course. There were numerous guards stationed both inside and outside of the building. The rioting populace would soon be brought back under control. They were not worried about this.

Instead, they were discussing their missing submarine. It should have at least reported back about either the success or failure of the mission. The mission all three of them had discussed and agreed upon. These Angels had to be taught a lesson. The faithful sons of Allah would never submit to infidels. The three were also discussing the possibility of declaring Jihad against these false Angels.

One of the hated Angels chose that very moment to make her presence known. She arrived in the room, seven feet tall and carrying a huge scimitar. The Angel used the scimitar to end all discussion about Jihads, submarines, and rioting populations. To any observer, the ‘holy men’ were chopped to pieces with the sword. In actuality, it was Tinker Bell dissolving them and Mouse’s illusions. The three Ayatollahs were now human hamburger. The room was very bloody. Linda made sure, with her TK, that none of the blood got on her, or her clothes. She managed to kick each of them. In the head. Her toes didn’t hurt. Steel-toed shoes, baby!

Linda wasn’t finished with Iran, however. Kelly and Karen found a vacant building and teleported the Posse inside.

Okay, Mouse. The illusions are all yours. Have fun, Linda told the Posse.

Outside, flying above the city, was a fire-breathing dragon. It sure as hell looked real. As real as the dragons on ‘Game of Thrones,’ which Mouse used as her inspiration. The dragon breathed fire down on the city. Everyone was scared shitless. Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, the fire and death only touched those who deserved it. After six hours of dragon’s breath, the city of Tehran belonged to the people of Tehran again. Video? You bet. This time, social media kept up with the deluge. Barely. Dragons! Oh. My. God! Toto, we’re not in Kansas, any more.

Ret?

Yes, Tink?

Why is the sky blue?

Ret started to reply, but then she noticed Tinker Bell was barely suppressing laughter. Ret pounced on her and began tickling Tink. She knew the exact spots to touch!

Okay! Okay! I give! I surrender! Stop ticking me or I’m going to wet our pants!

Inside an office building, near the Kremlin, sat six high-ranking members of the Foreign Intelligence Service, which had replaced the spying department of the former KGB in 1991. They were discussing the god damned Angels, and how to gain control of at least one of them for Mother Russia.

By the old rules of espionage that they were accustomed to, one made a statement out of death or kidnapping. You killed someone, or took someone, to let the opposing side know they were approaching dangerous ground. Then the opponent would back off. This is how things were done. The assassins they had dispatched were to determine if a death would work best, or a kidnapping. The fact no one had heard from them since the celebration on the island was ... disconcerting. The husband and wife team were professional and should have been in touch days ago. Mother Russia needed a compliant Angel, or leverage to keep the Angels out of the country.

Retribution arrived in the conference room they occupied. The Royal Blue Angel cut off their ears. She dissolved their tongues. Then she blinded them. Hear no evil. Speak no evil. See no evil. The Angel left them writhing in pain on the floor. A message had been sent. They had approached dangerous ground. Don’t fuck with Angels! They will fuck back!

Linda and the Posse sat in a hotel room in Seoul, South Korea. They were close to the border with the North.

Are we sure we want to do this? Attack North Korea? Ret asked.

We pretty much have to, Mouse replied.

The Twins, for once, spoke up, They can’t be allowed to get away with sending a killer to Grand Cayman. They might have hurt one of our friends!

This could cause a war! The bastards might launch those nuclear missiles! Tinker Bell mentioned the elephant in the room. Then she shuddered. The thought of Nukes flying around will do that to you.

Linda responded, No worries. I have a plan.

Mouse groaned. The Posse reached out for their Kevlar vests. This time, Mouse added steel-toed shoes. North Korea might get messy.

As things turned out, Linda did have a plan. A good one. It was short and simple. The Twins teleported the Posse into Pyongyang, and with Mouse keeping them invisible, Tinker Bell set up the fearless leader of North Korea for a heart attack. In the near future. She shaved away the lining of his arteries and veins near the heart. She even shaved off some of the heart muscle itself. He would be dead within the day from a massive heart attack. There would be no one to blame. Hopefully, his successor would be more amenable to diplomacy and negotiations. President Fredricks was a reasonable man.

The girls teleported back home. A National Geographic Special was on. The Twins watched with rapt attention. The show was an infomercial designed to mimic valid news reports about the plight of children in Africa. For just a dollar a day, you too could sponsor a child...

Ret? Linda? Kelly and Karen were furious. None of the girls had ever seen them this upset before. In fact, the Twins were usually silent. They rarely spoke at all. Now, they were bubbling over with anger.

Something has to be done! Kelly demanded. Her twin sister, Karen agreed. Vehemently!

Pollution! Air pollution and water pollution. Children are starving to death! And poochers, Kelly told them.

Mouse whispered, I never did like National Geographic. It corrupts the minds of our youth!

Ret whispered, Poochers?

The Twins had ended up binge watching several National Geographic shows in a row. They jumbled them all together. Yes, the poochers who kill all the animals and just leave the bodies there to rot! In Africa! Then they kill all the children! Kelly and Karen had been a bit confused about that part of the show.

Oh, you mean poachers, Ret answered.

Yep, Karen stated emphatically. That’s what I said. Poochers! They kill elephants and take their big teeth, then they kill rhinosercers for their horns, and alley gadors for their boots. They even kill the pretty kitty cats for their fur! Then they steal food from kids like us!

Linda entered the conversation. So, you think we should do something about this, right? And what was that about pollution?

Momma, we have to do something about this! We have to stop the poochers. And most of Africa doesn’t have any clean water to drink, or take baths, or wash dishes. Please? Can we please help? The Twins were using their absolute best begging voices and puppy-dog pleading eyes. They were even more effective than their chocolate cake begging faces. Kelly and Karen managed a few tears.

Linda took a silent poll of Ret, Mouse, and Tink. She got nods from all three. Okay you little rascals, we’ll go visit Africa and see what we can do! It’s late now. We can leave first thing in the morning.

Mouse mumbled something about blocking the National Geographic channel in the future.

In the morning, Linda and the Posse talked things over. The Mexican campaign was drawing to a close. Africa sounded like a perfectly acceptable target to continue the mission. Looking at a google map, it seemed the easiest way to get started was a teleport to Egypt, which the Twins already had memorized, then follow the Nile down to Lake Victoria. The lake was reputed to be one of the most polluted bodies of water in the world. Three separate countries drew water from the polluted mess of a lake. It was as good a place to start as any. On the way to Lake Victoria, Tink could clean the pollution from the Nile River and various lakes and connecting rivers. The Nile didn’t hookup directly to Lake Victoria, but it got them close. Ret and Kelly would keep a lookout for the Twin’s poachers, and the African Ancient One.

It was a good plan. Lake Victoria was a nauseous mess. It was full of dead, rotting bodies of people and animals. Feces. Urine. Chemicals. Garbage. Centuries of all types of waste and sewage had poured into the huge lake. Much more than Mother Nature could process. The saddest part was the large numbers of people still relying on the lake’s water for survival.

Tinker Bell and the Posse spent three hours cleaning Lake Victoria before Tink was plain worn out. They decided to take a break, jump back home and eat lunch then take a nap to rejuvenate and regain energy. Joyce joined them, providing an even faster source of extra psychic power. She volunteered to come along on the African missions, but Linda knew they would be too bloody for Joyce. It was decided that Joyce would help them recover whenever they returned to Spencer House.