Bane

November 25, 1993

Bishop coughed. "Interesting editorial on Harriet Tubman. Remarkable woman. Remarkable. Did you know Harriet Tubman rose up out of slavery to become an armed scout, and a spy for the Union during the American Civil War? Remarkable. You should read this article..."

"...Bishop, I don't want to read the newspaper."

"...but Harriet Tubman. You know who would play her well in the cinema? That one actress. The one from that comedy with the nun, and the mob..."

"I don't care!" Gina was on her feet, fists tight at her side. "Put down the newspaper, and talk to me, Bishop! Why aren't you letting me out?"

"I'm not stopping you, Gina. You know where to find the door. Don't go hurting anyone, or getting yourself hurt."

"You know what I mean, Bishop. All I do is sit around, and do nothing."

"That's not true, dear. You work out, and you've nearly destroyed the heavy bag. You like hiking, don't you? There's some beautiful sights to see, if you take the time."

Gina pushed her palms into her face, suppressing a scream just as Mark came plodding down the stairs, his face red, eyes wide. "I need a fix."

Bishop lowered his newspaper and peered at Mark over the top. "What you need is breakfast, and a newspaper. There's a copy of The Journal sitting next to your plate in the kitchen."

Gina glared.

Bishop raised his paper up, and she could hear that sharp grating sound from behind it.

"Laugh it up, Bishop."

"You know I will, Gina. You've no patience. No self control. No wonder why you're here, instead of out there, hunting. You're going to kill someone."

"That is what we do!"

"Mark Piepkorn, what is it that we do?" Bishop's voice carried into the kitchen.

Mark grunted a noncommittal.

Gina could hear him eating.

"See?"

"See what?" Bishop turned the page in the paper to the next article. "So he doesn't want to go round-robin with you on the same argument. You sound like a broken record. Go finish off the heavy bag after our morning meeting."

Gina pulled her hands away from her face, feeling -really feeling - their weight as her arms dropped to her sides. She felt defeated.

"You could always just call him." Mark shouted from the kitchen. "Maybe do us all a favor, and just pick up the phone. Maybe you'll stop bitching so much."

"He doesn't want to hear from me. Can we please get on with this meeting?"

Bishop folded his newspaper, and set it on the table beside him. He lifted his pipe, and began cleaning it. The den was silent. Mark was quiet from the kitchen, eating his breakfast. Gina sat back down in her chair, and played with her hair.

Bishop cleaned his pipe, and began packing it with his favorite blend: the blend he called gypsy, and considering where he bought it, it was well enough suited. Bishop lit the pipe, and took a deep drag from it. He released the smoke in a long, slow breath. "We're still waiting for Penelope."

"Oh for God sake, Bishop. Penelope Dogood? You're just letting anyone live here, now."

"I let you stay."

"I have talents to offer." Gina leaned forward from her chair, folding her arms over her lap.

"We all have talents in one way, or another, Gina Guerrero. Some of us fight, some of us act as administration, and some of us whine about what we're not getting. No one judges here."