A Bomb in the Barbies

EROS

I tap one boot against the concrete floor of the warehouse. This is just tedious. Sitting with my back safely against one of the few walls, I glare at the polyethylene barrel which the former Mr. Ignazio is currently dissolving into nothing more than sludge with a couple willful memories thrown in. This part is simple: twenty liters of sixty-five percent nitric acid and a healthy amount of calcium fluoride and no more Mr. Ignazio. This is also not suppose to be my job anymore.

"He done?" Valence shouts across the warehouse to me.

"He better be, or it's your heads," I call back to him and Benji where they are taking a smoke break just outside the warehouse northmost set of garage doors.

This should be their job. Valence and Benji are Stitch's guys--not necessarily important, just his guys. Valence is basically a cross between a gorilla and the human equivalent of a chalkboard; combine those two, throw a 40s greaser jacket over the whole mess, and you got yourself a Valence of your very own. His real name is Marvin Montgomery. He has two kids at home, an adoring wife, and an elderly father, none of whom have any idea what he does for a living. They think that he's a chef.

Benji, on the other hand, has less to do with being a person, and more to do with gradually becoming the most tumor-ridden man in the whole world. He doesn't have a family. Perhaps, if he did, he would be less dedicated to decorating his liver, lungs, brain, and blood with cancer. I wish I was joking. The dude is down to a month to live and never fails to find ways to make himself feel alive.

Don't get me wrong, I don't necessarily dislike these guys--at least not as much as I dislike most of Stitch's guys--I just had better things to be doing today. Taking care of Stitch's enemies hasn't been my job for a while now; however, if Scarlett says that it is my job, it becomes my damn job. So here I am.

Valence and Benji rejoin the world of the decent smelling--one only inhabited by myself at this point--where I sit against the wall. Benji nudges the barrel with one foot as if that would tell them anything. Valence almost offers me a hand up, but seems to think better of it. Yeah, that's what I thought. I push myself to my feet just in time for the real man of the hour to grace us with his presence.

"Great to have you," I greet Providence with a grimace to remind him that I am still not happy about being stuck with him for this.

"Pleasure is mine," he replies dryly. To his guys, "take care of him. Eros and I still have some errands to run."

"I thought you'd never ask," I sigh.

Providence scoffs. At least the feeling is mutual. Neither of us are happy about this. He nods to his guys before looking to me. Like them, he makes no attempt to reach for me or place a hand on the small of my back to guide me out to the truck--a lot of the new guys try that; it's before they get the memo. I stride ahead of him back out to his truck. It's a beater so filthy that it hosts its own ecosystem; I couldn't tell the make or model even if I cared enough to. Providence doesn't try to help me into his passenger seat, but he does close the door on me after a quick survey to make sure that all my arms and legs are inside the vehicle.

I don't know shit about Providence. Where I'm Scarlett's go-to, he is Stitch's. That used to be me. Then things got weird. Now, he's the man for the job. I don't bother to not watch him as he searches his jeans for his car keys then does all the necessary stuff to get us the hell out of here. The first vibe that I got from him was halfway between that of a lumberjack and a sex trafficker; that vibe still stands. He gives off an air of being forty three in a way that makes me think that he's at least forty eight. He is also scruffy as all hell; I hate scruffy. He's also too ginger to be a brunette but too brunette to be a ginger; it's as if he can't decide who the hell he is. I couldn't care less about whoever this guy is except that he's close to Stitch. And, let one thing be clear, Stitch is mine.