#bds2

2017 Third Edition of the book in downloadable PDF form can be located at the following link:

https://drive.google.com/open?id=0By0-uopLKbeCSml4am54WmtxTDQ

It has been revised and re-edited and includes a new picture gallery.

Enjoy

Love

Chapter 2: Hey Joe, pick up thy cross and walk

"Well John, I’ve…… I’ve arrived." was all Eunice could nervously muster in such an awkward impasse, offering out her open palms in an equally feeble effort at normality.

Both faces all at once now changed to open mouthed extreme incredulity and disbelief. George’s was also mixed with tinges of fear, though not fear for himself, and ‘Are you completely fucking insane showing your face in here??!!’

Eunice felt the blood drain from her face. Kuntsler didn’t know, somehow he hadn’t got the message. This was going to cause Eunice quite some difficulty. Now John reacted;

"Get down!!" He whipped his pistol out of its holster and pointed it two handed at Eunice’s head, "Get the fuck down on the floor now!!"

"John, I’m not armed…" Eunice raised her empty hands as a weak offer.

"Get the fuck down now!!" John repeated as he strode across the floor right up to Eunice, the gun still pointed at her head.

"There’s no need for this John, didn’t you get the message? You need to…"

"I’ll blow your fucking head off, so help me!" He appeared to have accepted she wasn’t armed, he could see it himself.

"You need to make some calls John…."

"Shut the fuck up, you crazy bitch! Get up against the fucking wall!" The instructions had changed but that was no surprise, he appeared to be in shock. Eunice backed herself up against the office wall but did not turn around. After the initial impact John appeared to have regained his senses somewhat though he still had his gun firmly directed at her head. Gorgeous had remained rooted to the centre of the office watching the unfolding scene with the same open mouthed disbelief ever since Eunice entered.

"George, shut the door, lock it and remove the key." John ordered. George brought up sharp by the sudden address managed to carry out the instruction. "In the second drawer of my desk, there are some handcuffs, get them." George received new instructions.

"What the fuck, John?" Eunice needed to stop him in this unnecessary course of action as she saw it. She felt the urge to say ‘Don’t be a silly cunt’ but she bit her tongue in time, it would’ve been justifiable for anyone else, but given John’s nickname, somehow it seemed inappropriate, "There’s no need for that…"

"Shut your fucking mouth, you rogue bitch!!" He wasn’t prepared to truck any dissent. John took the handcuffs from George and re-holstered his gun.

"You put your gun away John, you know I’m not going anywhere, handcuffs? C’mon…"

"Turn the fuck around! Now!"

So John didn’t know. What a fucking mess. How was he supposed to react when she turned up in his office just like that? It was surprising he hadn’t collapsed with a heart attack. The situation was the situation and Eunice had to make the best of it she could. Let John handcuff her and take her into custody as he saw it. Then when he calmed down and got over it she could get him to make those calls to either FBI-HQ or the Pentagon and get everything sorted. Resisting John in the state he was in wouldn’t do anyone any favours, least of all her. She needed this, to come back in from the cold, if it was to be a bumpy ride then so be it, this situation would pass, it was only a means to an end. If Christ could let Himself be taken in the Garden of Gethsemane then Eunice could show humility and let similar be done to her, all for the greater good. And Gorgeous? Well, that was the least of her priorities to try and figure that one out.

Eunice had made her decision, she turned and faced the wall. John, stealthily as a cat approached Eunice from behind and gently and carefully as he could took her left wrist and enclosed the first cuff around it, squeezing it closed just enough to make it secure. No sudden actions, he knew what Bloom was capable of. It was obvious she was letting him do this but until the handcuffs were completely on there was a chance she might change her mind, become provoked and kick off, so carefully does it. Now taking her right wrist he gently squeezed the second cuff closed around it, again, only sufficient enough to be effective. Eunice heard John let out a deep sigh upon his achievement, even briefly resting his forehead on her shoulder from behind for a few seconds. "Thank God." She heard him mumble, the vast stress of the moment appeared to have exhausted him mentally.

From John’s point of view, with Bloom’s hands secured behind her back he would have time to think about what to do with this totally freakish and unexpected turn of events. This most wanted rogue Agent, in effect public enemy number one, the same rogue Agent who had been an accessory to the murder of The Roman, and then been instrumental in breaking The Saints and their Mexican sidekick out of The Hoag, had turned up in his office, an unbelievable gift. John couldn’t believe his luck. How or why, he wouldn’t worry about that now, all that mattered was that he had got her and yes, he was going to make her pay for what she had done, pay dearly.

Eunice stared at the wall in front of her. Okay, so she let Cunty handcuff her, satisfied now, you asshole? Let’s start talking like adults and get things sorted out, make those calls and then you can take these fucking things off me! The thoughts raced through her mind. Eunice now felt John’s large spade like hands rest on top of her shoulders. She swivelled her eyes to the right, what was he up to? Why didn’t he speak? He seemed to be taking his time, but with the shock of her turning up in such a way perhaps it was best she let him have as much time as he needed.

John began to reflect on all that had happened since Bloom had gone rogue and absconded into hiding. Initially things had been wonderful, this hateful woman who out-thought and out-performed him in every aspect of Bureau work had gone and pressed the self-destruct button. She no longer stood in his way for promotion. His new brief, the so-called Boondock Saints case he had wrested away from Bloom had virtually solved itself with their apprehension after taking out The Roman. He had been duly promoted as Head of the Anti-Organised Crime Unit, what more could he wish for? But the reality of the situation was that he couldn’t cope with the new responsibilities and the increased workload. Bloom on the other hand had been brilliant, her output efficiency and case solving ability was sorely missed within the department, and John was expected to fill the gap. Expectation unfortunately for John did not match reality. Too many late nights trying to play catch-up, doing nothing but drink and seeking solace with women picked up from anywhere, usually bars, it was no surprise his marriage disintegrated and he lost custody of his kids. The alimony, the debt, the lines of coke to try and keep himself going. Even the self-help material he listened to in his car on the way to work conspired against him;

'Repeat the following positive affirmations about yourself over and over: I am respected and loved, I am popular and have lots of friends, People like and want to engage with me, I have a wonderful job, There is so much that is good in my life…’

They became nothing but mantras of self loathing and hatred. In many ways they were everything Bloom was and he wasn’t. And then there was The Saints, the fucking Saints who Bloom had broken out of jail. They were killing mobsters with complete abandon at will year in, year out, and there was seemingly absolutely nothing he could do to stop this and take them down. His life had turned to shit, he was coming apart at the seams, he could no longer function. And now Bloom was back. Yeah, Bloom was always better than he was at FBI Training Academy always top of the class. The humiliation he took every time they faced each other during hand-to-hand combat training, biting the mat while begging her not to break his arm, leg or neck! The Instructors and other trainee agents laughing at his inability to compete with the small woman. She was so popular and always the centre of attention, her sharp wit and sense of fucking humour. In class when John said something she would then chip in with something better, her keen intelligence made him such a non-runner, he couldn’t compete with her at any level! Even wielding that neat little Para LDA, she could always beat his marksmanship scores, he had no answer to her. And those fucking ear plugs worn during crime scene investigation, what was that all about, how did they work? Then there was that bastard Smecker forever hanging around the academy taking an unhealthy interest in the high-flyers. He selected Bloom as his protégé alright but he had ignored John. Why should he do that? In many ways John was a better Agent than Bloom, he did everything by the book, he was honest and his adherence to procedure was second to none. Bloom on the other hand was a dangerous maverick, unpredictable and a loose cannon on deck. Smecker may be no more, but who did he single out for exalted favour?, a criminal rogue! Well, fuck you, Smecker, you didn’t see that coming, did you! But then on graduation, to his utter outrage and despair, John discovered he was assigned with Bloom to go to the Boston Bureau, she having been unofficially instructed to take him under her wing. No humiliation had been spared him at the hands of this fucking girl, his whole career spent in the shadow of this bitch, he hated her with such a passion. Everything came back to her, every disaster that had befallen him throughout his time in Boston, her going rogue meant the spotlight that had always been on her now shone unrelentingly on him, exposing all his inadequacies for all to see. The backlog of unsolved cases was building, there was increasing unease amongst the other Agents in the department about the ineffectual leadership, things were coming to a head, soon the whole thing would either explode or implode. Bloom would have to pay, oh god she would fucking pay now. Bloom.

John felt his heart start to race at the thought of the payback that was now going to be dealt, oh, was he going to enjoy this, the deliverance of this prize into his very hands to do with what he pleased, God loved him after all!

Eunice felt John’s hands leave her shoulders and slide down each outside arm till they came to rest on the handcuffs over her wrists.

"John?…."

Crunch!!

"Aaaaaaggghh!!" Eunice screamed as both handcuffs were squeezed with great force crushing the delicate skin and bone within them. She then felt a great pull and swing on her wrists as she was thrust into the centre of the room with such velocity she fell down on her side, shoes flying off her feet.

"John! What are you doing!" Eunice tried to reason with the deranged man who now bore down on her, grabbing the lapels of her jacket.

"Jesus Christ! John, no!" George saw how out of control the man was. Eunice shrank from the face coming for her. It was full of such blind maniacal hatred, a psychopath that couldn’t be reasoned with.

"Why! Why! Why! Why!!" John kept screaming into her face and shaking her violently. Dragged across the floor and yanked to her feet, her back painfully forced into the edge of the desk, now hauled onto the desk, screamed at, spittle in her eyes and mouth, shaken, shoulders repeatedly rammed down, dragged off the desk onto the floor, and shoved up against the wall.

"You bitch! You fucking crazy bitch! I’m taking you down, you’ll never rise again, you fucking walk back in here, you dirty dog…." the unstoppable bile poured out of Kuntsler. George felt the tears well up in his eyes, this was an appalling scene, he was crying for Eunice, he was crying for himself, he was inadequate, unable to save her.

"No, no, no, John, no..." he pathetically kept up to no effect. Eunice’s hairclip began to fall out as her hair under the constant aggression unravelled. Kuntsler grabbed the clip and ripped it away taking some strands of hair with it. Her hair thus released became another tool he could use against her, grabbing it and forcing her head back so he could scream the torrents of abuse into her face from only an inch away.

"My neck….., please…" she pleaded. But then it was the handcuffs thing again. This was about the third time he had done that, grabbing the restraints and twisting her arms up her back straining all the ligaments in the limbs and shoulders. She should have cried out but had her pride. There was a way out for her if she wanted it. Either kick him in the balls or stamp on his instep, crushing it, both methods would put him down. Then kick him unconscious in the head, bend down and retrieve the keys to the handcuffs. Gorgeous was there but he wouldn’t do anything. But Eunice knew she couldn’t act to extricate herself, she had made up her mind to come back and she needed to, there was no alternative. If Christ could accept being scourged then so would she, Christ help her! Weather the storm and wait for it to blow itself out.

But it didn’t blow out. Kuntsler kept going. His boundless rage and hatred appeared to give him literally demonic strength. The violent shaking, dragging, shoving, handcuff twisting, rib crushing, screaming abuse went on, she was being worn down. George in the background by now was weeping copiously. This brilliant and intelligent woman was being systematically disassembled before his eyes. True, when they had first met she assaulted and humiliated him at the health spa, but he felt no pleasure at what was she was suffering now;

"John, please stop, stop this shit, I’m begging you…" George’s pathetic appeals had no affect. Eunice’s clothes began to disintegrate, the seams breaking apart with all the pulling, the delicate silk of her blouse unable to offer any resistance, its strip of material containing the buttons at the front tearing away. The wrist yanking once more, handcuffs twisted and turned;

"Aaagh!! Aaagh!" now she cried out, "John! John! You’re hurting me, please no more, I’m hurting, I’m hurting, I’m hurting!, for Christ’s sake, oh please stop…" She was on her knees. Kuntsler dragged Eunice to her feet and pushed her up against the wall holding her there. What was wrong with him? Eunice didn’t understand. It was all so disproportionate. She had done wrong so some anger was to be expected, but this, and at that protracted level, if it continued much longer…..

"John! John, what’s the matter, love?" She wanted to reach out and take his arm, but of course, she couldn’t. Her utterance however, did appear to cut through the blind insanity and reach him. With his left hand he clasped her throat and put pressure on the windpipe, holding her head fast against the wall.

"What did you call me, you patronizing fucker?" his malevolence so close up was overpowering, "That’s the last time you talk down to me. Love? I’ll give you love." With that he took up his pistol, but menacingly by the barrel, butt raised.

"For Christ’s fucking sake John, not that! Don’t do it! Think what you’re doing! Oh god no!" George screamed in the background. John scrutinised the exhausted face of the woman. And there it was back like a bad penny, that mole of hers just under the corner of her left eye on top of the cheek bone. God, he hated her and the thought of it shattering into a thousand pieces under the metal - better than sex!

"What the fuck’s this, John?" Eunice managed to force out through the choking action and looked up at the gun poised and ready.

"This," John looked at the weapon and then back to Eunice, "Is taking down an extremely dangerous felon who is resisting arrest."

Eunice had to do something, if that came down on her she could lose an eye. By now totally exhausted, she was no longer in a fit state to fight back as previously envisaged, so what then? She gave John the look. George recognised the look right away, the ‘What the fuck did you just say to me?’ look, "I’ll kill you."

The look as already delivered for the benefit of Gorgeous; "I’ll kill you."

In this instance one needed to listen, understand exactly what was said and then act accordingly. Failure to do so would mean dire consequences to the recipient. George knew. The look was so intense it made Kuntsler release his grip on Eunice’s throat. She gave him the terms;

"John, no man has ever struck me, but the first man who makes the choice to do so, I will kill that man."

George sensed hesitancy in the gun being wielded. Had she gotten through to him? The biggest problem was Kuntsler himself. He was generally stupid, but could he be that stupid and ignore the woman? George was terrified that yes, there was a possibility that Kuntsler could be that stupid. He wanted to look away but couldn’t, what was it going to be? Gratefully, after a few moments, George saw the gun being re-holstered. Unfortunately, the lesser abuse, if this is what it could be termed, recommenced. Kuntsler grabbed a fistful of Eunice’s hair and wrenched her down onto her knees. George needed to act, and fast, Kuntsler would end up killing Eunice if he wasn’t stopped. George unlocked the door and ran out as Eunice was dragged to the floor for more mistreatment.

Presently, George burst back into the office as Kuntsler’s desk phone began ringing. Not a moment to waste, John had Eunice pinned up against the hard metal filing cabinets in the opposite corner.

"John! John! Pick up the phone," George called over, "someone needs to speak to you!" John, distracted from his nefarious business, let Eunice collapse to the floor as he walked across to pick up the handset.

"Kuntsler, yes?" he curtly announced himself, "Bloom? How do you know…. What? You’re fucking with me! DC? You mean right now? She’s a dangerous felon, you must’ve got your shit wrong, you should lock her up and throw away the fucking key!" Then he went silent. George could hear a voice speaking at length through the earpiece but not loud enough to decipher. Kuntsler’s pumped up countenance appeared to abate gradually over the course of the conversation as he listened intently. "Yes, yes, right away, what a fucking screw up!…….I’m good with that, okay, I’ll bring her." John at last said and then put the phone down.

"George!, you stay, don’t let her out of your sight and keep her in here." John gave new orders, "I need to arrange something."

After Kuntsler had left the room George rushed over to the fallen Eunice to render what help he could.

"George, don’t move me," Eunice groaned, "just let me lie here, if I can just lie here, lie here and rest my troubled soul." The option of resisting had long expired for Eunice. Kuntslers unrelenting campaign of attrition had broken her physically and mentally, the price of her arrogance and that of The Vatican. Smecker.

"Jesus Christ, Eunice, let me do something, what do you need?"

"Take the handcuffs off?" George looked away. That was something he wouldn’t dare do after Special Agent Kuntsler had put them in place.

"I can’t do that Eunice, I don’t have the key." he simpered.

"George, what are you doing here?"

"It’s my new role, I’m an informant working for John, he’s my handler. But don’t think about that now." Then it occurred to George how their respective fortunes had changed; "Who would’ve fucking thought, Bloomy, here I am working for the FBI and you’re the criminal now!" As soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth he regretted the insensitivity of them. Eunice merely ignored the idiotic comment, resting the side of her head onto the floors hard surface;

"What’s the matter with him, George? Such barbarous insane behaviour?"

"Oh fucking hell, Eunice, don’t ask. His life has completely turned to shit since you went away, divorce, drink, drugs, you name it, talk about a mid-life crisis, more like nineteenth nervous fucking breakdown!"

Kuntsler was back. He went to his desk, opened a drawer and took out a lightweight silk scarf. Brushing Gorgeous aside he pulled Eunice up into a sitting position against the filing cabinets;

"Hold the bitch’s head for me!" George did as he was told holding Eunice’s head straight with his hand under her chin. Kuntsler then folded the scarf over her eyes and began to knot it tightly at the back of her head.

"Fuck that shit, John, not her eyes, please don't!" Gorgeous pleaded.

"You know your fucking place, you!" Kuntsler snarled back, "If it wasn’t for me, you’d be chumming the waters with Jimmy fucking Hoffa!" Beaten into silence Gorgeous gave up, "And besides, she’d better get used to it," Kuntsler felt justified, "it’s common practice, handcuffing and blindfolding in Guantanamo Bay!"

"Get the fuck outa here! She’s not going there?"

"Nothing confirmed, but you can bet your ass that’s where she’ll end up." John stood up to take a good look at his work; "This cat is in the bag, her claws have been well and truly drawn!" He announced boastfully.

"John…., Oh John," he heard a thin small voice trembling below, "can you hate me that much…?"

"John, I can’t fucking watch this any more," George walked over to the other side of the office, he had to get away from the terrible scene, the taking down of the great Eunice Bloom, "by binding and blinding her like that, you’ve as good as castrated the woman!"

"Time we were on our way Bloomy!" John ignored any attempts to reason with him, grasped the back of Eunice’s jacket collar and began dragging her across the floor. "You can fuck off now, Gorgeous." came the parting direct and efficient order.

John passed through the doorway dragging Eunice after him and immediately into the chaos of agents and other staff gathered outside the door. Word had travelled fast within the building. Incredible as it seemed, the rogue Agent Eunice Bloom had walked into the building brazen as brass and turned herself in to Kuntsler. There then appeared to have been some sort of violent confrontation within his office. They all congregated outside Kuntsler’s office in anticipation. He had come out briefly to arrange a limousine but then gone back in, shouting for them to disperse as he did so. They had ignored this order because by now they were too far captivated. What they didn’t expect was what now actually came out of the office. There was a loud collective gasp at the horrendous state their beloved Bloomy had been reduced to. Rogue or not, those who remembered her could find no justification for such ill treatment of a latterly dear friend and work colleague.

"You mad bastard!"

"I’ll deal with you later, Zimmerman!" John warned his protagonist, "And what the fuck are you all looking at anyway?" Only receiving accusing stares in reply, John decided to tell them how it was; "This," he pulled hard on the jacket collar so that Eunice’s head came to rest near his feet, "is what happens to cowards and traitors who besmirch this great and noble institution of ours." A coward and a traitor? All of the audience agreed Eunice had done wrong, but using these two words was going too far, "and now she’s going to get what she deserves, and I’m proud, yes proud that I have done my duty today in bringing criminal scum like this down."

Janice Farrar, Eunice’s former PA, now tried to intervene; "Eunice! What has he done to you?" she shouted coming forwards and trying to reach down to her stricken friend, then at Kuntsler; "You son offa bitch!" But he pushed her away;

"Get back you prick, or I’ll have you arrested for interfering with an Agent in the line of duty." Janice’s friends pulled her back and held on to her to stop anything happening she would later regret.

"Do something, you imbeciles!" she began to weep without restraint feeling every bit of her former boss’s pain, "Stop him!"

"I can’t be stopped! And nobody is going to stop me! I’m on official business from HQ in DC," he warned them, "now get out of my way and get the fuck back to work, the lot of you, this bitch’s ass is mine!" The multitude parted before him like sheep as he dragged the captive through. They furtively glanced at one another looking for a leader in revolt but no-one was willing to act, so much for the great silent majority.

When the elevator door opened, Kuntsler shoved Eunice down into the corner. He felt elated, vindicated. This was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. He pressed the basement button. When the doors opened he dragged Eunice out of the elevator onto the basement car-park concourse. The chauffeured limousine was already there waiting, engine on, exhaust spitting fuel. Kuntsler opened the back door and threw his cargo in. He followed and finding Eunice had landed on the seat, pushed her off onto the floor;

"You don’t share a seat with me, you dirty pig!" He pressed the sole of his shoe against her shoulder, "Yeah, like I told you before - You are suspended!"

"John, please take the blindfold off, my eyes are hurting, it’s too tight." she pleaded.

"You won’t need eyes where you’re going," he retorted back, "shut your fucking hole and don’t speak to me again. I’ve got to get to DC, I’ve got some serious thinking to do!"

The car seemed to move and exit over a huge bump sending an agonising jolt through Eunice’s battered frame in the darkness. She tried to get some sleep but her body clock was all out of alignment for that and her physical pain too much. John was on the phone occasionally but Eunice was too distressed to care about what was being arranged. After many seemingly endless hours of this torment the car eventually arrived at its destination and came to a standstill. More painful dragging over floors and into and out of elevators. Now it seemed to stop. Kuntsler pulled Eunice to her feet and held her upright, he needed to, she would have collapsed otherwise, exhausted and dehydrated, on the margin of fainting. Eunice became aware of others present, laughing a lot……

"Fuck! What did you do to the bitch, ha-ha-ha!"

"She resisted arrest when I asked her to come quietly," she heard John answer, "so I had to use reasonable force."

"Ha-ha-ha! We understand, Cunty! You never did like the bitch, did you? Ha-ha-ha!"

"So what do I do with her now?"

"Nothing! You’ve brought her here just like we asked, and now us guys at HQ will be taking over."

"Fuck off, no way! She’s mine! Don’t I get any credit for the apprehension and arrest?"

"Your job’s done, Cunty, you can’t keep her all trussed up like that, if there’s a trial you don’t want her turning up in a fucking wheelchair, do you? Besides, the CIA boys will be coming over for her soon, come on, where’s the key?"

"Trust you HQ guys to prison fuck me over again!" she heard John angrily concede, "Here, eat it!" something metallic rebounded on the floor before she was thrown up against someone else, strong and solid who held onto her. The handcuffs were removed and so was the blindfold, instantly torturing her eyes in the harsh fluorescent lighting. Blinking, she took in her surroundings, two FBI agents were in front of her but John was nowhere to be seen. The man she was up against began to inspect the remnants of her jacket, and skirt pockets for intelligence;

"Nothing apart from these." he handed the FBI entry pass and $40 to the other man who then questioned the prisoner;

"Can you walk?"

"Oh, no, I don’t think so…"

"Well, you’ll have to try, come with us." came the unsympathetic response. The two agents grasped Eunice under her arms to stop her falling and shepherded her down to the detention unit. Heavy steel doors were unlocked and locked again as the threesome passed through. Onwards she shuffled with her bruised and battered feet. She hadn’t imagined this just a few hours ago arriving fresh off the airplane at Boston Logan International Airport, nervous but quietly confident in her beautiful new suit of clothes. The recognition of how far the situation had turned against her was acute indeed.

Now that the handcuffs and blindfold were off, and she had escaped Kuntsler’s clutches, Eunice remotely hoped things might improve. Eunice knew where she was going, she was to be passed into the hands of the Bureau Internal Police. She knew all about these bastards, they were invariably made up of people who had failed to make the grade as agents. They loved nothing better than to get one back over on a fallen Agent. D Wing in the basement, holding unit for special detainees. This is where the two escorting agents abandoned the prisoner and she came up against the Detention Section Sergeant, Trisha Badger.

About three stones overweight, too much sitting in the patrol car or in front of the computer and chomping on the donuts. Mid-forties, her grey roots showing in the parting of the self dyed brown hair. ‘Call yourself a self-respecting woman?’ Eunice thought the other beneath her. Eunice was now in the ‘care’ of this woman who’s uniform was so tight about her bulk it made Eunice uncomfortable just looking at it.

"Special Agent - Yew-niss - Bloom." The sergeant looked at the prisoner information on her clipper board, "Special Agent - Yew-niss - Bloom…." she repeated in a nasty enquiring tone. Eunice stood exhausted in the centre of the corridor alongside the cells while the sergeant circled her reading the information. "Tch - Tch," Trisha made her cutting disapproval known, "the apprehension and arrest of a rogue agent! Well, I don’t think I’ve had one of those before!"

"Can I have some water? Can I sit down, please…."

"I ain't gonna give you a fuckin’ thing. If you think I’m gonna help you then fuckin’ think again, you traitor bitch!" The sergeant continued to circle like a vulture, "My-my! What the fuck happened to you?" Trisha eyed the ravaged figure of Eunice and tugged at a lock of tangled ruined hair, "It says here ‘resisting arrest’ but I can imagine when we get a turncoat then somebody just has to have some fun, don’t they?, Yew-niss!"

Eunice looked down at her bare scratched feet. The soles of her stockings had long ripped away as had the knees. One sleeve of her jacket had almost come off at the shoulder, the waist band and zip of her pencil skirt had broken, the front of her silk blouse had disintegrated, and hair all twisted and matted. She was a mess. Trisha pulled open Eunice’s jacket to look a the label inside the breast; Givenchy - Rome. Trisha couldn’t afford hand tailored clothes like that on her salary. What criminal funding did this bitch have access to?

Eunice in the meantime was engrossed with her own thoughts. The Vatican had provided Eunice with those clothes, where the fuck were her handlers now?, she thought sourly, where was Smecker? Sold down the fucking river just like Joan of fuckin’ Arc! They got bored with her and decided to get rid of her. They had tricked her into coming back in and now she was to be eliminated! Eunice felt the urge just to collapse onto the floor but forced her exhausted frame to remain upright, not in front of this cow!

"I bet you were pristine when you put all this on," Trisha taunted the prisoner, "now look atchya, not so high and mighty now, are ya?, Dana fuckin’ Scully!"  Gloatingly, the sergeant took great pleasure viewing the physical injuries present. The scuffed feet and knees, broken nails and red raw bruising to the wrists caused by the restraints, scratches and damage to the woman’s collar bones and décolletage, and the bruises in the shape of finger marks on her throat revealing she had been throttled.

"You know, Yew - niss, I’ve actually heard of you, yeah, you’re the bitch who once said you are so fucking smart that you make smart people think that they are retarded? Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but you’ve got to be the dumbest bitch north of the Mississippi. Came back and expected us to welcome you with open arms? Accessory to the murder of The Roman, and then breaking The Saints out of the Hoag?" Trisha loved performing her little act of put-on disbelief, "Looks like you’re going to end up in the Hoag or somewhere similar yourself now, a fair trade for The Saints I’d settle for!"

Eunice did not respond to the provocation. Christ in front of Pontius Pilate, she tried to concentrate on that thought and only that thought.

"Get your clothes off!" The order was barked arresting Eunice’s attention, she looked at the sergeant quizzically. "Get your fucking clothes off now! Didn’t you hear me? Oh fuck, come on!" The sergeant began to pull at the lapels of Eunice’s jacket tugging it down her arms.

"Stop! No!" Eunice cried, her shoulders were in agony.

"Move yourself, strip!" Trisha finished removing the jacket and let it fall to the floor. She then tore off the remnants of the blouse and let those fall too, "Bra off!" Eunice noticed both shoulder straps of her bra had broken during Kuntsler’s attack but she still had to undo the clasp at the back. She tried to reach this with her poor sprained arms but wincing with pain she couldn’t manage it.

"Here, I’ll do it, fucking bitch!" Trisha pulled apart the clasp and made Eunice drop the undergarment, "And the rest, everything!" Trisha’s instructions were not negotiable. Eunice, painfully slowly managed to completely undress the lower half of her body. Even now she tried to retain some dignity by holding a hand over her crotch and an arm across her breasts.

"Get your hands down by your sides!" The sergeant gleefully slapped away the shielding limbs. No humiliation was to be spared Eunice as she noticed Trisha disdainfully looking at her nakedness. ‘Jealous, aren’t you, bitch?’ Eunice comforted herself with the thought, ‘Battered and bruised as I am, I’m still beautiful, unlike some I could mention.’

"Jewellery off!" came the next instruction.

"No!" Eunice was much alarmed at the intention, "The pendant, ring and earrings are my mother’s!"

"What fucking pendant?"

Eunice put a hand to her collar bones, the pendant had gone! The chain must have broken during the violent take down.

"Come on, it’s regulation!" the sergeant grabbed Eunice’s wrist and twisted it.

"Aaagghh!" Eunice nearly went down on her knees with the pain but just managed to stay on her feet. The ring was then wrenched off her finger and the earrings roughly extracted from her earlobes. ‘They have divided my possessions amongst themselves.’ Eunice sadly recollected the words of Christ in her head. Nevertheless, could Christ inspire her? ‘I came into the world with nothing and so I can stand here with nothing.’

Eunice felt a glimmer of solace as this thought came to the fore in her mind. Trisha pocketed the jewellery and now stood triumphantly in front of the degraded image she had created.

"Special Agent Yew-niss Bloooom," the ridicule recommenced, "Not so special now are ya? In a perfect world, during your little stay here, it would be nice if you and me could get along, get real friendly like, however…." Trisha pushed her face right up almost touching Eunice’s cheek, "I don’t think so. The problem is I don’t like you Bloom, you rogue fucker. You always made yourself out to be so much better than everyone else, so much more beautiful and intelligent? Well, I’ve got news for you, all I see is a two bit little tramp from a one horse southern town who came up to the east coast on the make." Eunice strained to keep silent. The provocation of ‘bad-ass’ Eunice being out-bad-assed by this shit-head of a custody sergeant was proving hard to resist. "Let’s face it, Special Agent Bloom, how many did you have to let fuck you to get where you are?" Trisha intensified her goading, "I mean, all those hard working nights with your legs around some senior agent’s back, always with an eye on the big promotion? You’re so beautiful and intelligent? Don’t make me laugh!"

Eunice had just about had enough. How dare she insinuate that because Eunice was a beautiful woman then it must follow that she is also a whore? Eunice got where she was by sheer hard work and exceptional ability. True, she did sometimes use her femininity to operational ends, walking arm in arm with the Boston Police Commissioner, sweet talking him around, coquettishly sitting on some senior agents desk while he looked up at her dreaming ‘if only she could be mine’ in anticipation of a serious squeezing off of the dome session later on, but only to a point. Ultimately, ‘fucking’ was an exclusively recreational activity Eunice took indulgence of. Eunice now looked defiantly back into the sneering face of the sergeant. If Christ wouldn’t stick up for Himself then more holy fool Him. Diplomacy over, Eunice had a better idea;

"Think what you like, sergeant," Eunice rose to the bait, "you ask me if I am beautiful and intelligent? Well, when Pontius Pilate asked Jesus of Nazareth if He was the Son of God, what the fuck was He supposed to answer? ‘Well, actually, I’m not, I made it up.’? He actually replied  ‘I Am’. So again, you ask me if I am beautiful and intelligent?" Eunice pushed her own face into that of the sergeant, "I………..FUCKIN’……….AAAAHHHHMMM!! You see Sergeant Badger, I ain’t gonna hide it under a fuckin’ bushel!"

"Lady, have you taken a look at yourself in the mirror recently?" The sergeant laughed at the prisoner’s delusional denial of the circumstances she found herself in. Nevertheless, Trisha found the force of Eunice’s unexpected confident counter attack unnerving and provocative;

"Fuck you, you criminal bitch!" she backed away towards her office, "Your putrid body nauseates me so you can get dressed now, hope you like your new suit!" She returned and threw some sort of garment at Eunice who managed to catch it. Unfolding it she recognised the orange and turquoise harlequin coloured quarters of the prison boiler-suit.

"Put that on, Miss Givenchy fuckin’ Rome, see how that suits you. Anyway you should know, only Audrey fuckin’ Hepburn can carry off hand tailored Givenchy, you’re outa your fucking league!"

Eunice opened the front of the boiler-suit and began to pull it on carefully over her bruised legs and up her aching torso.

"Look, please can I have some water, I’m dying of thirst." Eunice tried one more time.

"Use the tap in the cell! Hurry up and get in there, I’m sick of the sight of you already!" The custody sergeant now bored with her new charge, suddenly wished to be back at her desk surfing the internet. With a shove Eunice was inside the cell and the bars slammed and locked behind her.

"Sweet home fuckin’ Alabama! Five by nine, get used to it!" With that the sergeant was gone.

______________________________________________________

Six cells in the section, all of them empty but Eunice’s. She tried to drink some water from the washbasin tap, odious foul tasting stuff from the basement of the Bureau. But she couldn’t keep even that down, throwing it up violently into the toilet.

"Sleep, sleep! You must rest!" Eunice ordered herself though she doubted very much she would get any given the stress put on her during that day. She took off the boiler suit and crawled painfully and achingly slowly onto the stiff small bed and in under the coarse blanket. She need not have worried about getting to sleep as her mind demanded it and shut down immediately as did her bruised and mistreated body. Eunice’s reserves of energy were so depleted there wasn’t even enough left in the tank to run her subconscious, no dreams were had that night, just total black oblivion.

The price for this complete absence of soul for several hours was paid in the morning. Eunice was woken by Sergeant Badger roughly shaking her shoulder;

"Come on, up! You’ve got visitors!" The low ceiling, the cell bars, the small toilet and washbasin, where the hell was she? Then she remembered. Now the pain struck home demanding recognition. The stresses and strains inflicted the previous day had both swollen and tightened. Eunice felt as if her muscles were about to snap they were so stiff and inflexible;

"Uughh! I can’t move! Leave me alone! Let me lie here!"

"Move your fuckin’ ass!" then giving up as easily as she had started, the sergeant spoke over her shoulder, "Here, you kick her out, you’ve come for her!"

Eunice peered out over the edge of the blanket and saw the outline of two tall men, very dark in the dimness of the cell.

"She will need to be cleaned up, Agent Peel." one spoke to the other.

"I agree, Agent Quinn, we had better get her up and there’s no time like the present." Eunice’s eyes gradually became accustomed to the light, such as it was. She saw two caricatures of archetypal ‘Men in Black’, but there was nothing comical about them. They were hard, unfriendly, humourless automatons.

"You in the bed, get up now." ordered the one on the left.

"No! I’ve nothing on under here, go back out first!" Eunice pulled the blanket tight up under her chin.

"Move!" the left one grabbed hold of the blanket and tried to pull it off.

"Aaaghh! …No!" Eunice shrieked trying with all her reduced strength to keep the blanket in place. The custody sergeant had seen her naked, but she was a woman, these strange men would not be allowed to do the same. Who were they? She didn’t know them, she would do everything to preserve this last vestige of her dignity.

"Agent Quinn!" the one on the right stopped his colleague, "Don’t you know J-Be doesn’t do nude, that is a line she will not cross."

"I see, Agent Peel." the left one stared hard as he intently scrutinised the woman clutching the end of the blanket to herself.

"She has self-respect Agent Quinn. Then does it follow we should give the lady credit for that and show her some respect ourselves?"

"I think it does, Agent Peel." Then addressing the small face cowering in the bed below; "Put on your prison overall and we’ll see you in the corridor."

Once she was sure they had gone, Eunice excruciatingly painfully turned herself out of the bed, fell onto the hard concrete floor and screamed in agony. She managed to crawl to the boiler suit she had discarded in the corner of the cell the previous night and gingerly pulled it on. This was all she had, nothing had been provided for her poor little feet. She limped out into the corridor where the sergeant and the other two were waiting for her. Agent Quinn appeared to be higher in rank than Agent Peel. He was also holding a brown paper package.

"Get her washed." he ordered the sergeant.

"Fuck off! I’m not washing her! You wash the dirty bitch!" Trisha flatly refused to have anything to do with the instruction.

"You are to assist us in any way and in all ways you can, sergeant. You are to arrange a wash for the prisoner and then get her to put these on." he thrust the package at Trisha making her take it. "You have your orders."

"Fucking thankless task." the sergeant muttered as she grabbed Eunice’s arm and propelled her down the corridor.

"Who are those men?" Eunice had just enough mental focus to ask.

"Those are gentlemen of the CIA. Naturally I’m disappointed now I shan’t be enjoying the pleasure of your company, I had such nice plans for your stay here, but it would appear that they are intent on taking you across to the Pentagon with a view to renditioning you onto Guantanamo Bay. How pleasant for you, rotting away there for the rest of your life!"

"The Pentagon? Don’t you mean Langley?"

"I don’t give a fuck where you’re going next, just as long as you end up somewhere god-awfully bad, shut up and get moving!"

The news further sapped Eunice’s fragile will to struggle on. The realisation of the dire situation she was in was starting to have an effect on her spirit. Eunice was pushed into a white tiled room that looked like an open shower and told to strip. Painfully, so much pain, would it ever go away?, she took off the boiler suit and approached the shower heads. As she reached them she was blasted off her feet into the tiled corner by a jet of water so powerful it was like a tsunami. Eunice cowered in the corner with her head buried in her arms trying to make herself as small as possible under the blast of the ice cold water. Through her fingers, Eunice could see Trisha chuckling as she wielded the fire hose to maximum destructive effect. Was it possible that water could be that cold?, and that forceful? The cold and the pain, both were one and the same, Eunice was going under, she felt she was dying. Somehow the water stopped striking her. She was now dragged away from the corner and towards the bench where she had left the boiler suit.

"All nice and refreshed now!" Trisha laughed down at Eunice’s stooped head, "Dry yourself and put whatever’s in here on!" she threw a prison towel and the paper bag onto the bench. Zombie like, Eunice managed to draw the rough towel over herself several times and get partially dry. But her hair was such a tangled mess she quickly gave up on it. Pulling open the paper bag she took out the contents and placed them on the bench. The CIA agents had provided Eunice with cheap set of clothes, not exactly Givenchy, but anything was better than the boiler suit. There was a paper thin two piece black suit of jacket and trousers, a cheap white cotton blouse, and a pair of flat black shoes. No underclothes.

"Hurry up and get those on, I ain’t got all fucking day!" Trisha urged the prisoner. Thus attired, Eunice trudged back to the Agents waiting in the corridor, encouraged by a sporadic shove in the back from Trisha.

Agent Quinn inspected the condition of the forlorn prisoner as she approached;

"She has not been washed correctly. It would appear that the subject has been fire hosed." He judgementally spoke to the sergeant. He could see Eunice’s hair was still dirty and straggly in appearance.

"So what? She’s washed good enough. I gave her a right good soaking." Trisha spoke up for herself, "Anyway, fuck the bitch, have you read the charge sheet? She betrayed the Bureau, it’s no more than she deserves, dirty traitor!"

"She will have to be washed properly," Agent Peel ordered, "we can’t take her like this. We’re running low on time. We will have to wash her ourselves."

"No! I’ve had enough!" Eunice half threw herself forward and stumbled against Agent Peel’s shoulder, but having reached it she lost her balance and saw the floor rushing up to meet her. Agent Peel grabbed and saved Eunice, pulling her back upright and holding her steady, his unyielding arm around her.

"No, no, no, please no more!" Eunice blurted into the man’s shoulder, "Why don’t you just leave me alone!"

"She has had enough, Agent Peel," Quinn advised his colleague, "We will take her as she is. But we must do something about that haystack of hair."

"Here, I know, hold her." Peel offered Eunice’s shoulders to the other man. The woman thus transferred, Peel found an elastic band in his pocket and by scraping and pulling the mess of hair into a rough ponytail, he secured it at the back of her head stretching and looping the band several times around it. "That will have to do," Peel expressed satisfaction with the procedure, "she looks like us now."

"Yeah, the CIAs newest W.I.B.," Quinn caustically remarked, "let’s go."

"That terminates my input to this shit!" Trisha quickly retreated in the direction of her office, "Go on, get out, I’m fucking done with you!"

"Sorry we didn’t have enough time for breakfast, Bloom," Quinn ignored the disappearing sergeant, "you’ll just have to keep the Weetos on hold for now." he continued in his caustic tone. Eunice hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday’s breakfast, but the thought of being force fed by these two gentlemen under time pressure was enough to make her retch. "Come, follow." Quinn beckoned to Eunice.

The two men strode off down the hall but the weakened and hurting woman could not keep up. They stopped and turned to look at Eunice struggling, barely in tow.

"I think you had better carry her, Joe." Quinn recommended to his subordinate.

"Oo-hh!" Eunice groaned with the shock of being pulled up off her feet and into strong arms. She let her head roll onto his shoulder. She didn’t even have to walk now or think for that matter, she could rest her troubled soul. She fell asleep.

_________________________________________________

She awoke. She was being lifted by Agent Peel out of a van with blacked out windows into a harshly lit underground car-park. 'Just let me go back to sleep…' Eunice tried to drift back off but couldn’t . More harsh lighting in elevators, corridors. Agent Quinn was leading the way. Why couldn’t all men be like Agent Peel? Eunice held her arm tighter around the back of his neck.

Now they were in a big place, the ceiling and surrounding concourses way over their heads. They traversed the enormous floor of the Pentagon main foyer.

"My God," Eunice felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins, "I’m here." More corridors, more elevators, endless…. ‘Well, it is the biggest building in the world!’ Eunice’s little voice in her head gave her the facts.

A door, final destination. Agent Peel laid her down on the bed.

"You’ll stay here." Agent Peel gave the terms to Eunice.

"Yeah, welcome to the Pentagon." Agent Quinn let a twinge of insolence enter his voice.

"Don’t leave yet, Agent Peel," Eunice appealed, "I’m injured and badly broken up, I need medical assistance."

"We’ll send someone." It was Quinn who answered. Peel momentarily stared down at Eunice. What was he thinking? But then both men abruptly turned and left, locking the door from the outside. It was not unlock-able from the inside. So, she was a prisoner again.

Eunice looked about the room. It resembled a three or four star hotel room, a bedroom with an en-suite attached. She noticed an emergency assistance red button should she need it by the headboard of the bed. There was a small fridge to one side and when Eunice looked within she found four bottles of mineral water. She grabbed one and being so badly dehydrated, consumed it all in one go. As the refreshing fluid coursed its way into her, she already began to feel some semblance of strength returning. There was no TV, radio, telephone or windows though. There wasn’t even any CCTV camera in the room which Eunice thought was odd, didn’t they want to keep her under surveillance? There wouldn’t be any complaints to the management on that score at least! She tried the light switches, she could turn out the lights! Not such a harsh prison after all? But nonetheless, still a prison. They had locked her in and she couldn’t leave, but it wasn’t the time to think about that now. All she wanted to do was sleep, sleep and more sleep. But that would have to wait just for one last task, she needed to shower and get herself properly clean after all that had happened, it couldn’t be put off. Eunice undressed as quickly as she could, still handicapped by horribly painful joints and muscles, she left the clothes on the floor and pulled out the elastic band securing her hair. She entered the en-suite and groped her way into the shower cubicle, wrenching the faucet on. There was soap and shampoo!

"Aaaaahh……Ohhhhhh!!" Wonderful hot cleansing water, soap, fragrances lifting her higher, shampooing her hair, she could live again! Her body was coming back to life. But she soon gave up washing altogether and just sank low down in the shower tray, her back in the corner, letting the shower head do all the work of bathing her in heaven sent reinvigorating heat.

"I’ll just sit here and never get up." Eunice let the sensations take her completely, "I’m done with life, I’ll never lift a finger to do a fuckin’ thing ever again, you can finish me off now, you bastards…" her mind started to drift away. Unfortunately, the bed awaited her so she would at least have to rouse herself for getting into that. After some time, Eunice with great reluctance reached up and turned off the water. She pulled herself up out of the cubicle and took hold of the bathrobe hanging up within reach.

"Aahh!, lovely soft towelling, soothe my poor wounded skin." Eunice whispered to herself. She picked up the hairdryer and hairbrush by the basin and began to groom her hair back into shape. Fortunately, not much damage had been done and the wash seemed to have untangled most of it, the dryer and brush making good the rest. She took off the bathrobe and let her hair fall onto her bare shoulders, it was dry, silky and beautifully soft. Eunice returned to the room, pulled back the covers of the big comfortable bed. As she did so she caught sight of herself in the wardrobe full length mirror. Sickened and taken aback by all the yellow black bruising and scratches covering her from head to toe, she should have broken down and cried over what the last day or so had done to her, but there was no energy left for that.

"Oh John, what did you do?" She implored in vain, and then with final resignation decided; "Forget it, to hell with it all!" Eunice knocked off all the light switches and rolled into the bed in the pitch blackness. She pulled the fresh soft covers over herself and sank her poor head into the voluminous pillows. Eunice curled up into a foetal position and returned herself to her mother’s womb. Within this snug black cocoon she would disappear into a void and become absolutely nothing. Sanctuary at last.

_____________________________________________

Eunice was being roused, her shoulder shaken. She opened her eyes in the bright room lights, squinting up at the arouser. A young woman probably not long out of academy stood over her, black suited and smartly presented, her shoulder length dark brown hair well groomed in a precision cut.

"Good morning Special Agent Bloom. I am Agent Rachel Harbinger, would you like to have some breakfast soon?" Eunice paused for thought, then she remembered where she was. Another morning, another alien predicament.

"Er, I think I’d like to shower first, perhaps in an hour?" How strange, room service provided by a CIA agent?

"Okay, whenever you’re ready. What would you like?" Eunice suddenly felt ravenously hungry, not having eaten anything for nearly two days. She thought about it:

"I’d like two slices of rye-bread with natural honey, fresh grapefruit juice, and, um…" Eunice allowed herself a weak smile, "a bowl of Weetos! Skimmed milk please."

"Fine, coming right up in an hour." Rachel confirmed the order with a little shrug and made to leave.

"Wait a minute!" Eunice stopped her, "Have you heard anything about a doctor seeing me? Did Agents Quinn and Peel mention anything to you about it?"

"No, but I’ll look into it." Eunice watched Agent Harbinger leave. She seemed friendly enough but there was something not quite right about her. Behind the veneer of upbeat friendliness there was an underlying almost imperceptible hint of fakery and insincerity. So the young woman had burning ambition, that was good, in this respect she reminded Eunice of herself fresh out of training academy all those years ago, but ambition without scruples, that was one luxury Eunice forbade herself on principle. Agent Harbinger passed through the door and did not lock it behind her, merely pulling it after her so it was left ajar.

‘Strange,’ Eunice thought, ‘I am a prisoner and yet not a prisoner.’ So there she was in the bowels of the Pentagon, a ‘guest’ of that wing of the Central Intelligence Agency operating out of there. Being an FBI agent, her knowledge of the CIA was limited but it was obvious things here would be done, how should she put it, differently. In recent history there had been quite some tension between the two Agencies, her own Bureau wishing to distance itself from the water-boarding and other so called enhanced interrogation techniques of the other that had come to light during the present Administration. This torture and brutal disregard for human decency was totally unacceptable, the ends did not justify the means, Eunice would not support or have anything to do with something so alien to the culture of the Bureau. She decided to get up.

"Ooooohh - ooohhh!" All the pain and stiffness in her body once more made itself rudely present. Eunice sure did not want to leave that big comfortable bed. She limped as best she could over to the door, opened it wider and peered out.

"Shit!" It was on a long corridor with people walking up and down it. Anyone could’ve come in and seen her naked. What about escape? Run back to Smecker and the protection of The Vatican, they could hide her again in some monastery, surely? But no, Eunice decided against it, running was no longer an option, she was done with that, and what about the mission given to her by Smecker and The Vatican, wasn’t that the most important of all? Eunice also wanted to know what the CIA had planned for her, it was both exciting and frightening all at once. She was at a point in time, it was a new day, she thanked God for sending it to her. Eunice pushed the door shut and heard the outer catch engage. She had locked herself in this time.

As best she could manage, Eunice had another shower, and was much quicker about it second time around. She put on the bathrobe and went back to the main room intending to get properly dressed. She eyed the crumpled set of clothes on the floor she had previously worn but then decided to investigate the various cupboards in the room. In one she found a few items of casual wear, t-shirts, slacks, light sweaters and similar. In one of the drawers was two pairs of plimsolls and a pair of sandals. In another drawer, basic items of underwear. These weren’t great, Eunice mused, but she preferred them to the cheap set of clothes left on the floor. Nevertheless, Eunice picked them up off the floor and hung them in the wardrobe. She reminded herself to be grateful for all that had been provided, the simple cotton blouse had been gentle on her damaged skin for lack of anything else at the time, and with the en-suite well stocked with plenty of toiletries, what more could a girl ask for? A few minutes after Eunice had dressed there was a knock at the door.

"Come!" Eunice called out. Rachel let herself in carrying a tray with Eunice’s breakfast. Having placed it on the bed the agent again made to withdraw.

"Agent Harbinger, how long will I have to stay in this room? I mean, there’s not exactly much to do?"

"Enjoy your breakfast Special Agent Bloom. We want you to spend the next few days here, so rest, relax and take things easy. I can see you’ve been in a very bad way recently so I’ve arranged for a doctor to come and see you. She’ll be along shortly." With that, Rachel left Eunice alone, and again, did not lock the door. Eunice certainly enjoyed her breakfast, Weetos never tasted so good! Presently there was a knock at the partially open door;

"Doctor Christine Peach, Personnel Welfare." she introduced herself stepping into the room.

"Thank God you’re here!" Eunice welcomed and appraised her new physician from her seat on the bed. Mid-thirties, tall woman, about six foot in total, but very slender and gangly with it. Her long black hair tied up in a pony-tail, soft brown eyes were deep set into a kind and caring sort of face. She had come prepared, the medical bag hung from her shoulder in readiness.

"Special Agent Bloom, I hear you are in need of some assistance?", then looking down at Eunice’s badly bruised wrists remarked; "Yes, I see."

The doctor proceeded to give Eunice a thorough checking over. She checked her blood pressure, reflexes and shone a pen light into her eyes. Christine took out her stethoscope and listened to Eunice’s heart, pressing the end of the device under the left collar bone and ribs under the arm.

"I think you may have a slight heart murmur there Miss Bloom, I may have you into my surgery in the next day or two for some additional tests." Eunice complained about her painfully aching joints so the doctor examined those too, assessing them for any ligament tears or dislocations. No joint damage apart from the bruising was found. There were some nasty looking bruises on Eunice’s ribs so Christine gently stroked her hands over them checking for fractures. Particular attention was given to Eunice’s badly bruised neck. The doctor carefully checked no major trauma had occurred to the delicate cartilages and other structures in the front of the patient’s throat. True, it was obvious Eunice was badly bruised and scratched, but apart from bandaging her wrists where the worst of the damage had occurred and some of the deeper scratches, there was little else the doctor could do other than advise rest and let the body heal itself.

"Are you experiencing any internal pain?" The doctor placed her hand on Eunice’s midriff.

"No." It was a gentle question from one woman to another. Eunice liked the doctor, she didn’t want her to leave. Christine had been the first person since the whole nightmare had begun to show any substantive sort of compassion and kindness towards her. The doctor’s hands were soft and gentle. But with the initial assessment and treatment completed, Christine still left Eunice alone in the room.

Doctor Christine came back for a visit every day for the next few days to check on how Eunice was gradually healing. On day three the bandages were taken off her wrists. However, Eunice was very concerned that the black and yellowing bruises thereto although no longer painful, did not appear to be shrinking but if anything were getting larger. Dark streaks of black had grown out of the bruises and migrated up the insides of her forearms;

‘Shit! I’ve got gangrene!’ Eunice worried herself sick. She raised the insidious progression of this symptom with Christine the next visit.

"It’s not gangrene!" Christine laughed at Eunice’s petrified expression, "Let me explain to you exactly what has happened. Hold out your forearms and I’ll show you." Eunice complied.

"Without apportioning blame," Christine began brushing her palms over the insides of Eunice’s outstretched forearms, "I’ve no axe to grind about who’s fault it was, but when the handcuffs got twisted they must have either broke a small vein or some capillaries in each wrist but with no external breaking of the skin. The blood had nowhere to go but leak into and between the internal structures within your arms. You see how the black streaks perfectly outline the tendons on the inside of your arms? The blood unable to circulate in a dead end then stagnated, died and went black and that is what you see now through the skin. What will happen now is that your body will start it’s clean up procedures. Trust me, the black will turn to brown, get lighter and lighter and then will totally fade away and disappear. Eunice, there is nothing to worry about, it’s actually quite a common occurrence when handcuffs are used."

"So I’ve been a fucking idiot, shitting myself and getting into such a state for nothing?"

"I wouldn’t put it quite like that," Christine laughed again, "but that basically sums it up!" Christine once more checked Eunice’s reflexes and shone the penlight into her eyes. Eunice didn’t mind Christine shining a light into her eyes. Eunice’s eyes were windows into her soul;

‘Shine a light into my soul, Doctor Christine,’ Eunice prayed inside her head, ‘shine a light into my troubled soul and heal it.’ Eunice’s soul was still deeply troubled. She was so alone and afraid, still traumatised at the unexpected shock of her betrayal in the hands of powers she trusted. Weren’t they going to start interviewing or debriefing her? What was going on? She knew nothing. Christine finished her examination and thus satisfied put her penlight away. The visit was about to wind up.

"Oh Christine!" Eunice threw her arms around the doctor and pressed her face into the neck area, "Heal me! Heal me! Heal me! For fuck’s sake, heal me!" She kept pleading over and over. The doctor duly correlated and put her arms around the small distraught woman.

"Your body was traumatised," the doctor diagnosed, "but it appears the greater trauma has occurred to your mind. I will speak to the people in charge of you and let them know you need more time." Eunice clung on, not wanting the doctor to leave, so Christine stayed on for another two hours speaking to Eunice, reassuring her and not leaving until she had recovered her emotional balance.

Chapter 15: Father’s Daughter

The Man sat in His throne room all alone brooding. He had locked the door and wouldn’t see anyone, not even Gabriel. The situation was intolerable, things had come to a head, what was The Man going to do about that fucking girl? She was in 'Defiance' of Him and He couldn’t let her go unpunished otherwise people would no longer be afraid and respect Him for it. He had to punish her else lose face which wasn’t an option, not for Him at least. The simplest solution would be to destroy her and if it had been anyone else who had resigned He most certainly would have done so by now. So why hadn’t He done it then? He knew the reason, but always pushed it to the back of His mind, He couldn’t bear it at the forefront of His consciousness. This bitch was so bad-ass she was good, or was it she used to be bad-ass but was now just plain bad?, He couldn’t decide. Never since the departure of Lucifer had The Sparks ‘This Town Ain’t Big Enough For The Both of Us’ resounded so loudly in His mind. What a mistake it had been to bring her up to heaven. He thought it would be great having Eunice up there on the payroll. He could have her all to Himself and order her about. In that respect He was no different from Kiersky that fateful day at Bantams Clubhouse. Both selfish enterprises had ended in disaster, one couldn’t try that with Eunice, you couldn’t have her, she is for the world, not any one personage, divine or otherwise. But if she is for the world, then what world? He created it and everything within it, she was created for the world and not the other way around, did she exist before the very stars her cosmic matter came from? To think of how she started out, nothing but a little ball of white fluff, now look at her! Are the very same stars supposed to fall to ground and make themselves into a carpet for her delicate feet?

Fuck it, why not wipe the whole fucking timeline and reboot it from scratch, easily done, He mulled it over in His mind;

"Wipe the entire thirteen and a half billion year timeline over that bitch? Fuck that!" He needed to try something else, "I know! I’ll just wipe it back to 1970 before she was born and start the simulation from there, shall I do that?" He thought long and hard;

"I can’t give her up, I love the cow too much."

What was it about these fucking apes? In this simulation where for a bit of fun He had morphed a markedly one dimensional avatar of Himself into human form, it being a crude accident of the four billion year evolutionary process, why had he really done it? Was He that seriously empty, that lonely? This fucking simulation, where was the fun in trying to control every aspect of it? He needed some variation to keep it interesting, no?

To touch the gene pool and set it in motion, let it run for four billion years and look what it came up with. First came Albert Einstein, and then after him Eunice Bloom. Albert Einstein or Eunice Bloom? It was no contest which The Man wanted to share heaven with. Angels, we all need our angels. The Man expected that He would want someone like Audrey Hepburn, so beautiful, elegant, noble, impeccable manners and decorum, well spoken and so intelligent, and so the list goes on. But what did He go out and find as she arrived with an ETA of ten minutes? Stepping out of that squad-car, ‘The Real Thing’, Special Agent Eunice Bloom! Thank you Shaymus.

How bizarre.

Stepping out of that squad-car; The Real Thing

Now Eunice had many of those aforementioned attributes in relation to Audrey Hepburn, the would be perfect angel, but Bloomy was definitely no Audrey. Choice number two; Audrey Hepburn or Eunice Bloom? What does common sense tell you to choose? Again, inexplicably it was Bloomy who He wanted! He wanted her but He couldn’t have her, not in the present situation. He hadn’t brought her on board at all, all He had done was drive her away. He didn’t want her turned against Him. He was God and as such He could do no wrong, and yet He had done wrong, killing Eunice. How could He get her back on side? He knew what she wanted, she wanted her old earthly life back but that was unattainable, the timeline had moved on too much. It was a pity nothing could be done on that front as when thinking on Eunice He had often envisaged her as an adopted daughter. She was special by name and special by nature. The Man had only resurrected someone once before, but that someone had been pretty special too.

‘Special’…. You see there is a ‘special’ before my ‘agent’. If we’re gonna address each other formally, I’d appreciate it if you popped it in there, because it makes me feel special

Damn her! Why was He thinking about her all the time? Surely there were more important things to think about in the great scheme of things? He couldn’t get her out of His head, the would be Pennsylvanian Cowgirl for heavens sake!

What to do? What to do?

Rogue FBI Agent…… Rogue Guardian Angel!! ________________________________________________________

 Poppa couldn’t just stand by and do nothing, there was too much at stake. He asked if he could come and see The Man. To his great surprise The Man had Gabriel arrange an appointment time. On the way up to the throne room Poppa just happened to share the elevator with the Archangel Michael. The Archangel and the Guardian Angel looked at one another, both angels and yet employed on a completely different job spec. Archangel, way up high at the pinnacle of the corporate ladder unlike a mid-tier Guardian Angel, elite one or not.

"So Michael, what’s the feeling up on high, is my section of Guardian Angels to be destroyed?"

"No, I don’t think so. The Man can’t easily replace you if He does that." Michael gave his inside opinion.

"What about Eunice Bloom?"

"Nah, that won’t happen either."

"Why don’t you think so?"

"I’ve seen it all before, The Man and a woman, but He’s completely obsessed with this one. All this sentimental talk about He wants her as His adopted daughter. Every man over fifty wants Bloom as his adopted daughter for crying out loud!"

"Ah…." Poppa hadn’t thought of that as a possibility. So it happened The Man was a man after his own heart? If true then he was disappointed he didn’t pick up on the vibe, "The plot thickens…."

"Good luck with your meeting, break a leg!"

Michael joked as he left the elevator two floors from the top. Poppa continued to the top floor and on leaving the elevator made his way to the throne room.

"You mother fucking Guardian Angels!" Gabriel grabbed hold of Poppa outside the door and held him up against the wall.

"What the fuck is this all about? What have we done now?" Poppa strained as the force used by the archangel was almost enough to crush his chest.

"Caitlin! Caitlin de Sousa!" Gabriel shoved Poppa one last time against the wall before releasing him, "Access the divine database about her on the night all you fuck-heads were at Rocco’s!" Poppa did as he was advised and a look of abject horror passed over his face as he found out what had happened to the utility angel outside Rocco’s;

"Jesus help her, no…." Poppa shuddered when he realised what The Man had done to Caitlin, that is, if He had test fired the rifle against her, then it followed He must have also planned to do the same with Eunice. Dreadful business, that gunshot heard when they were all huddled safely together inside the bar. "My dear Gabriel, I am so sorry," Poppa put his hand on the archangel’s shoulder, "are you looking after the girl? Where is she now?"

"Her heavenly image is repaired, we all know that’s indestructible, but the brutality of the act has all but destroyed her mind, she is in a mental facility at the back of this very building!"

"Oh Gabriel, no, please say it isn’t true…" At the very least Poppa was most grateful that Eunice no longer had access to the divine database. If she found out The Man had tested the rifle out on someone who she considered her heavenly sister, Poppa knew Eunice would feel responsible and blame herself. Given how everything appeared to be resting on ever melting thin ice, it was best she didn’t know.

"I don’t know why I fucking bother!" Gabriel swiped Poppa’s hand away, "Do you know the hoops I have to jump through every day just to try and keep The Man happy? Nobody appreciates me and the important work I do, trying to keep it all together. You selfish Guardian Angel fuckers, because one of your people won’t toe the line, it’s one of my people that gets wasted. But that’s always the way of it with internal politics in any organisation, it’s the little people at the bottom that end up victims and get caught in the fallout."

"Gabriel, a terrible thing has been done to your girl, please, sir…." Poppa reached out once more for the archangel who appeared to be fast approaching breaking point over all the stress caused by the Bloomygate affair.

"Get in there and sort your shit out, and you pray The Man deals with it, otherwise you people will be dealing with me!" Gabriel stormed off the landing unwilling to engage any further. Poppa was at a loss how to commence negotiations with such an entity who indulged in such wickedness, nevertheless, with a heavy heart he opened the door and entered the throne room.

"Il Duce, come forward." The Man invited Poppa over, "Why have you asked for the meeting, for what do I owe you the pleasure?"

"I’ve come to see how You are after what happened."

"You’re not interested in Me at all! All you’re worried about is that I might decide to take divine retribution against your sons, which is exactly what they deserve."

"I intercede on everyone’s behalf, You, Eunice, the boys." Poppa tried but The Man knew he was lying;

"You just remember Who’s image your sons have on their backs and also Who happens to be one and the same thereto."

‘Shit, this hasn’t started well’ . Poppa thought, even so, he felt morally driven to challenge The Man about Caitlin;

"I’d also like to intercede on behalf of Caitlin, I know what You did to her…"

"Fuck her! If I ever hear the name of that bitch again! It’s Bloom I want to discuss, Bloom, Bloom, BLOOM!! Get it into your thick fucking head!"

"Okay, whatever." Poppa decided it was futile to pursue the matter when The Man was in such a mood.

"I’m particularly annoyed about your group of Guardian Angels who have dangerously interfered with the timeline," The Man right away got down to mentioning His own particular gripe, "there was an unauthorised viewing of the future so that you could save the lives of your sons, a disgraceful abuse of power!"

"Fuck!  You found out about that?"

"I didn’t intervene to save My Son from crucifixion, what is good enough for Me should be good enough for you!"

‘Hypocrite’ Poppa thought, after what The Man had done to Eunice.

"But leaving that to be dealt with later, as I most certainly shall," The Man moved onto the other matter raising His ire, "what’s all this I’m hearing about you people wanting to form a break away firm called ‘Blutopia’ with the Bloom woman as the ringleader?"

"What? I’ve never heard of anything so ludicrous, who told You that?"

"I won’t reveal My sources."

"Blutopia?" Poppa stifled a laugh, "We could never reject You, Our Lord God, The Creator. We may fall out time to time, but our place is here with You, we belong to You."

"Too right, and don’t you fucking forget it!"

"As for Eunice, My Lord, the silly little girl can’t do anything to harm You now, she is no longer an angel, she has given up all her divine powers, she can’t even ring-lead a precious bean!" Poppa needn’t have explained himself as The Man had already decided the ‘Blutopia’ plot was bullshit, it had to be given the source of the information;

"Her angelic divine powers," The Man spoke with deep disappointment, "to throw them away like that, the reckless maverick!"

"My Lord, You’re a fucking idiot if You think You’ve enhanced Eunice by making her an angel, You got Yourself an angel but You diminished the woman. Fantastic she may be as an angel, but in mortal earthly form she’s just as fantastic anyway. What were You trying to achieve?"

‘Got Myself an angel and yet diminished the woman.’ The Man thought intently on Poppa’s insightful observation. He would remember that and keep it in his armoury for future use against somebody He had particularly in mind.

"If you mistreat her, it rebounds on you." Poppa hadn’t yet finished, "Think about it; Kuntsler then Harbinger. To hurt her, Bloomy is bad for you, but to love her…. fucking shit!" He felt the tears rising up, "Oh my sweet Lord, she is so good for you. Tell me My Lord, have You ever held her in Your arms?"

"No, I don’t give hugs, not to apes."

"Oh, but You must try it. When I have her in my arms she is like the daughter I never had."

"Oh no, she’s My adopted daughter, not yours!" The Man quickly put in His counter claim. Poppa could not help but feel slightly hurt by the last interjection;

"This is the way I see it, You The Creator and Eunice. If Punch can go down to hell, take on the devil and whup his ass, isn’t it about time someone came up to heaven and did the same to You?" Poppa braced himself for the expected lightening bolt but to his surprise and great relief The Man appeared to think on the idea without flying into a rage;

"Nobody ‘whups My ass’, Il Duce, you know that. But I am open to suggestion and wise counsel. As U-Blu said to Me, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse stalk the earth. As God I do have an obligation to lead by example and instigate good and righteous deeds. I let Myself down by getting you to do, as I recognise now, worthless assignments. I shall create, with your input, a new job-spec for you three remaining Guardian Angels on that team and if successful we can move this new contract onto all the other teams, hopefully an acceptable and worthwhile working method of operations going forward."

"Thank You My Lord. That is most generous and kind of You." The Man liked Il Duce, he genuinely meant what he said and there was no arse-licking involved, "And Eunice, My Lord? She will be taken back on as the elite Guardian Agent on our team?"

"Who knows, that’s not up to Me to decide. Will she take up her wings again? Look at them, dumped in the corner of the room. I had to put them there to stop everyone coming in tripping over them. Look at the state of them, the feathers are all falling out due to the lack of divine energy from the host, they’re dying."

"My Lord, if the job is right for her, I’m sure she would love to be an angel once more."

"That’s exactly what I’m hoping too. But I don’t think it’s going to be that easy, I think she wants much more than just being an angel. There’s going to have to be some intense negotiations undertaken with U-Blu, I know it. To that end I’m sure I’m going to have to make some very special arrangements to accommodate her. If she wants it then I have a special assignment for her."

"I’m glad to hear it My Lord." Poppa felt his heart lift.

"Go to her Il Duce. Tell her to come and see Me. If she won’t see Me then there’s nothing I can do, we will have lost her."

"Don’t worry My Lord, I think I’ll be able to persuade her to come." Poppa was quietly confident, "Getting back to this new job-spec for us, what happens if You change Your mind and start giving us shit to do again?"

"My dear Il Duce, you can always sue Me!" The Man gave Poppa a wry smile which was knowingly returned.

____________________________________________________

 Poppa went to see Eunice at her ancestors’ pod, it was a lot more rudimentary than the five star angel penthouse she enjoyed before handing her wings back, nonetheless, she seemed to have adapted to her new existence as best she could.

"How are you, my dear." He held her against him.

"How are you, my dear."

"How do you think?" She replied downcast.

"I’m glad you’ve stopped trying to make things out to be better than they are, that’s brave of you."

"I don’t shit anyone about this situation, certainly not myself." They both sat down on the well worn sofa in the living room.

"So what do you do with yourself all day?" Poppa asked.

"Initially when I first came here, nothing much. It was such a shock to the system for the first time in twenty years or more of having absolutely nothing to do, I’d hang with my grandparents and their parents, help them with day to day tasks, sometimes go for a walk, but often cry my eyes out sitting alone in my room."

"How dreadful for you." Poppa showed earnest concern.

"Latterly though, I’ve been doing a bit of charity work. Jesus came here on one of His pastoral rounds."

"Jesus?" Poppa lightened up at once on hearing the name.

"I didn’t want to open the door because I felt ashamed. I didn’t want Him to see me without my wings so He would know how far I’d fallen, my angelic career finished. But something told me I should open the door so I did. He didn’t bat an eyelid about me no longer being an angel, He just accepted me for who I am, put His arm around me and asked if I was alright."

"That is what He is like, Eunice. He is not like His Father at all in that respect. The Man up top is all into gilded throne-rooms, pageantry, opulence, armies of angels and saints to glorify His personage and do His bidding. Jesus, in total contrast couldn’t give a shit about any of that. It must be the Mother Mary’s genes that are dominant in His case, I guess. "

"But then I did feel really ashamed." Eunice confided.

"What is there to be ashamed about when Jesus does not care about such stuff?"

"I felt ashamed because that night I went out clubbing with Greenbeans I was rude to Jesus. He wanted to come with us but we made excuses so we could leave Him behind."

"Don’t worry about that Eunice. You were right not to take Him. For one it was you two love birds’ night out together, the last thing you would’ve wanted was to have someone tagging along. Secondly, He was deluding Himself if He thought He’d enjoy going clubbing, I should think most people at the venue would’ve laughed at and ridiculed Him. Was He still wearing those dirty pair of Nike sports socks?"

"I couldn’t tell. They certainly looked the same but I think He probably bought Himself a pack of three."

"Hm, that’s possible!"

"He told me the rest of the ‘Parable of the Three Wayfaring Servants’."

"Fuck." Poppa wasn’t avid to hear, "Go on, let’s have it."

"He rambled on for about twenty minutes stringing it out, but basically, in a nutshell, whatever method you use on your journey, be it the analogy of a camel, an ass or a bicycle, all methods to get to God are valid, just make sure you get there."

"Christ! That’s terrible!" Poppa laughed, "He’s losing His touch!"

"Yeah, I tried to sound impressed, I said ‘Fucking ‘A’ Jesus!’ and ‘Man, that’s really deep.’ but I think He knew I was lying. But leaving such reservations aside, when you think about it long enough, I think there is something in it, don’t you?"

"Yes Eunice, I think you might be right. We’re all on the journey, at what stage on it are you?"

"I’ll tell you. He mentioned somebody vulnerable in the community was moving pod that weekend and He was the only one who offered to help. Since I had my pickup out front doing nothing and His van still hadn't been repaired, He asked if He could borrow it. After I said okay He then asked me if I would like to go along and help, just in case I wasn’t too busy. At this stage I’d usually make an excuse, but then I thought damn it, I wasn’t doing anything else so I said yes, I’ll go along, I could at least do the driving and also some of the lifting and carrying. However, when we got to this lady’s new pod I discovered that she wanted her old kitchen units cut down and modified so they would fit into the new kitchen. Not thinking, I just happened to mention to Jesus while he was doing the task; ‘You’re the Son of God, why are You doing such mundane work?’ He answered; ‘Who did you say I was?, ……. I’m a carpenter.’ Afterwards, I don’t know why, but I felt much better."

"Ah yes, the Man from Nazareth," Poppa felt a peaceable glow inside, "stick with Him and you won’t go far wrong."

"On Thursday mornings He stands behind the till in a charity shop but He can’t do it this week because of other commitments so I’m going to cover for Him."

"That’s most commendable of you." Poppa remarked unable to summon up much enthusiasm in his tone.

"You think it’s bullshit, don’t you, Noah?"

"It is worthwhile and useful work, but I have to advise you that you’re completely wasted doing only this and being stuck out in the wilderness here."

"You know I’m not happy, do you think I’m at least contented?"

"No, I don’t. And even if you were it would be a wrong and complacent end for you. There are billions of people on earth who are in such dire circumstances they could use your rare talents to help them. You need to be an angel once more."

"I won’t do the assignments The Man is asking me to do. What about yourself, Greenly and Rocco?"

"Better assignments are being negotiated but The man won’t let that continue for much longer, He will destroy us if we don’t go back soon. Can you help us Eunice? Above all, can you help The Man? We want to know, He wants to know, what do you want?"

"The clock will be wound back to just before the final two shots were fired at Bantams and there will be no interference with spent bullet fragments!" There was a sharp intake of breath from Poppa on hearing the demands;

"That’s a big ask, Bloomy, to turn the timeline back over eighteen months, I’m not sure you can even turn it back a minute without crashing it."

"Well then if we can’t go back in time then I want my old life in Boston anyway! I want to be flesh, blood and mortal again, FBI Special Agent Eunice Bloom!"

"I see. Did you know I have been to see The Man since we had that punch up at Rocco’s?"

"Oh I get it, He sent you to twist my fucking arm, you fucking turncoat!"

"Now you just wait a minute young lady, you know me better than that! All sides are in deep shit, and especially The Man. In order to reassert His divinity, He will have to destroy us, but you know in your heart it’s the last thing He wants to do. I have been accused of only thinking about myself and my precious boys and yes, they are precious, The Saints operation in Boston and all that, but again, you know me better than that. What I’m trying to salvage from this shitty quagmire is that if all sides keep talking, negotiating and above all, compromise, we can get the lions share of what we want, makes us happy and most important of all, help the people and souls who are in most need of it. If we let this elite band of angels and mortals ‘Team Saints’ be destroyed then we truly deserve hellfire for our arrogance and negligence. And you, Eunice, the jewel in the crown, look at you, a little lost soul in nowhere land - no disrespect to your ancestors…."

"No offence, I know what you mean." Eunice well understood.

"For you to end up like this….." Poppa got up and pulled Eunice off the sofa into his arms once more, "If you could only know the depth of the love the whole team has for you, Eunice. I told The Man you were to me like the daughter I never had."

"Oh not you as well!" Eunice recoiled, "You’re all the same, you, The Man…."

"Yes, yes, I know, the flowers on your tombstone and the tears…., I know all about that and the way you feel, we mean no harm by it."

"Oh alright, so what do you want?" Eunice returned the question.

"When I mentioned talking, negotiation and compromise, that’s exactly what The Man wants to do. I’m begging you, go and meet Him and see if you can come to some arrangement."

"Okay, but I won’t be steamrolled into anything I’m not willing to do."

"Don’t Eunice, I don’t want you to do that. But please talk, talk and keep talking. Don’t let him provoke you into a slanging match and do not walk out, stay in there and fight your corner…, oh fuck, what am I saying?, that’s completely the wrong term, that suggests to go in all confrontational, so what approach do I want you to take?" Poppa seemed briefly unable to think of one, then; "Save us Eunice, save us all, save The Man, and of course save yourself. Each and every one of us deserves better, and the needy deserve our help. You know it’s right, and bad-ass woman or not, you always did the right thing. Eunice, on my knees…."

"You people and your fucking knees! If anyone else kneels in front of me or asks me to kneel in front of them again, I’ll cut them off at the fucking knees!" Eunice pulled herself out of Poppa's arms;

"Will you go and talk to Him, my dear?"

Eunicisms

1) ‘Special’…. You see there is a ‘special’ before my ‘agent’. If we’re gonna address each other formally, I’d appreciate it if you popped it in there, because it makes me feel special.

2) It is because I am so fucking smart that I make smart people feel that they are retarded!

3) ‘With all due respect’. Man, I hate it when people say that, because it is inevitably followed by a disrespectful remark. Here, let me give you an example. With all due respect, Detective, this matter falls under whatever jurisdiction … I… fucking… say… it does.

4) Something smells like a pig’s ass in Summertime.

5) Ever heard the phrase ‘we have an elephant in the room’? Hope you fellows brought some peanuts.

6) On a sultry Saturday in September, the Saints saved seventeen souls…… Try saying that five times fast!

7) Let’s have ourselves a good old fashioned shoot ‘em up!

8) Oh how kind of you to put something on and cover up that useless little piece of skin on the end of your penis, that is, your body!

9) So again, you ask me if I am beautiful and intelligent? .... I……..FUCKIN’……….AAAAHHHHMMM!! You see Sergeant Badger, I ain’t gonna hide it under a fuckin’ bushel!

10) In my informed opinion, people who commit such things should be hung up by the bodily appendages exclusive to their gender!

11) I’ll knock your teeth so far down your throat you’ll have to brush ‘em through your asshole!

12) Well as it happens I don’t know it, but if my first name was ‘Shit-for-brains’ I’d keep quiet about it too.

13) You want my advice? Don’t be here when the panel comes back in, leave…, oh, I don’t know, go and throw yourself in the Potomac.

14) Have you always been this stupid, or were you struck by lightening in 1995 or something, and since then never looked back?

15) Besides, try and shoot yourself in the brain like that again and I’ll have no option but to get you some bullet proof underpants!

16) Well, isn’t forgiveness a funny thing? It can do so much for the forgiver even more so than to the forgiven, but in this respect it is much the same as physical exercise, it has few takers.

17) Jack,……Jack,….. Do not kneel before me…….. I’m not the fucking Pope!

18) It’s a nice change to see you without the handle of that broom sticking out of your ass for once!

19) Oh no I'm not.... This piece of ass is not in the image of You, old man, and a good job too..... You couldn't carry it off!

With all due respect, Detective, this matter falls under whatever jurisdiction …I… fucking… say… it does. 　

 Oh no I'm not.... This piece of ass is not in the image of You, old man, and a good job too..... You couldn't carry it off!

ROCCO’S BAR RULES (or the Ten Commandments)

1) No shooting up the bar.

2) Surrender all guns across the bar (after Eunice shooting it up twice, I have to insist on this from now on)

3) No Jesus sandals over socks (Yes Jesus of Nazareth, that especially means you)

4) No Hells Angels (except for the mortal hairy biker types)

5) No-one from Limbo (sorry guys, you’re underage)

6) No-one who takes themselves too seriously, head too far up their own arses (Yes, The Man, that mean’s you!)

7) No talking in parables (no prizes for guessing who that’s aimed at!)

8) No-one unwilling to join in the craic (please note: spelt ‘CRAIC’ not ‘CRACK’)

9) Pets are allowed but at the owner’s and especially the pet’s own risk. 　

 The Barman himself was something to contend with even at the best of times

DEXTER FINALLY MEETS HIS NEMESIS

Dexter: Rita! I just can’t hide it anymore! I’ve just got to tell somebody! I’m….. I’m a serial killer! I’ve killed hundreds of people. I can no longer live a lie and hide the truth from you my dear wife!

Rita: It’s okay Dexter, it’s no big deal….

Dexter: What the fuck? What’s with the southern accent Rita?

Rita: Well Dexter, I’ve been leading a bit of a double life myself if you must know. I’m not really Rita your wife, I’m actually FBI Special Agent Eunice Bloom on undercover assignment and I’ve had you under surveillance for quite some time!

Dexter: Oh my God, No! No!! Everything can’t end like this!

Eunice: I’m sorry dear husband, but there can only be one sanctioned vigilante operation I will allow and that is The Boondock Saints of Boston, so I’m just gonna have to take you down. Best get yourself fitted up now for the electric chair!

Best get yourself fitted up now for the electric chair!

Translation of Abraxas Spanish track titles

Oye Como Va        Listen to how it goes

Samba Pa Ti          Samba for You

Se A Cabo             It’s Over

El Nicoya               The Nicaraguan (as with the Persian and Latin, open to interpretation!) 　

PICTURE GALLERY

Peoples of the world unite, born on the 1st of May!

Monday’s child is fair of face

Internal Rendition I & II. Free Eunice! (5'10"? Still wearing the 6" Pradas then!)

 At Maximum