Paul the Critic Chapter 2: "The Chase"

"I didn't need another firearm," Said Brice, slipping Paul's gun into his coat pocket. "But thanks anyway.""Oh, and you might want to hold on."

Brice quickly settled into the seat of Paul’s car. His eyes flashed up to the mirrors as the engine revved. Tires squealed as Brice dumped the clutch and the car took off down the street.

Chapter 2: "The Chase"

Paul sat up and buckled his seat belt, it made him feel naked not to wear it. After deciding not to jump out of the car as it bobbed and weaved through traffic and stop lights Paul’s brain reverted back to doing what it did best. What ever this Brice fellow really was Paul could tell by his tucked lip and his long coat (which looked pathetically like something straight out of the Maltese Falcon) that his guy was a classic Mr. wait… Dr. Ice Man. Paul could tell he’d put a lot of effort into the way people perceived him, probably had something to do with how young the man looked. “Paper thin” thought Paul he couldn’t me more than…

“We need to lose this guy and get to a safe house!” Brice interjected sharply as the car skidded around a corner. Paul hated it when people did this. Couldn’t they tell he was thinking?

“I mean really” Paul sneered to himself “What part of my face says: Bored out of my mind please entertain me?”

Paul threw a glance over his shoulder, fortunately it was midmorning on a Monday, like always when Paul got his hair cut, and the streets were fairly empty. Paul could see the car was chasing them. The man inside looked flustered that he was slowly but steadily losing ground on his quarry. “I’m not sure why I’m helping you but it looks like we are getting ahead of him enough that we could cut a corner and hide.”

“I was just thinking that…” retorted Brice in a very official voice
“Sure you were Ice Man” Paul mumbled
“What? No look, junk car lot. Your clunker with blend in perfectly” A Clever half cocked smile spread across Agent Brice’s bright face. “I’m so cunning” he thought.

Paul could have sworn he heard Brice say “Ka-chow” as he pulled the car into a space obscured by an over sized 4x4. Dogs were barking loudly so Paul couldn’t be sure but he does his best not to notice things that make him sick, so he didn’t.

“Just sit tight a second and don’t try to run off.” Whispered Brice. “As I was going to explain before you started shooting, my name is Agent Jared Brice, I work for the CIA, in a special division of internal affairs. I was out of the country last week working on a lead, I can’t say much but it had to do with biochemical weapons. I was trying to dig up some dirt on one of the Lubrizol corporations little brothers that are involved in drug research in the Amazon basin. I found some illegal studies they had conducted but nothing conclusive. When I heard Dr. Millano had been spotted I came back as soon as I could. Your sister was one of the people we knew was working on the project we were investigating.”

Suddenly a figure appeared outside the car “Get out of the car and put your hands up!” barked a nasal voice. Their conversation had been cut short by a scrawny Italian man who almost ran past them. Paul quickly looked at Agent Brice; an expectant grin grew over his critical face “here it comes he thought.”

“We’re gonna be fine I have a plan, just stay calm and follow my lead.” said Brice coolly as both men got out of the car.

“Oh! Agent Brice Delivers again! I can read this guy like a book, a short one” though Paul as he stood up out of the car. “At least Brice is more likely to be the first one they shoot. I guess he’s Ok”

The junk yard dogs started barking with increased verve as more figures appeared within the area they guarded at night.

In a maneuver that looked like it had been recited daily in front of the mirror the short Italian man whipped out the leather case containing his badge and shouted “ F-B-I… mean NSA! Put your hands on da hood” Paul was really getting tired of having guns stuffed under his nose.

The man wore an over sized suit, grey with bold yellow pin striping. The sort of suit that demanded your attention when it walked into the room. The diagnosis was all too easy: “Short man syndrome. This’ll be great he’s gonna start throwing sassy one liners around pretty quick.” Paul gave a glance to Brice who was eye balling the scenario, his head bobbed and his lips curled as he played out various scenarios in his head.

“Bobby I’ve got ‘em both, Tell Mr. Richard I got ‘em” Said the short man quietly into his wrist. “We’re at da wreckin’ yard on South Franklin. Make sure you tell ‘im it was me ok Bobs?” The nasal voice was starting to grade on Paul. “Turn around and lay down on the hood, you guys packin’ heat or what?” A quick search left the party relieved of its firearms and short a few more options.

Brice was still thinking as the both lay against the hood of the car. The dogs barking grew louder. Paul knew the good thing about going against people with SMS was that they were over confident.

“You boys try any ting funny and ju’ll both be eatin’ concrete ya hear? We’re just gonna hang out till…”

“Paul” came a calm whisper “On my signal I need you to turn around and kick this guy square in the knee-cap as hard as you possibly can ok? Every thing’s cool, we’re gonna be f…”

“OK I GOT IT! Just go!” Snapped Paul under his breath.

“… an den I gave ‘im anodda one right in da temple and he was out cold, as cold as a duck pond in February, just like his big brotha!” Paul wasn’t sure how the story got there but he could only feel pity for such a lowly creature. “Nasal, its like he’s got a kazoo stuck some where in there. For his sake, I hope he’s just sick.” Paul did quick check for tapered bulges in his neck, nothing.

When Agent Brice moved Paul was deep in thought, like always, and he nearly jumped out of his skin, Brice was like a bow being loosed. His young body stretched out like a rubber band and launched a black, palm sized rock he must have snagged during Paul’s pat down with all the fervor of youth. I didn’t arc, it shot. Straight at the small box next to the gate containing the dogs, landing with a wallop and a plastic crunch.

Paul did his best to react when Brice did but he was distracted by such display of prowess “Perfect” though Paul, for a moment, who was instantly reminded of poster of Don Larsen he had as a boy… “Classic baseball wasn’t the opera but it was a tolerable form or excellence” he thought.

The short Italian man was caught completely off guard by the sudden burst of movement. He reacted by throwing his hands out and back pedaling violently, messing his perfectly arranged hair. This maneuver sent him nearly falling to the ground; fortunately Paul was there to help him finish the job.

The only reaction more wild than Mr. “SMS” was by the dogs that were so whipped up by the action in their yard that their frenzied barking became pathetic whimpers and desperate attempts to jump the gate.

“RUN!!!” shouted Brice.

Paul stood there for a moment as the gate began to slide open on its metal tracks. He didn’t have to anymore but Paul decided to kick the man any way. It was very satisfying though Paul couldn’t decide whether he liked kicking the irksome man or kicking his stupid suit better. Paul smiled widely as he sprinted down the road after Brice.

Eager wet noses eventually forced their way through the widening crack in the gate. As Paul and Brice dove into a cab the only thing they could hear was the hopeless cry of a small man being chewed just a little smaller.

“Number 57, West 124th Please” Said Brice to the cabby.

The joy of their escape was quickly muted when Paul remembered how much he hated unpredictability in his life. “It’s like I’m living in a shoot-em-up flick” he thought full of spite. Action movies were so despicable in his mind that he’d almost forgotten they existed. He did after all prefer not to think about things so intellectually nauseating.

As the cab rounded a corner further up the street Brice and Paul looked back to see a sleek black car with a blue dash light and tinted widows pull into the Junk yard.

“Way to loose my car” Paul jibed as his nerves started to settle.

“Way to shoot the back window out of it” replied Brice, sly as a fox.

Paul smiled to himself and sat low in his seat watching out the window as the city floated by. If his life was going to be an action movie at least it had an action star he thought. Suddenly the brakes slammed on in Paul’s mind, alarm bells were going off. His eyes narrowed: “Did I just smile at a joke? I don’t actually like this “Joe cool fool” do I? No, definitely not…” Paul was quiet the rest of the trip.

Eventually, the cab turned an unexpected direction and Paul sat up in his seat as he realized what kind of neighborhood they were headed into. “Where did you say we were going?” Paul asked hesitantly.

“A safe house, my partner is waiting there for us” Said Brice.

As they drove the city got dirtier and so did the people. By the time the cab stopped and Brice paid them Paul was on high alert for anything nasty, druggies, bums, stupid people… or kids. Paul hated kids. The best way to guarantee a bad review for sure was to have too many coughing dirty faced snot factories in your opera.

“Safe house” Paul kept saying to himself. “A house that is safe. Feeling safe in a house” Paul didn’t believe it and as usual he was right.

“I believe you’ve already met Agent Carlson, She’s been my eyes and ears in the states while I’ve been gone. Though she technically works under me I don’t know what I’d do with out her.”

Paul rose up the stairs reluctantly tucking his elbow so as to avoid touching anything filthy around him. Rusty nails, exposed plumbing, boarded over windows, all screamed “what are you doing here?!” to Paul. “Ugh… faint rap music.” the Coup de grace. “I’d feel safer using bed sheets made of dirty needles.” The disorder only served to remind him of the dog food hair cut he’d just gotten. At least that butcher got what she deserved. His only regret was that the Asian man had been a hundred times more polite that Paul would have been, he didn’t even call her out on being a “You know what I need is a new look” Her hair looked like it had been burned with mustard gas and then ironed but she had no idea. Macro class “roses don’t have thorns stupid.” She got off way too easy, this was a man’s hair for crying…”

“Hello Paul” interrupted a familiar voice.

“AGAIN WITH THE DISRUPTIONS, WHAT IS IT WITH YOU PEOPLE!” Paul’s mind roared as his shoulders shrugged in disgust.

As he focused on the source of the annoyance Paul was so shocked by what he saw that his brain went out of focus for a second. There was the chatterbox sitting quietly and in her right mind. She was wearing a simple black dress suit with a purple silk scarf. A surreal aura of focus and calculated concern was surrounding her. Paul was flabbergasted. “She’s not a chatterbox she’s clearly an “ovary ignorer!” How could I have misjudged her? Was this woman there the whole time, the elevator the coffee shop? I’m sure of it” his mind raced. The panic of not having someone rightly filed terrified him. “macroclass corporate ladder clumber, microclass was “boss woman. This is terrible” though Paul.

“Don’t look so surprised Paul, It’s what I do. I’d been following you for a few weeks before I made contact and had the elevator stalled. I had a lot of time to figure out what ‘personage’ you’d least suspect or respect.”

Time slowed down for Paul as it often does. He thought: “There is a certain comradery among athletes that exists which goes beyond competition. A respect for some one who beats you and the game you’ve given yourself over to completely. No… that chatter box was perfect he’d smelt fakes before, people fooling even them selves she was probably a go-mouth in her youth.” Her disguise wasn’t perfect but it was good, too good.

“Ok” said Paul coming back to earth and very much aggravated “Now its time for some answers. What do you want with me, what does all this have to do with my sister and what makes you think she’s working on an illegal weapon!”

“Paul calm down, you sister came to us she’s innocent” Said Brice. “As I said before we’ve been tracking a corporation that deals in chemical and biological engineering.”

“Right, that clears it up. Real quick though, you think you could fill me in on the why I need to get shot at and blown up part?”

“Paul do you remember the day in the coffee shop, when you sister was there?” asked the creepifying chameleon.

“Of course I always go there after my opera.” It occurred to Paul that he would be in a lot less trouble right now if his routine wasn’t so predictable.

“Is you sister usually there?”

“Occasionally.”

“Remember when she saw you were she brought your coffee over?”

“Yeah she set my coffee down and touched my collar, a little out of character for her but I didn’t think anything of it. That’s when she put the chip on me.”

“The computer chip was a distraction. We think she may have dumped the sample she stole into your coffee when she knew Richard’s team was getting close to her.”

“What are you saying?” Said Paul, dread spreading over his face.

“Your sister disease, Paul we think you’re infected” Said Brice

“That’s ridiculous; you think my sister tried to poison me? Get your story straight!” yelled Paul.

“We’d like to take some blood for analysis” Said Brice.

“Richard and his people didn’t realize that you sister actually had a prototype. Once she realized she was working on a weapon she tried to escape. They just didn’t know that took any thing more that some data, they told her that her work was ‘purely theoretical’.”

“Well If I’m contagious I should be quarantined right?”

“We don’t even know what it is; we think that because you drank it your body fluids are all that’s contagious.”

“How do you feel?” asked Brice standing up and looking suddenly concerned.

“Not good” said Paul realizing his intellectual nausea had increasingly physical for the last week.

“Paul we think Sarah is in danger, we last saw her with Mr. Richard and he seemed like he was keeping a close eye on her, STAY WITH US PAUL!” Carlson was standing over him.

Paul was getting woozy. His head was spinning, this wasn’t stress something wasn’t right. He felt pain in his gut and behind his eyes. As his head started to droop.

“Paul we need your help to find your sister. If they made an attempt on your life after letting you walk away, then Richard must have learned that your sister had more than just the stolen data.”

"Where... Where is She?" Asked Paul on the brink of unconsciousness.

"Intel says she's in a Lubrizol plant in the North-East Amazon Basin. Probably being forced to finish her work."

"I'm Coming" Slurred Paul weakly

"Not like this you're not" Said Brice

"I know what town.." Paul was breathing very slowly when his eyes closed and his mind faded to blackness.


Chapter 3: “Infected”