>>5141923As your foot slowly begins to tap along to the muzak, a thought occurs to you–one that prompts you to politely tap Blumenkrantz on the shoulder. Just when you see his eternal scowl relax a bit, it deepens <span class="mu-i">twice</span> as much upon your interruption.
“<span class="mu-s">WHAT?</span>”
Well, you begin, you don’t get many chances to talk with him, a-
“That’s because I <span class="mu-s">DON’T LIKE YOU.</span>” He explains in a matter-of-fact, but still very hurtful voice. “Get it?”
Yea, you nod, but you have a question for him–a normal one! When your chaperone doesn’t stick his cigar in your eye, you continue: he uh, has he heard from any of his <span class="mu-g">SOLDIER BUDDIES?</span> Maybe from the <span class="mu-g">NATIONAL GUARD DEPOT?</span>
“... anyone worth shit from my platoon died <span class="mu-i">years</span> ago.” Blumenkrantz hisses as he bites deeper into his cigar. “Thanks for the reminder, by the way.” Just when an awkward silence falls over the elevator, he gifts you with a few more words. “No word from the <span class="mu-g">DEPOT</span> either. Knew a guy there named Cooper, though–mouthy sonnovabitch.”
Blowing a fresh plume of cigar smoke into the elevator, Blumenkrantz shakes his head and growls. “Roped me into some shitty Poker game of his every week. Knew he was trying to get me to ‘<span class="mu-i">make friends</span>’, but I didn’t buy it. Still,” he shrugs his massive shoulders, “ended up going every week.”
“Whad’...” Ly groans as if just waking up, “whad’ I mis-”
“Met Muldoon’s father there too. Probably the only reason I kept her lazy ass on payroll. Couple other washed-up jarheads too, but you wouldn’t know ‘em.” Blumenkrantz’ frown deepens. “No one would.”
“Oh.” Mutters your skeleton in a hushed tone, “We’re uh… we’re talkin’ to him.”
A pause.
“How are we <span class="mu-i">not</span> dead yet, Stan?”
SHH!
>CONTD. 