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Haunted by the Past - Chapter 20 - Not Much of a Talker
By: RampageSports Date: March 10, 2016, 7:38 am
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Author's Note: The Spenser, Hawk and Susan Silverman characters
belong to mystery novelist Robert B. Parker. Mr. Parker is one
of my favorite authors, and his work is a major influence on the
the way I write. Whether I even come close to mimicking his
style is open to considerable debate, but I have chosen to use
his characters in this story as something of an homage. My goal
is to handle them as lightly as possible and to maintain them as
Mr. Parker created them. Any failure on that front is
completely my own.
[hr]
Haunted by the Past - Chapter 20 - Not Much of a Talker
Despite its violent form of entertainment The Old Warehouse is,
at its core, a night club. Its purpose is to draw people in,
then separate them from their money. The fights may be a fairly
unique twist, but the goal was unchanged and the separation
process started with the cover fee collected at the door.
My plan was to walk in quietly and anonymously, just like
anybody else. The fact that the plan went sideways immediately
was probably not a good sign.
Quincy 'String Bean' Hampton got his nickname from his
appearance and not because the long, green pods are his favorite
vegetable. He was a tall, slender man who looked like he might
disappear if viewed from the side. A Trenton native, his
easy-going style had a southern feel to it that was as
befuddling as it was amusing. It made him easy to like and get
along with, but where the hell did it come from? As far as
anyone knew, Quincy had never even been out of the state. So,
the fact that he used the word y'all more frequently than most
Jerseyans said f*ck was totally inexplicable.
Part of his easy-goingness was his ability to not care much what
people thought about him. The more people chided him about his
aloofness, the more pronounced it became. The capper —
literally — was the day he showed up wearing an authentic, black
Stetson cowboy hat. Apparently, he still wore it to this day,
and I spotted it as soon I got out of the car. All these years
later, and there he was... still happily sitting behind that
folding table like he was selling tickets to the rodeo.
Quincy might not seem like the best choice as the guard for an
underground fight club, but that's because you're thinking about
it the wrong way. His job was to smile and collect the money
and be his everyday, affable self. It's always easier to take
people's money when they feel good about giving it to you, and
Quincy was supposed to make people feel comfortable and at ease.
Hey look, it's String Bean! Everybody's best bud.
Rest assured, however, that the actual first line of defense lay
just beyond the rust-scarred metal entry door. Should trouble
arise, Quincy just had to pound on the door and a gentlemen who
was roughly the size of a refrigerator would come out to meet
the problematic patron. And he would not be nearly as concerned
with the visitor's comfort level.
Quincy was counting out a wad of bills when Danni and I walked
up.
"Hey, String Bean," I said pleasantly.
He looked up suddenly, as if hearing the nickname took him by
surprise. As recognition slowly took hold, a genuine smile
spread across his face.
His job called for him to pretend to like everybody, but I knew
the difference between his pleasant surface coat and the look he
gave to people he truly counted as friends. Lucky for me, I
received the latter whenever he saw me.
"RAMPAGE!" he shouted.
Though I was intently focused on my mission, a small sliver of
my consciousness recognized that Quincy had just used my former
nickname with Danni standing right there to hear it. In doing
so, he had also revealed to her the less than noble way Rampage
Sports had gotten its name.
The small sliver shook its tiny little head sadly, and filed the
development away so I could lament it properly later.
I brought my finger to my lips in a shhhh gesture.
"I'm trying to lay low," I said softly.
"Gotcha," he said. "You just surprised me, is all. Man, I
ain't heard that nickname in a while."
"What do you mean? Everybody calls you that. Most people don't
even know your real name."
"Not no more," he said with a sad shake of his head. "Got new
people now, inside and out. Ain't even barely know who I am,
most of 'em."
"But you're makin' out okay?"
He gave a neutral shrug.
"I keep my head down, and mind my own business," he said.
"Prob'ly better nobody knows me, to be honest."
His tone suggested he longed for the way things used to be.
With King in charge, I had no trouble understanding where he was
coming from.
"So, where you been all this time?" he asked.
"Been tryin' to make a respectable woman outta myself," I said,
mirroring his faux-drawl without even realizing it.
"That right?" he said. "How's that workin' out?"
I glanced at Danni as I worked out my answer.
"Progress has been slow," I said.
"I hear you," he said absently. "So, what brings you back
'round here? Y'all fixin' to check out the new talent?"
"Something like that."
The passage of time hadn't affected him, at all. His
personality was just as worry-free, and his face hadn't changed
a bit. Not a line or crease to be found anywhere.
Maybe there was something to be said for his casual approach to
life.
"Well, fee's up to twenny," he said happily.
It galled me to have to pay to get into a place that owed much
of what it was to the blood and sweat I had put into it. But if
I was looking for gratitude, I would have gone somewhere else.
I counted Quincy as a friend, but his job was to collect the
money and there was a man inside who kept count of everyone who
entered. If Quincy just let me walk in, then he'd be short and
there'd be hell to pay.
I pulled the fold of money from my pocket, peeled off two
one-hundred dollar bills and handed them to him.
"Two men are going to come into the club in a few minutes," I
said. "They're with me."
The extra money and the cinematic-style line made him
suspicious, and he raised an eyebrow.
"Y'all ain't fixin' to raise a ruckus, are ya'?" he asked.
I didn't answer directly. I wasn't worried about his reaction.
I knew he wouldn't pound on that door. Not for me. But I was
worried about what might happen to him if someone found out he
knew in advance what I was planning.
I counted out four twenties and handed them to him.
"Put that in the till so your count is right," I said. "Then
pretend we never had this conversation."
He looked at me sadly as he nodded.
"Y'all be careful," he said. "Ain't like it used to be 'round
here. Tommy's gone and there's a new guy running the place.
Mean bastard. He ain't gonna tolerate no bullsh*t."
"He own it, now?"
"No. Just runs it. Like Tommy did before."
I nodded that I understood, then pulled the door open and went
in.
While the outside may not have changed, the interior was barely
recognizable.
The whole place had been repainted and redesigned. False walls
had been erected to disguise the cold brick and the iron
floor-to-ceiling supports that kept the roof from falling in had
been squared off and hidden with decorative paneling. A quarter
of the massive space had been walled off to form a separate
sitting room, complete with cloth covered tables and cushioned
chairs. If you didn't know where you were, you might think it
was a restaurant or high-end club.
The scene was completed by the power chord roar of AC/DC's What
Do You Do For Money Honey booming from the speakers mounted
along the walls near the ceiling. Though the specifics were
off, I had the distinct feeling the song was aimed directly at
me... a commentary on the life I'd led right here all those
years ago. The personalization reached a new level when the
line You b*tch, you must be getting old came through as clear as
day, and I thought, Why don't you go f*ck yourself, Brian?
I led Danni through the open doorway in the center of the new
wall. There, we found a place that was much more familiar to
me.
Even here, though, the improvements were obvious. Again, the
walls and columns were hidden away. More tables and high
quality seating had been brought in to replace the rows of cheap
folding chairs. High top tables were evenly spread along the
walls, for those who preferred or were forced to stand. A
uniformed — and uniformly female — wait staff scurried about
bringing drinks from the bar to the respective tables. The
uniforms probably weren't very expensive, given the minimal
amount of material that went into each.
But beyond the shiny new surroundings, the same old concrete pad
remained... cold, hard and pitiless as ever. The perfect
location to watch someone get beaten to a pulp.
The ring did have one improvement, if you want to call it that.
The braided manila ropes that surrounded it in my day had been
replaced by long, wide pine boards, two to a side. What had
once looked like a cheap, makeshift boxing ring now gave the
appearance of a barren livestock pen, where mindless cattle
waited to be slaughtered.
The symbolism was difficult to ignore.
In the ring, two men had been beating and bloodying each other
commendably, but it now looked like one had gained the upper
hand. His opponent wobbled aimlessly, seemingly unable to see
or even find his tormentor. That meant the fight was over, and
it was time for the post-fight beatdown to begin.
Beyond the ring, the lighting dimmed significantly. At first, I
could only make out vague shadows and silhouettes. As my eyes
adjusted, the scene became clearer. A high-back chair — much
like a throne — became visible. Large men loomed just behind
it, a few feet off each corner. And seated in the chair was
King Powers himself, looking every bit as royal as he thought he
was.
All the little f*cker needed was a crown, and the picture would
be complete.
I glanced at my phone. It had been nearly fifteen minutes since
we'd walked in, so Spenser and Hawk should be inside, by now. I
had no messages, which meant they hadn't experienced any issues.
It was show time.
I looked at Danni and nodded.
"Let's go," I said.
She pulled her attention from the carnage in the ring, and
followed along.
As soon as we stepped around the corner of the ring, the goon on
Powers' left moved to intercept us. He was huge and thickly
muscled, his bald head making him look like the picture on a
bottle of Mr. Clean solution. He put a hand out to stop us, and
I did as he asked, keeping my eyes riveted on Powers. He
recognized me immediately, and a look of pure disgust washed
over his face.
"You got a lot of balls coming here, b*tch," he said.
"You fall asleep in health class or something?" I asked. "I
don't have any balls at all, you moron."
His mouth twitched slightly, as though he found me both amusing
and insignificant at the same time.
"Still got that smart mouth, I see."
"What can I say? You bring out the best in me."
I shifted my gaze to the man on Powers right, and found myself
staring straight into the beady little eyes of Rat Face.
He was much larger than I'd appreciated on the video - even
bigger than his depilated cohort. The first responsibility of
his job was to look imposing, and he obviously put in the time
and effort to be good at it. He looked like one of those guys
you see on the cover of the fitness magazines in the bookstore.
Only, he wasn't nearly attractive enough for that sort of
thing... what with his tiny, shrunken head and all.
"What the f*ck are you doing here?" Powers snarled.
"Funny," I said. "I was going to ask you the same thing."
"This is my place now," he said, "and you're not welcome here."
"Awww, c'mon King. Is that any way to treat an old friend?"
I spoke without fear because I wasn't afraid. In front of me
sat King Powers, the man who had just yesterday sent one of his
stooges to torment Danni. And beside him stood the stooge he'd
sent to do it.
There was no room for fear in my heart, because anger and
revenge were occupying every square inch of my body.
King's smile disappeared instantly and his eyes darkened.
"We're not friends," he said in a low rumble. "You ruined
everything I'd built. It took me years to get where I was."
The fact that I would likely have died had his plan succeeded
that night was just the cost of doing business, apparently.
For some reason, his view on the matter did not sit well with
me.
"Let's get something straight, f*ckhead," I said. "You tried to
sacrifice me so you could make a few dollars."
He snorted dismissively.
"It was a lot more than a few dollars," he said.
"Oh, well that makes it okay then. I'm so sorry I caused all
that trouble."
His face grew more crimson each time I opened my mouth. I was
letting my anger get ahead of me and pushing too hard.
"I'm only going to ask you once more, b*tch," he said. "Why are
you here?"
I wasn't sure why he'd bothered to ask the question, again.
Maybe it bothered him that I found out he was here. Maybe he
was fishing a little to see what I knew. Whatever the case, he
didn't throw us out yet, so I was still in the game.
I softened my voice to a more casual tone.
"We really need a mediator for this conversation?" I asked,
nodding toward Mr. Clean.
Baldy angled himself so he could stay in front of me, while also
bringing King into his field of view. Powers held for a beat
for two, then pointed the big man back with a tilt of his head.
"Love your magic erasers, by the way," I said to the bodyguard
as I stepped past him. "Those things are terrific."
He didn't seem to get the reference. Or maybe he just didn't
find me funny.
Meanwhile, Powers let me walk up without a second thought.
Never considered what sort of danger I might represent. Never
even checked me for a weapon.
Like I said, to him, I was insignificant.
"Start f*ckin' talking," he barked.
I had given some thought to exactly what line of bullsh*t I was
going to try. Truth is, there was only one approach that made
sense.
"One of your people approached my friend," I said, raising my
hand toward Danni. "He asked her to get involved in something
she wants no part of. I'm here to find out what it will take
for you to leave her alone."
"Not interested," he said.
My offer didn't garner any curiosity at all. Not even so much
as a nibble. This is not the way the conversation had worked
out in my head.
"I have money, King," I said. "I'll pay whatever you want."
"Not interested," he said again.
King Powers? Not interested in money? Ridiculous.
"You were gonna let me die over money," I said. "Now, I'm
handing it to you, and you don't want it?"
"I'll get what I want, one way or the other."
This wasn't working at all, and I had no backup plan ready. I
tried to think of something... anything... that I could say that
would keep Powers talking. I needed another approach, and I
needed one quick.
Then, Powers turned to Rat Face and said, "Throw these two
whores out of here."
Oh, there IS a God, I thought to myself.
I was going to get the chance to prolong the exchange, after
all. Just as soon as I got done repaying the man who had
terrorized Danni the day before.
The mountainous bodyguard slogged forward.
"Let's go ladies," he commanded.
"What are my other options?" I asked.
His eyebrows went up involuntarily, which caused him to lose a
little of his intimidation factor. He wasn't used to being
questioned, so it threw him off his game. His size and strength
were his greatest weapons. A man like him... he tells you to do
something, most people just do it.
I intended to find out what happens to the people who don't.
With Spenser and Hawk somewhere in the crowd behind me, it was a
risk I could afford to take.
He gathered himself and set his scowl back in place.
"What do you mean, options?"
"I'm not ready to leave yet," I said, "and I'm just wondering
what my other options are."
Much like his sizable co-thug, he didn't seem to find me
amusing. Nobody ever does.
"You can either leave," he growled, "or I will make you leave."
"I'll take option two," I said arrogantly.
He lost the scowl again for a second, then the anger roared back
into his face.
Without a word, he stepped forward and grabbed for my right arm.
I twisted away and snapped a jab into the center of his face.
I actually heard Danni draw in a startled breath behind me.
The big man stumbled a half-step back, almost entirely from
shock.
He gathered himself, touched a hand to his nose and checked it
for blood. It came away clean, but he was furious, just the
same. His nostrils flared as he stared at me. The smug grin on
my face probably wasn't helping.
"You little b*tch," he said.
"That's me," I smiled.
He lunged for me again. I slid away from his grasp, snapped the
jab and followed it with a cross, this time. He made no effort
to defend himself, and both punches found their mark.
He wordlessly touched his face again, and I thought his head was
going to explode at the sight of the blood on his fingertips.
On instinct, he reached for his weapon.
"Awwww," I mocked. "Does the big, strong man need a gun to
handle the wittle, bitty girl?"
His hand stopped inches from the grip of the gun. His eyes were
wild, and I knew it would have given him great pleasure to kill
me, right at that moment.
But he didn't grab the gun.
Machismo is a special word, reserved only for describing men.
It's meant to convey the concept of aggressive masculine pride.
It doesn't make sense, really. There's nothing uniquely male
about aggression, and women can certainly act out of pride.
Most times those two things add up to trouble.
And if you need a feminine example of that, well... hi. It's a
pleasure to meet you.
The point is, it doesn't matter if you're male or female. Both
genders are quite capable of giving in to feelings of vanity and
conceit, and the result is rarely good.
There is a difference, though.
Rat Face had his solution, right there on his hip. Just pull
out that gun, and I was out of options. I would have to do
whatever he said.
But I had made fun of him. I had questioned his manhood. So,
he pulled his hand back, determined to handle me the manly way.
Why do men get a special word? Because, aside from being
aggressive and prideful, they are also stupid.
He brought his hands up in front of him. Not high enough to
protect his face, but they were up, which is better than
anything he'd done so far.
I put my guard up and started to bounce on the balls of my feet
as I worked myself into a rhythm. I eyed him cautiously and
waited.
If I had just made an enormous mistake, I was going to know it
very soon.
He stepped forward and took a big, lumbering swing at me. I
ducked under it easily, and I hit him with one-two again as I
came back up.
Both punches landed, but he didn't move an inch.
I stayed in front of him and waited for his next move.
To his credit, he learned quickly — switching his focus down so
I couldn't slip under his punch again. But the right hand he
sent toward my side was so long and looping, I felt like I could
run around behind him while I waited for it. I slipped to my
right to avoid the punch, then planted and slammed my right hand
into his face, again. He still wasn't making any effort to
defend himself, and the punch landly as solidly as any I'd ever
thrown.
Still, he didn't move from his spot.
Meanwhile, the action in the ring had drawn to a close, and the
crowd had pressed forward to see what all the commotion was
about.
Rat Face looped the right at me again, and I started to realize
it was the only thing he knew how to do. Though his imposing
size made intimidation easy, it was becoming obvious that he had
never been forced to actually back up his bulk against someone
who knew how to fight.
I dodged the blow easily and countered with the left, the right
and then I turned and hit him with the left again, hammering my
fist into his unprotected side.
I stepped back, reset my guard and stared at him intently. In
my mind, I could picture the calm, collected look of his face on
the video as he methodically tortured my friend.
He didn't look like that, now. Now, he looked frustrated and
angry — his features warped and distorted in fury.
I was really beginning to enjoy this.
And I wasn't the only one. The crowd was growing more and more
excited with each punch I threw. At least twice, I heard
someone call out using my former nickname.
Being recognized in a place like this was not exactly
heart-warming. But hey, it was something.
My opponent stepped to throw the right again, but I beat him to
it this time... snapping the jab, then the cross. Then I
settled my balance back to neutral and pushed a kick toward the
center of his considerable mass. He let out an "Ooof" as my
foot sank into him, and the force of the blow coming straight
into him drove him back a half-step. I followed with a flurry
of punches, changing my angle and sometimes elevation with each.
He managed to block a few — basically by accident — but most
found their mark untouched.
I stepped back and let him pull himself together, suddenly
unconcerned with bringing this to a quick end. I had the
stamina to do this for a long time and the determination to do
it even longer, if I had to. So, I was happy to drag it out.
Meanwhile, he was already beginning to tire, holding his hands
just above waist height and plodding about when he moved. The
development didn't surprise me, at all. In fact, I had been
counting on it.
There's shape, and then there's fighting shape. Rat Face was
in, maybe, posing shape. Carrying all that mass on his frame
had to be strenuous to begin with. Add to that the fact that I
was making him move so much, trying to keep up as I buzzed
around him, and I didn't expect that he would last long. And,
of course, it was clear from his size that he didn't spend much
of his gym time on cardio. He was built for presentation, not
for functionality. The only hard part for me was convincing him
not to go for the gun. Now, he was in too deep.
I was tired of waiting around for him to move. I faked the jab
— though I don't know why because he had no guard up, anyway —
and pushed another kick into him. He reacted a little better
this time, setting his feet quickly and coming forward
immediately after the impact. I hit him with the one-two again
as he advanced, but he kept coming and I realized too late what
he was doing. Striking wasn't working for him, so he had
switched to wrestling. He walked through my strikes and caught
hold of my left wrist. Then, he yanked me forward and got hold
of my right.
I didn't even give myself a chance to panic. He pulled me in
close and tried to wrap his arms around me, but I straightened
up and slammed the top of my head under his chin before he got
his hands locked. He staggered away, and I got the hell out of
there.
The moment reminded me that this was not a game, and that I was
having a little too much fun. As much as I wanted to make him
suffer, this wasn't an exhibition. If he got hold of me, this
wasn't likely to end the way I was hoping for.
As my opponent regrouped, I stole a glance at Powers, expecting
him to be furious at the way his man was being dismantled. But
the thin smile on his face told me something was very wrong, and
the realization hit me instantly.
I had f*cked up big.
He wanted me dead, and I had given him just the excuse he needed
to do it. The cops would take one look at what I'd done to Rat
Face, and it would be easy for Powers to convince them he'd only
done what was necessary to stop me.
Yes, I could still count on Spenser and Hawk to get us out of
there, but what would we have learned?
I needed a plan. But first, I needed to end this.
As the big man came forward again, I planted my left leg and
pivoted, bringing my right foot up high as I spun... the top of
my foot cracking into his cheek. He stumbled to his left, but
kept his feet. Then, he lurched at me once more. I hit him
with the jab, the cross then turned my weight into a a heavy
left hook that spun his head to the right. I let my momentum
carry me around, then planted my left leg and kept spinning...
raising my right leg again and smashing the heel of my foot into
his face.
Amazingly, it still wasn't enough to knock him off his feet.
It was time for me to face reality. Rat Face was never going to
lay another hand on me, but there was a good chance I would drop
dead from exhaustion before I did enough damage to put him down.
I was spinning like a top and hitting him with every strike I
threw. Hands, feet, skull... and still, he stayed upright.
It was time for Old Reliable.
He straightened up and I stepped toward him and slammed my right
foot up between his legs. He bent forward at the waist — as
would be expected. I clasped my hands behind his head for
leverage and drove the point of my left knee into the center of
his face.
Down went Rat Boy as the crowd behind me went wild.
How's that for old, Johnson?
I took a step or two in King's direction, flashing a toothy
smile meant just for him. Then, I turned my back — deliberately
positioning myself so he didn't have a clear view of his prone
employee — and sauntered over to my fallen opponent. I squatted
down beside him, leaning over him to make sure he could hear me.
"Was that as good for you as it was for me, handsome?" I said.
"I honestly haven't had that much fun in years."
I spoke loud enough for the whole room to hear, and I laid my
hand on my foe's waist... patting him as though I was trying to
soothe the poor loser.
I was hoping either Spenser or Hawk could see what else I was
doing.
Then, I stood and turned toward Powers, putting my hands behind
my back as I rocked from heel to toe and back again repeatedly.
"How was that, Mr. King?" I asked, sounding like a pouty
schoolgirl. "Did I pass your little test?"
That smile was still on his face, but his answer surprised me.
"You're lucky I still need you alive," he said arrogantly, "or I
would put a gun in that smart mouth of yours and pull the
trigger, myself."
Not the best imagery, I grant you. But, I was going to live to
see tomorrow, so I was happy with it.
Then Powers snatched my heart right out of my chest.
"But your friend here," he continued as he looked at Danni,
"I've been looking for an excuse to get rid of her."
For the first time all night, I was afraid.
Danni? Why?
Powers turned his face to Mr. Clean, nodded toward Danneel and
said, "Kill her."
All the blood drained from Danni's face at once, leaving her
with a ghostly pallor. Beads of sweat were running down her
face, and her normally soft and intelligent honey brown eyes
were so wide with panic, they were almost completely white in
the darkened room.
Mr. Clean reached inside his jacket as he stepped toward her.
"Don't even think about it," I said as a I brought my hands into
view.
In my right hand was the gun I'd taken from Rat Boy. I
straightened that arm in front of me and brought my left up
underneath to steady it. I had my feet set shoulder width
apart. Left leg forward, right leg back. Knees slightly bent.
Just like I'd been taught.
Clean froze and stared at the gun in my hand. He studied it for
a moment, then smiled broadly.
"You're pretty good with your hands, girly," he said, "but
you're gonna hurt yourself with that thing."
With my right thumb, I expertly clicked off the weapon's safety.
Then, making sure to keep my right hand low on the grip and my
finger outside of the trigger guard, I used my left to pull back
the slide and put a round into the firing chamber.
"Care to guess again?" I asked.
The smile faded quickly.
A few seconds later, King put his hand up toward Clean. The
bodyguard removed his hand from his jacket and resumed his
position at Powers' side.
"It's been a delightful visit, King. It really is a pleasure to
see you again," I said, "but Miss Harris and I are leaving now."
King eyed me coldly.
"I'm going to get what I came for," he said.
"We'll see about that," I answered.
I stepped over next to Danni, keeping the gun pointed toward the
two men.
"Let's go," I said to her.
She didn't move, or even seem to register that I had spoken.
"Danni, we gotta go," I said.
"Your friend seems to be having some trouble," Powers grinned.
"I hope we didn't scare her too badly."
"Stay the F*CK away from her, Powers," I snapped. "She has
nothing to do with this."
He just smiled and nodded like the assh*le he was.
I backed my way into Danni, pushing her toward the crowd with my
body. She didn't resist, but she didn't help, either. She just
sort of stumbled each time I pressed into her. After an
agonizing minute, we finally reached the edge of the crowd.
I flipped the gun's safety back on, grabbed Danni's hand and
dragged her toward the door.
[hr]
Character Reference
HTML https://aade768506dacb303a01a361d3dc0d27209a5ec4.googledrive.com/host/0Bz8YsEjMxOhMMXhVcF82aG5SXzA/Richelle_100x120.jpg
Name: Richelle Winterfeld
Nickname(s):
Background: Owner of the RSI stable, former underground fighter
HTML https://aade768506dacb303a01a361d3dc0d27209a5ec4.googledrive.com/host/0Bz8YsEjMxOhMMXhVcF82aG5SXzA/Danni_100x120.jpg
Name: Danneel Harris
Nickname(s): Danni
Background: RSI stable leader, reigning DEF welterweight
champion
#Post#: 2963--------------------------------------------------
Re: Haunted by the Past - Chapter 20 - Not Much of a Talker
By: Dragons Den Date: March 15, 2016, 10:11 pm
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Amazing!! Still haven't moved from the edge of my seat. Can't
wait to see how you get yourselves outta this one.
Also, have always loved your characterisation, and there is a
lot of awesome work in here. I loved what you did with String
Bean. Top stuff.
As always, can't wait for more! :D
#Post#: 2969--------------------------------------------------
Re: Haunted by the Past - Chapter 20 - Not Much of a Talker
By: RampageSports Date: March 17, 2016, 7:41 am
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Really? Not one comment on the Acca/dacca reference? I was
counting on you! :P
(Sorry. I know you said you don't personally call them that,
but I haven't been able to get that particular colloquialism out
of my head since I became aware of it. ;D )
Thanks, as always, for the feedback. :D
I know I've dropped the ball this past week on the updates.
We'll just pretend I took a break to let all of my six or seven
readers get completely caught up. Yeah... that sounds good.
:-X
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