(p2)This is a group satellite chat, so be careful what you say. Hi mom. Here we are in the Space Age! Yeah, yeah, it's beautiful here. (i)chairs scraping across floors(i). Aw, now everybody want to talk to mommy and daddy. We're getting image. Oh, you look nice. Yep, dressed up for a kind of house meeting of wayfaring travelers STUCK HERE AT THE MOMENT because of the travel shut down. (i)gun butt smashing nuts into another metal chair(i) Nope, don't need any money wired, it's not hard to save money in times like this. (i)a hand closing a lap top. a gun placed between person and lap top. a person getting up and dragging metal chair shackled to.(i)
"Put in pile."
"Scorned women. You don't have to be that."
A kicking in of a door.
"You're right. She doesn't." A drop kick. Face punches. Two not very big guys. A pistol shooting out the door lever on another door. "Get them up!"
"Women. Always laying around in their underwear. But what good fortune, so many." The women struggling to get unpiled. "OW! This one bites."
A hallway. Man with bloodied boxers, hands behind back following along.
Laptop on lap, chair with shackled woman being carried. Another room.
Hours go by.
Voices. "We found them in there." Door being opened. A man in a doctor's white coat and two women nurses with loose fitting street clothes over uniforms. "Let's get them upstairs."
Days go by.
A familiar face. But with bulky eyeglasses and a briefcase. A note pressed to glass.
MY CLIENTS.
Let in.
"First question. Where are their pants?"
Barely a glance at them sitting in chairs. "Why they need pahnts?"
"Ok. Next question. Who are they?"
An unenergetic shrug. "Maybe you find out."
A wander towards. A comparison of faces to paperwork. "You there." No one looked up. "Why is your hair singed?" No answer.
"Right then. I'll need to go to a store. I'll be back."
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