In Need of Assistance? (TF2)

Fifty: The Praise You Give

        Sitting here and waiting is getting boring. It's cold and dark, and I turned the car off as to not draw suspicion. Come on, leave. Go away. The men move away and shuffle into the night. The window fogs up as I get closer and breathe on the glass, trying to see if they've moved enough out of the way. The street light no longer illuminates them. The underbelly of city bridges is the perfect place for dumping bodies but not so great for a woman by herself in the night's dead. If he doesn't show up soon, I'll just do the whole thing by myself. He's not even supposed to be here. I call the fort to ask the guys where he is and they say Boston like I'm not already here. It's suspicious, and I demand answers when he arrives. If he arrives.

I open the door and cautiously peer out, listening to the sound of cars drive by above. There isn't anything else. People reconvene at the trashcan, and I gripe as I close the door, doomed to wait longer. One of them looks over at me, causing me to back up from the window. He turns his body to me. "No, no, stay over there. I'm just sitting here, go away, no..." He's walking toward me, but at a moderate pace as he's still cautious. Fingers gently send shivers down my spine as they splay on my shoulder, and I jump while screaming as I turn around. Spy sits in my passenger seat, pushed up against the door in astonishment at my reaction.

We both stare at each other as I pant and try to calm down, pushing hair from the corner of my mouth to my side. I hit the steering wheel with open palms before aggressively tapping my hand on his shoulder as hard as I could, even though it didn't come off that way with my unsteady breathing. Spy lights a cigarette as he settles in. "Sorry to pop in unannounced."

"Yeah, ya think?" I challenge. "The hell are you doing in Boston?" The man knocks on my window, and I turn to look at him.

"You alright, lady?"

"Yeah," I yell at him, not wanting to open the door. He peers in and looks at me and Spy before walking away. "Nosy."

"Que faisons-nous ici?" He asks as he exhales smoke through his nose.

"We're getting rid of these bodies," I say. "As soon as these men move away from the area."

"Simple," Spy spins the chamber of a large revolver with engravings on the sides of a woman. He opens the door and raises it into the air and fires once. I watch the men book it away from the garbage can.

"They probably think you killed me."

"Then they won't come back," he sits back in his chair. "I will leave you to your business." I get out and open the backseat, taking out a sledgehammer.

"Uhm, Spy?" He turns back to look at me. "I actually need you for something."

"I will not do heavy-lifting."

"It's not for that." I close the back door. The Frenchman gets out of the car and walks around to the back of the vehicle, not seeming bothered by the nipping temperatures. I feel my nose warm-up but chill at the same time as I huff and open the trunk. A garbage bag sits, heads and hands inside. "I'm going to need your cigarette, and I'm going to need to know what you're doing in Massachusetts."

He hands me the tobacco, and I pull out a hand to burn away fingerprints. The streetlight flickers, a yellow hue to the area and extra orange added by the trashcan fire. Wind ravages and my hair blows into my face. The trash bag obscures my work. Spy watches my labor and takes the cigarette from me to take another drag and keep the butt burning.

"What are you doing in Boston?" I quietly ask. "I didn't give you work to come here, and Engie told me you don't have family for the holidays. You didn't even notify me of your departure."