Generation of Liars by Camilla Marks Page A

David?”
    “A man can never hide from himself,
Alice.”
    “So is that a yes?”
    “No, Alice, my purpose for being
down here is to complete a degree of advanced training so that I might master
the element of surprise for use on a very special opponent to whom my journey
is leading me to.”
    “An opponent? In that case,” I
said, tipping my mug to him before plunging it to my lips, “ Kitto Katsu .”
    “ Kitto Katsu ,” David
repeated, as his lips disappeared behind his mug.
    Our serene moment was interrupted
by my cell phone chirping. I knew it would be Rabbit checking up on me. “Excuse
me, David.” I scrambled to my feet and walked outside for privacy.
    “Silence surpasses speech,” I heard
David proselytize as I eased the door shut behind me. He found mobile phones a
painful exercise in the human condition’s unease with silence.  
    "Oh, Rabbit, you better not be
enjoying five-star accommodations right now," I huffed into the
phone. “I mean it. I don’t want to hear a peep about a cold margarita in your
hand or babes sunning themselves by the pool of the Ritz Carlton.”
    "Calm down, Alice. I haven't
checked in anywhere yet. I'm sitting on a stool inside an internet café about
six miles from where you are. I don’t even think there is a Ritz in Rio. How
did you know I was in Rio by the way?”
    “Rabbit, in three years Motley has
never sent me on a mission without you riding my rawhide. So, are you ready to
go visit this Benny Nebraska fellow or what? Rabbit?" I did a grunt of
frustration because my phone’s reception was terrible and the chicken coop
stench was nearly asphyxiating me.
    "Almost ready,” Rabbit
answered, and I could detect slyness in his voice, even beneath the static.
“But first, Motley wants me to tell you that there’s a gift for Nebraska inside
the chicken coop out in back of the house. You have to go get it so you can
deliver it to him.”
    “Gift?” I repeated. “You mean the
payoff money for Nebraska, right?”
    “Yup, oh and a helpful hint for
you, the address to Nebraska’s apartment is also scribbled on a paper that’s
attached to the briefcase.”
    “That’s cryptic. Wouldn’t it have
just been easier to tell me the address? While we’re being illusive, should I
check the sky for smoke signals to get this guy’s phone number?” I looked out
into the yard, at the coop where the wind was throwing that awful stench at me. Oh , I thought to myself, this was definitely payback from Motely .
“You get shot out of the Eiffel Tower one time and suddenly you’re on
everybody’s crap list, huh, Rabbit?”
    “You probably want to get a quick
start on this, so I’ll let you go now, Alice.”
    “How generous of you,” I groaned.
“I freaking hate these little games.”
    I hung up with Rabbit and set the
phone down on the back stoop, setting my eyes on the coop. I began walking
towards it, my approaching presence causing the chickens inside to go wild. I
carefully lifted the latch on the door, causing the chickens to go nuts,
clucking, and pooling an effort to inflict death by a thousand little pecks. I
could see a black Victorinox briefcase partially buried beneath a pile of wood
chips which had been abundantly defecated on.
    I pushed up the latch and stormed
inside, batting away one chicken after another, as feathers whirled into the
air with tornado-strength fervor. My heel landed inside a water bowl, and I
very indelicately flew knees-over-chin onto my back. I grunted, rolled to where
the briefcase was, and lifted it by the handle. I shot up to my feet and
stormed back out the gate, shutting it against the turbulent chatter of the
chickens.
    David was leaned up against the
side of the house, watching me with a pious smile on his face.
    “Did you really have to watch
that?” I asked. “I’m humiliated.”
    “Shame will not advance a cause.”
    I trudged towards him, holding the
briefcase. “At least I got it,” I told him. I held the briefcase up;