The Ayatollah's Money
Page 62
Chapter 62 – Revenge
The Colonel, The Lieutenant, and The Private sat in The Colonel’s room at the hotel and plotted revenge. In a matter of hours they had gone from all the fun and games with the tequila and the hookers, to being subjected to suffocating humiliation at the hands of the hated infidels. They were so humiliated they hadn’t even told Hablibi what had happened. He had come to the hotel that evening to see if they were over their hangovers, and if they wanted a repeat of the night before. He did. Of course, he’d spent the day in his suite, getting recuperative massages from the spa staff. Three hours of hot and cold compresses on his throbbing head had done the trick, and he was ready to rubble again. They wouldn’t even let him in the room, and told him to go screw himself, this time; the heck with the virgins.
Of course, Jinny hadn’t really put them into a triplet's baby carriage and wheeled them around the park, showing them off to bystanders. But he had required them to divest themselves of their clothes, all their clothes, including their wallets and money and room cards and weapons, such as they were. Doing this required that he brandish his gun, which he couldn’t comfortably do in the middle of the park out in the open, so he had herded them into a cluster of small magnolias in the center of the park which hid them from view. When they were down to their birthday suits, he picked up their valuables and clothes and said, “Have a nice day, gents. This is compliments of June Enterprises. I ever see you again, any of us ever see you again, I’ll remove your skins, too.” And walked away.
The boys sat there hidden by the trees, surrounded by infidels in a hellish country, wondering how to get back to the relative safety of their $800 a night hotel rooms. Priss, the psychological warfare strategist, suggested they wait for nightfall, which they did, thus sparing themselves the embarrassment of streaking across the park’s open space and incurring the amusement of the College of Charleston coeds that use the place for sunbathing, i.e. acquiring their first doses of solar radiation poisoning. At 3am they negotiated six blocks of downtown alleyways and residential gardens, ending up in the ornamental shrubbery that surrounded the fountain that welcomed guests to the hotel with a frothing display of southern hospitality.
Lewy looked at Priss and said, “Now what?”
He replied, “Why’s it always me has to figure stuff out? I don’t know how to get into our rooms without our cards.”
“Because you’re the strategist and tactician. I’m the sword of the Red Scimitar. That’s the division of labor on our team, right boss?”
The Colonel didn’t answer, him not having an idea for getting into their rooms, either.
Priss said, “If we had the stealth clothing that Mossad has, it would be a cinch. Walk right in, go behind the reception counter, do up three cards, into the elevator.”
“But we don’t have the stealth clothing, do we, genius? What we got is no clothing, stealth or regular.”
Just then the guy that doubled as the hotel night janitor and the room service deliveryman came outside for a smoke. He looked familiar to The Colonel in a foggy sort of way, who pointed to him and said, “Didn’t we meet that guy last night, somehow?”
Priss looked and said, “Yeah, he was the guy that brought up the other bottles of tequila after we killed the first two.”
“Did I stiff him or over tip him?” Both Priss and Lewy shrugged. They’d been occupied with other things. “Gotta take a chance that I tipped him good.” The Colonel stepped out of the shrubbery and called to the guy, “Hey, you, remember me from last night? The tequila?”
The guy looked across the entryway area around the fountain, and after a minute, remembering the $100 tip he’d gotten, said, “Yeah, man, I got you. Room 1024, 2am, hookers and tequila. Sounded like fun. You out for more action tonight, huh? Lose at strip poker?”
The Colonel said, “I got $500 if you get me and my friends into our rooms.”
And here they were, plotting revenge against Jinny, June Enterprises, the United States of America, and infidels everywhere. Priss the strategist took charge. “I figure we got one shot at this thing, one big operation that achieves all the goals: get the woman, get the money, and get revenge against these people. We can’t pick away at them in a bunch of small ops. What we’re going to need is cover, distractions, and smokescreens, all hiding one big assault.” He paused and thought some more. “What do we know about them? We know they’re all together as a group, working on some project in that theater place. So, so, so, I got it, we figure out what they’re doing there, and it’s probably a public event because that’s what those places are for, and we wait until that happens, and go in with everyone else. And then, in the darkness, with all the action going on, we attack. Grab the woman, kill the rest of them, and escape in the confusion.” He looked at his colleagues, who thought over the plan.
Lewy said, “I got one thing to add. After the op we come back here, force the woman to give us the money, I execute her with the cesium 235, providing Hablibi can find some laying around, and we order up the virgins and tequila again. Celebrate.”
The Colonel thought about this addendum to the plan, and said, “Works for me.”