section7mfu | Short Affair Challenge, 1/28/2019 ----- Not My Style

Prompts: Orange, shaven, barrel

Title: Not My Style

Author: Jkkitty

“This just isn’t my style,” Napoleon complained as he pulled at the orange prison jumpsuit that he and Illya were dressed in. “And orange on you just isn’t complimentary.”

“Sorry they didn’t think of your fashion sense when they issued the garments,” Illya’s exasperation was clear in his voice. The complaints from his partner were getting on his nerves since they had been placed in the garden club prison to investigate the disappearance of several prominent inmates of white-collar crimes.

“You would think that the clientele of this prison would get better clothing,” Napoleon continued to complain.

“Can I complete your shave, or do you intend to waste your time complaining and leave here unshaven? You’re lucky I haven’t cut your throat having to listen to you,” the prisoner, Sam, whose chair he was sitting in criticized. 

Snickering Illya continued to get his hair cut by Jim. “Do not mind him, Sam,” Illya said. “He tends to get crabby if we are not in a three-piece suit specifically made for him and misses his five o’clock drink.”

“Oh? I see your one of those guys who have connections to get into this place when caught,” Jim said.

Napoleon gave Illya a fake warning glare, “Just forget what my friend said.”

This might lead them to who they’re looking for. “Come on, Anthony (Napoleon’s undercover identification). No one knows we are here.”

“You’re Anthony Sean, the ammunition magnate, aren’t you?” Jim asked suddenly very interested in the two of them. “Then you must be Nickolas Clark, his partner. I heard they arrested you two for tax evasion.”

“Look, “Napoleon’s voice became threatening. “No one and I do mean no one needs to know we’re here. Do I Make My Self Clear?” 

“You do,” Sam replied. Illya noticed the look Jim gave Sam. 

Walking back to their cells, Illya commented, “I think we have found our connection to the disappearances. Did you see the look after I let ‘slip’ about our normal lives? My guess is we will be contacted soon.”

After supper, the men returned to their cells and soon were sound asleep. Neither felt being lifted and carried out of their cell. It wasn’t until the following morning that they woke up by the sun in their eyes and in a comfortable bed — their orange jumpsuits laying on the chair beside them.

“Guess we found out who, now the why. Shall we?” Napoleon asked as he dressed in the clothes left out for them. 

Checking the door, they found it open. Looking left and right, Illya led the way to the left. “Are you sure Nicholas?”

Illya smiled, “My stomach is never wrong, Anthony. Can you not smell breakfast is ready?”

Napoleon laughed, “I’d follow you nose anywhere. Let’s go partner.”

Entering the room, the agents stopped. “Come in gentlemen. Help yourself to the food. I’m David Procter. Most of these gentlemen, I’m sure, are known to you.”

Before them sat the missing men, all looking well and happy. “You’ll find our little family is very pleased with our hospitality. After you eat, I’ll go over our business arrangement. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable.”

The food was delicious, and while they ate, they examined the men around them. All honest men to the outside world, but criminals in real life. Manny, head of a crime family on the Eastern coast. Rodogest, chief of illegal shipping rackets. O'Brien, leader of the underground movement of insurgents in the United States. The group went on to include nine of the nastiest men in North America. 

As breakfast finished up, Procter entered the room. “Gentlemen let’s get down to business. Our first objective will be a dry run by taking out the Federal building in town. Each of you will be given an assignment to complete this task. How you fulfill your part is up to you.”

A ruckus could be heard outside the room. The door burst open admitting a group of armed Thrush agents led by Rex LaRue, the area’s chief. “Take them.”

Illya and Napoleon were yanked up and pushed toward the door. “No need to mess up my clothes, LaRue. A simple invitation would have been enough.” Napoleon said as they were shoved down the hall and into an area filled with barrels. 

“Shut it, Solo. I’m not waiting for Central this time. You two are going to take a little ride. The river over there is the Pigeon River which ends in a 120-foot drop down the High Falls. I’m sure the rocky ledges will see to your end on the way down. Goodbye, gentlemen as I doubt, I’ll ever see you again.” 

The agents were sealed in the extra-large barrel and sent down the rapids toward the falls. As they were tossed, flipped, and hurled from side to side, they kicked at the bottom. The sound of the falls became louder as they managed to release the bottom cover. 

Exiting the barrel, they managed to swim against the current to reach the shore right before going over the falls. 

Pressing his arm to activate his hidden tracker, Napoleon looked over his partner’s body. “You’re starting to bruise already.”

“You are not much better,” Illya shot back.

Napoleon laid back, “Our people should be in time to stop the takeover.” 

“True. What should we do?”

“I think we did our share. Let our people clean up the men. Right now, I’m too sore to move. For myself, I’m waiting for help to arrive. I can’t wait to get back to New York and some decent clothes.”

Laughing at his partner’s comment, Illya joined him on the ground. Neither man was shot, tortured, or really injured so it could be looked at as a win for their side. The bruises would fade in time for them to be sent on their next assignment. Right now, Illya agreed. They would wait for help.

Prompts: Orange, shaven, barrel

Title: Not My Style

Author: Jkkitty

“This just isn’t my style,” Napoleon complained as he pulled at the orange prison jumpsuit that he and Illya were dressed in. “And orange on you just isn’t complimentary.”

“Sorry they didn’t think of your fashion sense when they issued the garments,” Illya’s exasperation was clear in his voice. The complaints from his partner were getting on his nerves since they had been placed in the garden club prison to investigate the disappearance of several prominent inmates of white-collar crimes.

“You would think that the clientele of this prison would get better clothing,” Napoleon continued to complain.

“Can I complete your shave, or do you intend to waste your time complaining and leave here unshaven? You’re lucky I haven’t cut your throat having to listen to you,” the prisoner, Sam, whose chair he was sitting in criticized. 

Snickering Illya continued to get his hair cut by Jim. “Do not mind him, Sam,” Illya said. “He tends to get crabby if we are not in a three-piece suit specifically made for him and misses his five o’clock drink.”

“Oh? I see your one of those guys who have connections to get into this place when caught,” Jim said.

Napoleon gave Illya a fake warning glare, “Just forget what my friend said.”

This might lead them to who they’re looking for. “Come on, Anthony (Napoleon’s undercover identification). No one knows we are here.”

“You’re Anthony Sean, the ammunition magnate, aren’t you?” Jim asked suddenly very interested in the two of them. “Then you must be Nickolas Clark, his partner. I heard they arrested you two for tax evasion.”

“Look, “Napoleon’s voice became threatening. “No one and I do mean no one needs to know we’re here. Do I Make My Self Clear?” 

“You do,” Sam replied. Illya noticed the look Jim gave Sam. 

Walking back to their cells, Illya commented, “I think we have found our connection to the disappearances. Did you see the look after I let ‘slip’ about our normal lives? My guess is we will be contacted soon.”

After supper, the men returned to their cells and soon were sound asleep. Neither felt being lifted and carried out of their cell. It wasn’t until the following morning that they woke up by the sun in their eyes and in a comfortable bed — their orange jumpsuits laying on the chair beside them.

“Guess we found out who, now the why. Shall we?” Napoleon asked as he dressed in the clothes left out for them. 

Checking the door, they found it open. Looking left and right, Illya led the way to the left. “Are you sure Nicholas?”

Illya smiled, “My stomach is never wrong, Anthony. Can you not smell breakfast is ready?”

Napoleon laughed, “I’d follow you nose anywhere. Let’s go partner.”

Entering the room, the agents stopped. “Come in gentlemen. Help yourself to the food. I’m David Procter. Most of these gentlemen, I’m sure, are known to you.”

Before them sat the missing men, all looking well and happy. “You’ll find our little family is very pleased with our hospitality. After you eat, I’ll go over our business arrangement. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable.”

The food was delicious, and while they ate, they examined the men around them. All honest men to the outside world, but criminals in real life. Manny, head of a crime family on the Eastern coast. Rodogest, chief of illegal shipping rackets. O'Brien, leader of the underground movement of insurgents in the United States. The group went on to include nine of the nastiest men in North America. 

As breakfast finished up, Procter entered the room. “Gentlemen let’s get down to business. Our first objective will be a dry run by taking out the Federal building in town. Each of you will be given an assignment to complete this task. How you fulfil you part is up to you.”

A ruckus could be heard outside the room. The door burst open admitting a group of armed Thrush agents led by Rex LaRue, the area’s chief. “Take them.”

Illya and Napoleon were yanked up and pushed toward the door. “No need to mess up my clothes, LaRue. A simple invitation would have been enough.” Napoleon said as they were shoved down the hall and into an area filled with barrels. 

“Shut it, Solo. I’m not waiting for Central this time. You two are going to take a little ride. The river over there is the Pigeon River which ends in a 120-foot drop down the High Falls. I’m sure the rocky ledges will see to your end on the way down. Goodbye, gentlemen as I doubt, I’ll ever see you again.” 

The agents were sealed in the extra-large barrel and sent down the rapids toward the falls. As they were tossed, flipped, and hurled from side to side, they kicked at the bottom. The sound of the falls became louder as they managed to release the bottom cover. 

Exiting the barrel, they managed to swim against the current to reach the shore right before going over the falls. 

Pressing his arm to activate his hidden tracker, Napoleon looked over his partner’s body. “You’re starting to bruise already.”

“You are not much better,” Illya shot back.

Napoleon laid back, “Our people should be in time to stop the takeover.” 

“True. What should we do?”

“I think we did our share. Let our people clean up the men. Right now, I’m too sore to move. For myself, I’m waiting for help to arrive. I can’t wait to get back to New York and some decent clothes.”

Laughing at his partner’s comment, Illya joined him on the ground. Neither man was shot, tortured, or really injured so it could be look at as a win for their side. The bruises would fade in time for them to be sent on their next assignment. Right now, Illya agreed. They would wait for help.