Perkin’ up a little from these thoughts, I go lookin’ for Nunzio, wantin’ to be the first to slip him the bad news.
Chapter Seven:
“To Serve and Protect …”
TRADITIONAL MOTTO OF PROTECTION RACKETS
AS EAGER AS we are to get on with our assignment, which is to say demoralizin’ and disruptin’ the army, both Nunzio and me are more than a little nervous about doin’ garrison duty.
Not that there is anything wrong with the town, mind you. Twixt is a bigger’n average military town, which means there is lots of stuff to keep us amused during our off-duty hours. The very fact that it is a sizable burg, however, increases the odds of our presence bein’ noticed and reported to Don Bruce … which, as we have mentioned before, was not high on our list of desirable occurrences.
The duty itself was annoyin’ly easy, annoyin’ in that it’s hard to stir up the troops when the worst thing facin’ them is boredom. The situation is readily apparent even when I put Nunzio to work settlin’ our crew in whilst I report in to the garrison commander.
“Our only real job here is to maintain a military presence … show the flag so’s folks remember why they’re paying their taxes.”
The individual deliverin’ this speech is average height, about a head shorter than me, and has dark tight-curly hair with a few wisps of grey showin’ in spots … which might have made him look dignified if he didn’t move like a dock worker tryin’ to finish early so’s he can go on a heavy date. He has a rapid-fire kinda speech pattern and rattles off his orders without lookin’ up from the papers he is scribblin’ on. I can’t help but notice, however, that what he is workin’ on so hard looks a lot like poetry … which I somehow don’t think is covered by his official orders.