Project Sabertooth

by Lizzy Ford

about the death of his acquaintance and Mali, he decided to have a little heart to heart talk with Ishmael. Micah walked into the restaurant and headed straight back to the kitchen. Whereby he grabbed Ishmael by the arm and led him out of the back door into the alleyway next to the big garbage container. “Ishmael”, he began. “I was not exactly truthful to you a couple of days ago. I have killed and I have had men killed before. But you have to understand the reasons behind the killing to be able to accept the justification for it. When one is so full of perverted teachings from Imams preaching death to all people who do not accept their twisted view of the Quran, and they go out into the world to bring senseless death and destruction upon mankind, one death is a reasonable justification to save all those innocent lives. And the perpetrators aren't choosy about who they kill when they set a bomb off somewhere. Men, women and children, and even animals which have no religion, which by the way is true collateral damage, are simply a part of their actions which only serve to please some Imam. Marcus is like me, for he is singling out the ones who bring about innocent deaths. We, your father, me, and indirectly you, are going to help him in any way we can. As long as we don't cross the border and get ourselves personally in danger. Do you understand me correctly when I tell you that you will help me help him?” Ishmael started to say something but was stopped cold when Micah said; “I was not asking you Ishmael. I'm ordering you to help him! Men of his nature are a rarity nowadays and we are going to assist him as best we can. That's all I have to say.” With that he went back into the kitchen.

  Up in the apartment, I was greeted to the vision that my couch had somehow become the favorite scratching tree. “Damn it cat!” I yelled at him. Sabertooth looked at me from by the balcony door where he was sunning himself, with such an innocent look. As if he truly didn't have the faintest idea who could've scratched the hell out of the couch! I had bought myself a beer, so I opened it up and took a big swig. Which for me is not a normal occurrence, because I always have a saying; 'No beer before four!' I shooed Sabertooth away so I could go out and sit on my balcony. I had brought the photos with and spread them out on the table. Sabertooth used my leg as a ladder, then my lap as a stepping stone to sit on the table and look down at the photos. Maybe he simply wanted to see what I was reading, so that he could block it with his paw, as he usually did. I slid the four photos of my candidates closer to me and pushed the photo of Alackza in his direction for him. “Here boy! You can have this one.” I told him. Now what happened next belongs on the Twilight Zone, for Sabertooth hissed, his tail went all bushy, and made a sound as if he was going to fight! Which in a way, he did. After screeching at the photo, he quickly raised his head to look at me. “He's yours!” And in a moment of hatred for the man whose life faded away deep in the mine, I said loudly; “Kill him Sabertooth!” Do cats sometimes understand us Homo Sapiens? Oh Yeah, and I'll testify and swear to the bible if you want! For as I said it, Sabertooth attacked it with both of his front paws, scratching and ripping the photo to shreds. Unfortunately, he forgot for a second that he's missing a back leg, and balancing while fighting a photo with his front legs resulted in him sliding off of the table on to the door mat I had in front of the door. But I got to give him credit! He took the photo down with him, and although he fell pretty hard, he kept right on tearing away at the photo till it resembled a jigsaw puzzle.

  When he was finished with decimating the picture, he had went back in to lay on the couch. I was still sitting at the table, staring at the photos and wondering just what I would do next. Then it dawned on me that they seem to always take the train towards Heilbronn, so logic states that I need to stake out the train station for the other four. I finished my beer and went to lay down on my fuzzy scratched up couch with Sabertooth. The mental strain of what happened with Gunéy's brother, the full power run this morning and, of course the mellowing effect of that fantastic Andechs dark beer on an empty stomach took its toll on me. When I awoke it was already dark outside, so I decided to make it a double header, pulled the couch out into a bed and laid my head on one of the gray pillows. Sabertooth came from somewhere and snuggled up to my stomach, and his soft purring vibration put me down for the nightly round of sleep.

  The next morning I took a trip on up to the hospital to get a refill on my prescription for the stomach cramping. They only prescribe a package with a grand total of ten pills, which is nothing more than taking my money each time I have to go to the pharmacist. I asked if I could get one for a hundred pills and the doctor said Ten. “How about Fifty?” I asked, trying to gamble with him a little. “Ten” he answered. “Okay, I'll settle for twenty.” “You'll settle with Ten and not one more.” He retorted. “Well, I thought I could try right? No harm in trying! The worst that you could say, you did. No, no, no!” “Here's a prescription for some stronger pain tablets.” He said. “Come shortly, you'll definitely be needing them. They're only one step away from Morphine, so don't get behind the wheel of a car!” “I don't own a car.” I said. “Good!” He said. “You wouldn't believe how much money you're saving.”

  On the way back to the train station, I took a detour through the underground shopping mall. I bought a buttered croissant and simply wandered along the shop fronts. In front of one of them, I suddenly stopped, because I seen something from my childhood years. It was a curiosity shop with such a variety of odds and ends, but was mostly junk in my eyes. What caught my eye was a pair of knockers hanging in the front window. They were hard plastic balls on a string with a ring on them. And you would start off slowly moving your hand up and down and they would eventually start knocking together. I remembered all of the countless times we almost knocked either a tooth out, or had lost control and consciousness, by hitting ourselves in the head. What was fascinating was that one of us had the great idea to use them as Bolo's, like the Argentinian cowboys use. What my minds eye seen was the perfect toy to walk around with, but with the main function being a Garrote. I walked in and said that I wanted to buy them, and the cashier asked me; “How much do you offer? We have no fixed prices on all of this paraphernalia junk.” I studied him for a second and asked; “You don't own this shop, do you?” “Nope!” He answered. “I'm just the idiot from college making minimum wage while my boss sits over at the Cappuccino Cafe all day.” “Okay Mr. college boy, do you have a five Euro bill on you?” I asked. “Sure do.” He answered. “Good. You put your five into the cash register, and this fifty into your pocket. Under one condition, you've never seen me before.” He smiled and said; “I haven't had a single customer all day!” “Good.” I said, and shook his hand, while passing the fifty to him. I walked out of the shop and just like in the good old days, I started to swing the balls together, but only to the halfway mark. I wasn't too keen on making an emergency visit to the dentist because of my stupidity. Clack, clack, clack. From the looks of the other pedestrians, it was getting on their nerves! Good!

  I had already beaten and bruised both hands with the knockers, (damn things are addicting!), by the time I had wandered into the train station. I had to control myself so I bought two more croissants, this time without the butter to drop onto the floor while taking a bite. With the knockers safely stashed away in my left pants pocket and each hand busy holding a croissant, I walked out onto the passenger platform. When one looks to the left back into the Main Station, it is a blur of signs, blinking lights, and people walking in every direction possible. Look to the right and one looks out at all the tracks, switches, signal lamps, and desolate landscape! Right side, no life. Left side, too much life. It was such a bleak contrast! Looking back to the left, I saw him. Photo number 2, Hasan Abdulwadud was standing not far away just looking up at all the pigeons roosting in the skylight of the station. He obviously wasn't paying any attention to what was going on around him, for he had his cell phone in his hand and was deep in a hefty discussion with the party on the other end. The train pulled in, so any chance I would have at getting at him now were lost. He entered into the train and so did I. I'll j
ust have to follow him when he departs. It occurred to me that if he departed after Kornwestheim and the ticket checker came, my ticket would not be valid. That would mean being held up by the special train police at the next station to receive my citation for being a stowaway, and with my luck my man would stroll off into the setting sun. It occurred to me that I was working my way backwards in numbers. Whatever! I had the second run of luck today when he departed after just two stations. Made me wonder why, for such a short trip, he didn't take a bus! I stood where I had departed from the train, uncomfortably close to the edge for my taste, but Hasan had walked over to the other side of the platform, and just stared straight out over the tracks. Less than Ten meters between me on track 3 and him on track 4. I seen that he was standing right next to the stairs which led down and out of the station, directly into the middle of the town. We were only four people on the entire platform. Him, me, a middle aged lady whose hair was just starting to gray