“That was a bit much even for Venome,” Debbi rebuts disgustedly.

“That’s what happens when you’re caught selling classified information to the Resistance.”

That conversation closed, they travel for another thirty miles before pulling off to a roadside saloon in the small town of Florence, Arizona.  There is still quite a distance to go before reaching their final destination but right about now, nature is calling.  Debbi hurriedly rushes across the saloon towards the bathroom, leaving Brandi and Razor at the bar.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender asks Razor, ignoring Brandi’s presence.

“Beer.”

Brandi is not going to stand for some fat, redneck, who thinks a woman’s place should be in the home, to ignore her so she shouts, “I’ll have a scotch, please.”

The bartender, in turn, rolls his eyes while pouring Razor’s beer.  Schofield unzips her thin, black, leather jacket just enough to show the bartender the Venome insignia on her red, flight uniform.  Eyes nearly popping out of his head at the sight of it, the bartender snaps to life, rushing nervously over to Brandi with a glass.

“Here, miss.  It... it’s on the house,” he timidly smiles.

Brandi loves the respect that uniform commands.  All around the world, the horror stories are known about the smart ass who thought he was above a Venome officer.  He was cut from collarbone to belly and impaled on a stake for all to see.  Civilians must learn respect.

Breaking away from the bar, Brandi and Razor sit at a nearby table.  She glances back at the bartender to see him whispering something to others in the room, and pointing in her direction.  Probably a warning that a Venome operative is present.  Brandi has half a mind to kill him on the spot, but decides the Office of Provocation should handle this.

Suddenly remembering a wad of counterfeit bills in her carry-on, Schofield reaches into it and retrieves the roll, being cautious not to confuse it with real money.  Taking a few counterfeit bills from the stack, Brandi returns to the bar.  “Can I get change for this?” she sweetly smiles.

“Sure thing, miss.”  He takes the fifty-dollar bill from her and hurries to the register.  Seconds later, the bartender returns, cash in hand.

From her back pocket, Brandi pulls three more counterfeit hundreds and wave them in front of the bartender.   “Here you go sweetheart,” she flirts.   He smiles, takes the money and shoves it into his upper shirt pocket.  Leaning closer to him now, Brandi whispers, “I like you.  I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of... y’ know what I mean?”

The bartender nods his agreement and Brandi struts back to her seat beside the still silent Razor.  Inside, she is laughing hysterically—she’ll take care of him alright.  That stupid shit just signed his own death certificate by accepting those bills.

Although officially classified as Neutral Territory, the State of Arizona maintains friendly political ties to the army, especially as a means of dealing with the criminal element more efficiently than the traditional, overburdened judicial process.

In the morning, she’ll turn in a few counterfeit bills to the Security Department and tell them she got it from the bar.  VSEC will inform the local authorities, who, in turn, will send swarms of agents to check the place out.  They’ll find the fifty in the till, the hundreds on him and quietly extradite the bar owner to New Mexico to face the charges.  Within a week, he’ll be either hung or shot.  To top it all off, Venome officers receive a five-thousand-dollar bonus for reporting the distribution of counterfeit money.  The irony of the whole situation is Brandi originally got the bills from agents in Provocation.

Debbi returns from the bathroom, joining the two at their table.  Not caring much for alcohol, she pulls a plastic bottle of water from one of her bags and sips it slowly.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you join Venome?” Debbi tries to make conversation.

“Because I worked my ass off as a pilot and nobody gave a fuck,” Brandi grumbles while taking a drink.

“Oh come on... you’re one of the best to come out of flight school!”

“Yeah, only next to you.”  The resentment emerges again in Schofield’s voice.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Brandi’s anger intensifies.  “Give me a break!  You’re brilliant, beautiful, you’ve got a marriage everyone wants... what don’t you have?”

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