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Yellow Fire Bubbles
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Fine, whatever," mutters Aldo. "You going to help, Sofiya, or are you just going to stand there and beam self-righteousness at me?"
Sofiya just glares at him.
"Now hear this," says Aldo, dropping down to eye level with the agonized Shitstreak. "Here's the game plan. You're going to tell us everything we want to know or else we're going to let you bleed to death through your balls, no?"
Shitstreak spits blood out of his mouth from his nose. "I know nothing. I am just thug."
"You got a lousy poker face, friend. No judgement, maybe that's a result of the arrow in your crotch. Now spill the beans," says Aldo, "and we'll rough you up and leave you in the street, and maybe you can make it to a hospital in time to save a couple nickels from your coinpurse. Or, if you don't," he leans in. "We'll patch you up spick and span and send you right on back to Andri, gift-wrapped. I wonder what he'll do when he finds out you failed."
Shitstreak pales, but recovers. "He is my cousin, Pavel Andri. He is family."
"Ah," says Aldo. "But I know him. Better than you do, I'll reckon, if you think that's going to stop him."
Shitstreak grimaces in anger, pain, and (perhaps) a bit of fear. "I talk," he says. "I talk I talk. What are you wanting to know, exactly?"
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