It was a bit unfortunate really… a misunderstanding as such.

“Dragan had brought his mates, his colleagues, his pals from the old ‘Speckled Meerkat’ squadron out for a night of drinks and legend building. Naturally they were armed and in high spirits. Dragan is allergic to cranberries… not that Bad Habits was aware of that… well not at first anyway.” Darren Saturday paused and then added quickly “Allergies can be life threatening.”

Midnight nodded slowly, picked up his smudged glass of Pinot Noir, swirled it about and pondered the velvety rippled effects. He then turned to Saturday with one eyebrow arched and said “k, you have me intrigued. What happened next? Dragan and this Bad Habits girl”

Saturday stared back at Midnight and then shrugged a little in acknowledgement as he popped a salt encrusted pretzel into his mouth. Crunching loudly he continued his tale.

“Well the thing is – at these sorts of A-list venues it’s been popular to serve what is essentially a dry arse martini over crushed ice and pressed fresh cranberries.” Both men nodded at each other.

“Kinda like a really bloody Mojito I guess.”

JackiJo Huang rolled his eyes as he scooped up his tip, nothing more than an afterthought from Midnight truth be told. The barman resembled a beer key with arms and legs stuck on like Mr Potato. He wandered down to the far end of the bar to finish refilling the fridge with bottles of Tsing Tao. He hated working Monday nights the most now that the mines were closed and the women had been airlifted back to Liberty.

“Well Dragan was so involved in discussing the going ons with the merc’ business with his sometime friends that when Habits asked “’wadda it’be bro’” and “Dragan said “house” and she said “alrighty then salt crackers”.

‘Don’t do the voices man – it sucks” chipped Midnight.

Saturday agreed, pushed back from the bar while seated and continued “and she threw herself into an amazing almost modern operatic dance from behind the all ice bar – juggling and tossing cocktail shakers, free pouring from long snouted bottles of liquor with exotic Latino names. This type of booze glows strange colours.”

Midnight scratched his palms as he stared across the counter at all the liquor bottles forming the backdrop to the bar – in neat rows from smaller bottles from either end growing to the tallest bottles in the center. They didn’t glow. Midnight disappointedly shook his head, los tin his own thoughts, and took a courtesy sip from his wine glass.

“Of course these ‘Speckled Meerkat’ are kinda like some Special Forces brotherhood who had all these rules… like never take your eyes off the brothers, never leave anyone behind… unless it’s super dangerous. The shoulder of the dragon and all that. So anyway once Habits had finished her thing – she presented a tray of shots. The soldier boys knocked them back and almost instantly Dragan clutched with both hands at his throat. The vein in his neck kinda grew and pulsed quickly.

Midnight laughed out loud to himself and then became a little self conscious.
Saturday hadn’t noticed a he tapped the rim of his glass in the direction of JackiJo for a refill and continued.

“Habits of course had turned her back on them and started to refill the ice bins when the first gunshot cracked over the top of FunkMeister DJ’s mix that throbbed like a panicked heart beat throughout the club. It was kinda like a mix of Putonghuan wailing, an unrelenting heart pounding drum and bass beat, and a series of Bananarama songs. Venus was currently playing and a collection of Chinese girls in short cocktail dresses and 1920’s inspired headbands with a single feather gyrated together for their collection of men who all sat uncomfortably ringside from the dance floor.

The constant deep bass thumps that the girls were gyrating to became more ragged as extra out of time thumps could be heard from the main bar area. Thump thump followed by a fast staccato of thumpthumpthumpthump…. clickclickclickclick… grunt…thunk.. thumpthumpthump.

Midnight had stopped playing with his drink and had turned with full attention to Saturday’s story. Fully alert, his shoulders tenses as he quickly took in the bar they had been sitting in as though he had never seen this place before. JackiJo stopped stacking, tightly gripping his fresh bar mat in both hands, he edged closer to Saturday.

“the dude onstage blowing his saxophone finished his solo and he could probably just see through the haze and the spinning disco lights that there was something going on at the bar. It seemed like the ice section of the bar was being chipped away – small glints of ice were flying in the air – being caught in the various coloured club lights like small airborne mirrors. The FunkMeister was still spinning his ‘wheels of steel’ but the bongo player stopped shaking his money-maker and had neatly side-stepped behind the sax player before peaking around his huge shoulders.

Midnight “sorry was it Bad Habits or Habit Diehard?”

“Bad Habits… Diehard wouldn’t work a bar man! C’mon.”

Midnight nodded in agreement and motioned with hands for Saturday to continue. JackiJo looked slightly annoyed at Midnight’s clarification even though he didn’t know either Habits. He nodded apologetically with his huge bowling ball like head to Saturday to continue. During his formative years, one of his ex-wives had tattooed three holes on JackiJo’s chemically scared bald head and he never forgave her. Later that same year he’d pushed her down a four flight of stairs one Christmas and then moved in with her best friend. Despite his best efforts, that didn’t work out either but no one had found her yet.

Saturday slowly took a deep drink from his glass, for dramatic effect, and then motioned for JackiJo to refill again. Once it was brimming with the joys of the grape, he continued and Midnight and JackiJo before appeared to relax their postures slightly.

“the thing is that the bongo guy – I think his name was Geoff but to his band mates he insists on being referred to as Tricky-Ric. Amway Geoff was a freakin’ coward of the first order. Stands to reason I guess – he was originally from the southern Dixie line long time before the Digital Dreamtime wars. If he had learnt only one thing… other than the electronic bongos, it was that when people were shooting it’s best to return fire. So from around Sammy Saxplayers broad hips Tricky-Ric… Geoff… pulled out a Livid408 high performance pistol… the one with the optional guidance scope… the one that’s as big as my forearm… and started returning fire towards the now shredded ice bar.”

“The first round went off like a small cannon BOOM! and took one of the feathered dancers, a nice girl previously known as Put-Out Sally clean through the chest.”

Midnight and JackiJo both jumped as Saturday yelled ‘Boom’ and almost on cue four tired looking men in taxi uniforms walked in through the front door. JackiJo waved them to a table and Midnight reached over a took a handful of pretzels. Saturday shifted in his seat and leaned in as he said “her body, Sally’s, flew in air, towards the bar. The hole in her chest was huge.

Then a second shot BOOM! Took the head off a busboy carrying a tray full of glassware. Disturbingly the busboy continued to walk in an upright fashion with arms outstretched – his neck was raw meaty chunk spurting bloods up like a fancy water fountain. The glassware on the tray however went straight up into the air and acted as a bizarre mirror ball reflecting the images of carnage before shattering into a thousand sharp pieces. The noise was loud enough to penetrate the headphones and the alternate reality of the FunkMeister who stopped scratching – the room was caught in a brief suspension of Boy George singing over and over again ‘Do You Really Want To Hurt Me’.”

All three at the bar shook their heads in disgust. The four taxi men waved over for service. JackiJo waved back as he reluctantly propelled himself into motion.

“As Trick-Ric…. Geoff.. went to fire off a third cannon shot Sammy Saxplayer brought one of his huge black meaty feats directly down on his head – knocking him out clean. Sammy then proceeded to drag his playing partner off the stage and into the relative safety of the artist green room.”

“FunkMeister was not as fortunate as his mix position was setup on top of a tower high above the room – only one way down and Sammy had the lifter key…”

JackiJo having taken orders returned to the bar as Midnight slapped Saturday on the shoulder and said “Other than Dragan and his pals and the bloody talent on stage,Habits had a relatively good day. Now she was kinda pissed I guess”

Saturday nodded “The entire room was ringed by huge floor to ceiling windows to better capture the views across Sintex Island – 80 floors up. So when the gunfight spread to taking out first one glass pane and then the next people started to get really freaked out. The third panel surprisingly didn’t shatter one the first shot but the poor bastard who caught a slug to the shoulder spun about before crashing head first through the window pane – arrrrrrrrrrrrrgh.”

JackiJo returned from ferrying a handful of warm beer cans to the foursome and took up his position across from Midnight and Saturday at the bar.

“80 floors is a long way down.”

Midnight joked “Honey?” he said into his mobile phone as he fell. “Did you remember to pick up my dry cleaning? …What do you mean no? For the love of God, woman, it’s been a week since you said you’d pick it up, and you’ve gone and forgotten *again*? I tell you, when I get home I’m gonna give you a good-” SPLAT!”

Midnight smiled at himself. JackiJo look aggravated at either Midnight or the four taxi men who were in the process of filling chips into the retro jukebox in the corner.

Saturday smiled back at Midnight and said “Back at the bar. Habits was passed pissed, and into dangerously annoyed. People were shooting up the bar. The bar she worked in. The bar she’d have to *clean*, for fuck’s sake.”

JackiJo nodded and mouthed the word ‘Testify’ without actually saying anything for fear of stopping the story again.

“Dragan had an instant reaction to the cranberries. The air passages in his throat immediately contracted and he reached instinctively to his neck – searching frantically to his implanted medi-chip. Silvica who was Dragan’s right hand man panicked as he saw his long time boss and friend suddenly turn red in the face, a tear leaking out of his functional non-robotic eye – he turned accusingly to the other gentlemen standing around Dragan in a relaxed smi-circle position. Silvica quickly scanned each of their faces for any tell on who might have done this to Dragan – He must have been poisoned.”

Midnight quickly added “Maybe poisoned but not deliberately, I mean we all know Habits don’t roll that way. Cranberries? I mean really who would know?”

Saturday agreed and continued with “Anyway, the fellow on the far left, having just joined the loose confederation of mercs, perhaps his name was Blaine or Bane, Silvica couldn’t quite recall other than this guy had a really really flat nose – when their eyes met Blaine shook his head ever so slightly and silently mouthed ‘I didn’t…’ – bad move Silvica in an instant brought his arm directly upwards and from the end where a hand should really have been expected – the arm fired a single shot directly into Blaines forehead. Blinking in surprise Blaine fell forward as he hit the ground the others could quite clearly see the back of his head, other than some blood matted hair, was missing. Jorgo who was standing next to Blaine at the same time dove over and behind the ice bar fearing a setup. In mid air he produced a small assassin pistol nicknamed the ‘Matilda’ and fired off a series of small pop shots in Silvica’s direction.

The sounds of Tony Joe White the Swamp Rock King could be heard from the back of the bar. The taxi men shared a joke amongst themselves and brought their cans together.

“Dragan meanwhile had at last found the medi-chip, it must have shifted under his skin on his last deep ghetto mission. His pressed it hard until the chip made a small physical click and then his body was suddenly flooded with adrenalin washing away the cranberries from his system.”

“Before a shot had been fired, and as Dragan clutched at his throat and as Silvica lifted his very heavy arm, Habits made a quick assessment of the situation and dropped to the floor.”

“Lentil broke away from the Serb Mercs and leapt over a series of couches before landing awkwardly on one ankle. It gave way and he crashed to the floor in pain. His shooting partner ‘The George’ followed his leap and cleared the furniture obstacles better and finished his escape inside the mens restroom. From within the relative protection of the doorway Habits produced his custom pistol – he called the Sandi-Lee after her ex-wife. It was kinda small but had a nasty bark to it and a wicked recall — much like her ex. He took up a semi-prone firing position as he scanned the bar and then the general room. Unlike others she held off indiscriminately firing until she had a better feel on what the hell was going on. She could see Lentil huddled behind a couch searching for his weapon. He produced it only to have the handbase fall to the floor – broken. He smiled back at The George in a whimsical smile and a shrug of the shoulders before two staggered shots accompanying a BOOM sound like a hand cannon penetrated the couch.

“The first shot directly above his head blew a large fistful of white stuffing – Lentil looked up a smiled again ‘Hay it’s snowing’ a slight delay and a second shot pushed another fistful of white stuffing – this time bloody red stained clean through his stomach. Lentil looked down at the hole disbelievingly before hearing a loud crash of glassware hitting the ground nearby. That’s odd he thought before his life force drained away.”

“This dude was starting to really get on The George’s nerves. Some programmer type was obviously up to his eye in snape-truck the newest synth drug – he was staring out blankly at his own image within the bathroom mirror directly behind The George. It’s not so much his whining it was the constant taping against the mirror that forced her to spin on her heel – put a single shot into his body before spinning back on the same heel to see that Lentil was suddenly lifeless, back against a couch with white stuffing ‘hair’ clutching at a red ball of synthetics nursed within his lap. Bugger me, sorry, went to the bathroom, got kidnapped on the way back catching up on what you’ve written”

“The George felt a presence next to her – it was that bloody programmer again – explaining that he had been kidnapped and held hostage within the restroom but that a Murray would save him. The George head butted him hard cracking his skull and sending him spinning back into one of the cubical. Habits glanced over her shoulder and saw that she had taken a shot but had hit the mirror image instead. Deep within the mirror the image of the Programmer was deep within the mirror clasping at his chest as blood seeped between his fingers.”

Midnight and JackiJo applauded before settling in for the rest of the story. Saturday acknowledged the clapping and the taxi men next selection from De-Phazz started to play.

“The Xenni members sitting within the VIP area immediately reacted to the gunfight at the ice bar by opening firing across the top of the bar – most of the shots shattered bottles before smashing up a couple of the huge room windows. LeTzi signalled to his henchmen to stop firing. He got up and with their lady friends in tow – the group exited via the waiting VIPs lift – time to leave the Island and return to their digs in the nearby Pontiff Hills for the rich and corrupt. Dragan was pissed when he saw their target and his crew enter the VIPs lifts – this was bad!”

All three nodded in agreement. JackiJo absentmindedly refilled their drinks. He then out of reflex poured one for himself. All three drank as one.

Saturday brushed the pretzel crumbs from his jacket and wiped the wine from his lips.

“Perhaps the Xenii won’t know if they were targets this evening. Habits looked up to see a gentleman holding a really small pistol… one of those little Matildas popular with assassination gigs. This changes everything. Habits heard the man behind her before she saw him.

Unexpectedly Midnight took on the story telling role “A twist of the wrist and her Waiters Friend – a wicked small device complete with corkscrew, lighter, bottle-cap remover and a variety of torture devices intended for those who didn’t leave tips – dropped into the palm of her hand. She spun, staying low, and drove the corkscrew attachment up into the groin of the man. “Hoinff!” he grunted and slowly collapsed over onto the floor behind the bar. “Oh, sorry Ralph!” Habits said in a horrified tone, once she recognised the bar manager. “No problem,” he said in a high-pitched squeal, “fourth time you’ve done it this week. I think that’s less than any week since you started here.”

Saturday motioned for JackiJo to give Midnight another drink, and restarted the story with “Habits wiped her managers juices off her screw thingo and stood up to get a quick scope of the room. She saw from high above the FunkMeister pointing to the far right to Habits. He was yelling something.”

“The Xenii had left a tip in the ashtray. A small little device – the size and shape of those old smoker packs ‘cept it had a small light on it that was blinking on and off rapidly – red is not good Dragan saw a small red light up in the VIP raised floor area blinking on and off. Red is not good. FunkMeister had a bird’s eye view of the entire room – Sammy and Trick-Ric… Geoff… had disappeared into the dressing room, two shadows had dashed over a nearby couch and one had continued on to the men’s. The original group standing in front of Habits had split except for tall hard looking semi-robotic gentlemen – one scanning the room with his smoking arm and the other massaging his neck. Habits seemed to have another visitor cowering to oneside of her and the manager withering in a ball of pain on the other side. A number of guests were lying prone on the floor and a large group of Xenii regulars had just got up as one and retreated leisurely to their dedicated lift.

“Habits vaulted the bar and snatched the small package of C7 explosive – enough to demolish an entire city block – and in one graceful movement pivoted and threw it at the smashed windows. Of course, this was real life, not some carefully choreographed movie, so the package bounced off one of the exposed metal frames that until recently had held inch-thick glass, and skidded along the floor towards where Dragan was doing his best not to get his head blown off. Red is not good!”

“The button stopped blinking and suddenly blinked to a bright fluoro green…. Green’s not so good either! Every remaining window pane within the 80th floor club blew out and down over the Sentix Island residents of choice below. The actual club itself that had up until now been slowly turning on its building axe lurched to a complete stop. The lights within the room blinked off and almost on cue a series of fires broke out from deep underneath the club floor – must have been the rotating axel!

“’Red is not good!’” said Midnight

Saturday agreed “Chunky Floaty Oats, one of Dragan’s less reliable gang members. ‘I *know* red is not good, you idiot!’ Dragan snarled back. He darted out into a field of sizzling lead and planted a kick that would have done a Brazilian soccer player proud. The package of C7 lifted off the floor and sailed towards an open window and… was caught by a hand attached to a programmer-looking type who had staggered out of the bathroom.

Midnight added “The programmer declared red is not good… oh look nice green. click.”

The three laughed at this. The door of the bar closed loudly. The three continued to laugh before quietening down as Saturday searched his memory for the thread of his story. JackiJo wandered off to scout for tips as Saturday finally continued with “Aft wards, no-one was able to explain it.’It was a vortex-thingy,’ said Chunky Floaty Oats. Everyone ignored him, because, hey, why wouldn’t you, but in a way he happened to be correct. The package exploded.”

It was then that Midnight and Saturday turned to see JackiJo standing at the table vacated by the four taxi men. JackiJo was pointing at a small box left behind on the table. It has a big red button pulsating in the center of it.

Midnight and Saturday turned to each other and Midnight said “Pity it wasn’t Diehard Habits… it would have turned out better for all of us”

Saturday agreed, looked at his watch and went to say “red… that’s not goo…”