A startling Text

While Bonnie Sleeps

Picking up a phone in the kitchen Garthe dialed a number he had memorized during his incarceration in Africa. It belonged to a rather shady businessman... who his mother had contacted to break him out of the rotting bowls of an African prison.

The curly haired criminal heatedly remarked, "NO, I will not hold. You will be infinitely sorry if you make me wait!!!! I am Garthe Knight, son of Elizabeth. That's right."

"Mhmmm. I bet you are sorry. Now connect me to your leader, you incompetent fool!" He snarled into the receiver. His face was turning a livid shade of uncomfortable red. He practically punched a hole in the wall when it took four or so minutes to connect him with who he wanted.

"I'd like to know how soon you could get out to the mansion... like today or tomorrow. I need a couple of falsified passports and documents for myself and a girl who needs to get out the country. Yes, she is to be my wife. Hmmmm? Yes. The sooner the better. She is running away from her family and she can not have anything that can connect her to her past identity. Oh really? You can have them done here and printed with in the next few hours? My you work fast. You will be greatly rewarded my friend." Garthe breathed, a wicked grin slowly stretching across his face from ear to ear. Things were finally starting to fall into place for him..... or were they?

Ten minutes later, his guards arrived.

"What took you fools so long?" He roughly demanded, hurrying them all inside.

"Sorry, Michael Knight had some old crow sitting outside of the airport for an hour or so.... before he vanished. Then our rental car ran out of gas but we got here as soon as possible," one brave guard answered.

Garthe strode up to the speaking guard and puffing out his chest he drew himself to his full height. The six-foot tall criminal leader towered over his little minion and with a purposeful glower he fixated his gaze upon him.

"And who was the brilliant jackel who ran the car out of gas?" He seethingly demanded.

"Ficko... Ficko did..." stammered the younger guard. Garthe patted the man's checks sympathetically before pushing him aside.

The brooding man then lunged at the man named Ficko. "Come with me! We need to have a little chat!" He growled violently, taking Ficko by the neck of his shirt and practically dragging him over to the window. Lining him up with the glass panel and he pushed him out. "Let this serve as a lesson to you all!! You interfere with my plans or screw up again I will have you executed!! Is that clear? I'm not so sure I'll let you live Ficko. Don't go anywhere outside of the mansion's premises and for the love of God clean your self up!" Using the edge of a half clean and half bloodied piece of glass, Garthe picked it up and took it to Karr. If it was type O positive, Ficko was going to be used as a sacrifice and his blood was going to be splattered everywhere.

"Can I help you, master?" Karr questioned, in a tone as smooth as a sheet of refined steel.

"Yeah, tell me what Ficko's blood type is," he commandingly returned.

"As you wish, Master," Karr complied scanning the glass piece as his scanner swooshed back and forth with mounting excitement. "You're in luck, the mindless twat's blood type is O positive. Shall we terminate him?" Karr questioned in amusement.

"Not yet, but he will not leave this mansion alive. I want him killed before we drag Barstow out of here. I'll have one of the other guards spill his blood all over the bed and stair ways. Better yet, he'll meet his death in the bed," Garthe gleefully plotted. His gunmetal grey eyes shining deviously and his tongue smoothed over the rough edges of his teeth.

"Boss? A car approaches at a high rate of speed. Shall I challenge the driver?" Karr inquired.

Garthe's eyes immediately locked upon the screen showing the rapid approach.

Who had come to the mansion? Was it the expected businessman? Or was it Michael and Kitt?