Exile of the Clave

Exile of the Clave - Chapter 7

"Emergency response teams are still combing through a Buenos Aires neighbourhood devastated by what appears to be a deadly outbreak of gang violence last night. So far, authorities have been hesitant to classify last night's attack as an act of terrorism, but speculation continues to grow as the death toll rises.

"A high school soccer field was the backdrop for the worst of the violence, and over two hundred victims have been confirmed dead at the scene. No one has stepped forward yet to claim responsibility for the attack, leading experts to believe that this was not a politically-motivated strike.

"However, a stunningly similar raid was launched in Cairo, Egypt just minutes after panicked reports began pouring in to police in Buenos Aires. Once again, the authorities have been unable to identify a motive in the killings, which spanned several city blocks and claimed the lives of hundreds of citizens and tourists in the area. An international investigation is being conducted to see if any further connection can be drawn between these two bloody skirmishes, and-" Izzy jabbed savagely at the 'mute' button on the television remote, silencing the BBC newscaster who continued to read the teleprompter with feigned concern etched on her face.

She threw the remote back down on one of the two double beds in her and Simon's hotel room. Simon's voice became clearer in the other room, and she crossed the bedroom to look in on him where he was sitting at the desk with his head held miserably in one hand while he spoke into the phone.

"Mari-," he tried to cut in. "Maris-." Simon rolled his eyes at his wife and lifted his head from his hand to point two fingers at his temple and cock back his thumb. She smirked back at him. They had played a death match of rock-paper-scissors-lizard-Spock to determine who had to make this call. They had gone six rounds with six spectacular ties before Simon had lost the seventh round when she played paper on his Spock. Served him right for trying to show off his flawless ability to flash the Vulcan salute.

Izzy slipped up behind the desk chair and worked her strong hands into Simon's shoulders as he let his head thump forward onto the desk. Definitely carrying some tension. He gently banged his forehead off the cheap blotter a few times before he tightened his grip on the handset.

"Marisol!" He finally managed to get her name out.

"What?" She actually sounded affronted.

"For the love of all that's holy, and at this point, all the things that are un-holy, please give me the first sixty seconds of conversational silence you have ever given another human being."

"Wow, Simon. Just wow." He heard her snap her bubblegum in irritation on the other end of the line. "You suck at asking for favours, did you know that?"

Simon ground his knuckles into his eyes as Izzy found a particularly tense knot in his left trapezius muscle and pressed down, sending a wave of painful relief right down to his feet. "I literally haven't even been able to ask you for a favour yet."

"You totally just did. You asked for sixty seconds of conversational silence. I hope you realize that you just wasted the one favour I was going to give you."

"YOU HAVEN'T GIVEN ME THE SIXTY SECONDS YET!" Simon shouted. Oh yeah, Izzy thought, definitely carrying some tension.

"Relax, Si. You're gonna give yourself an ulcer. Do you have any idea how bad an ulcer can get if you don't do anything about it? I was reading this article in a medical jour-"

"Stress doesn't give you-"

"Yes, it does-"

"MARISOL! I DID NOT CALL YOU TO ARGUE ABOUT ULCERS!" Simon could feel his blood pressure rising. She wouldn't give him an ulcer. Maybe just a nice, relaxing aneurysm.