How To Hide A Body

Criminals And Couscous

"Can I ask a question?" I queried.

Bornstein looked up from his ominous clipboard and raised an eyebrow. 

"I'll take that as a yes," I said, straightening up in my chair, "Right, uh, how do I put this? Where are we?" 

"FBI stronghold in Paris," Bornstein answered. 

"Aha, and why?" I asked. 

"You know why-" 

"Ah, so we're playing that game." 

"What game- No? No! You hacked into NASA and basically caused an international scandal!" 

"It's not my first," I smirked, winking at Bart. 

Bart shook his head, indicating that I should stop this little game. 

"What are we going to do here? How long are we going to stay here?" 

"We are not exactly sure what we are going to do with both of you." 

"Not very professional," I interrupted. 

"Well, neither are the two of you-"

"What on earth are you insinuating?!" I shouted. 

"You know what? It's too early for the both of you. Go eat lunch in the cafeteria and try not to come back-" 

"Oh, we're certainly going to try-" 

"Thank you," Bart said, grabbing my arm. Always the polite one. 

***

We walked into the sterilised cafeteria. Guards armed every exit, guns at the ready. It did not take me long to figure out what sort of people were held captive here. Here were the people who did not belong in a prison, could not be put under house arrest, could not be given the death penalty, and were too sane for the insane asylum. It was a sort of in-between level. One was suspended between the categories petty criminal and psychopath. Of course, if they had known the full truth, they would not hesitate to check me into a psychiatric hospital. One in the Alps, you know, where they take those weirdos who plot on taking over the world. Of course, that plan had to be postponed until after this stupid obstacle. 

A guard shoved us towards a small white table with two chairs. I reluctantly sat down, then glanced curiously at the small pot-plant which was supposed to liven up the atmosphere of this drab place. I soon found out that it was fake. The rest of the room was a blinding cream colour; The walls, the tables, the chairs, the small counter at the front of the room where the servers were serving food. All white. There were approximately ten tables in the room, each with its token fake flower plant. Three  -presumably fake- gum trees were lined at the entrances. Three entrances, therefore three exits. Two guards per exit. It was hopeless. Unless-

"Vegetarian?" asked a voice, interrupting my train of thought. 

"I beg your pardon?" I stuttered. 

I turned to see that one of the servers from the front had made their way towards our table. He was carrying a small notebook and a small pen, an apron strangling his waist. 

"Uh, no thank you." I said, waving my hand, "Do you have lobster, by any chance?" 

Bart eyed me cautiously from opposite the table. 

"My deepest apologies, madam, but we only have the vegetarian." He apologized. 

"That's ironic. I didn't think the FBI would be so cruelty-free," I said, looking back at the guards who were armed to the teeth. 

"No, it's not that," laughed the server, "It's to avoid the use of knives. You don't need knives for salads." 

"You don't?! How do you eat salads then?!" I spluttered. 

The server shot me an annoyed glance, "Today it's a couscous salad. I'll go get it for you." 

Once he left, Bart said, "What in god's name-" 

"Even the servers are American. Always-" 

"What? I was talking about the food choices. Couscous?! Why?!" 

"Suck it up. We will be out of here soon enough-" 

Until that moment, Bart and I had been the only people (or criminals, I guess) in the cafeteria. Two men walked in while being restrained by two guards. The two reminded me of rottweilers being restrained by an owner who was going to be a chew-toy very soon. They had a terrifying sneer on their faces, one that would shake ordinary people to the core. The one on the left had blonde hair which had been shaved on the left side, and he had a massive scar from his right ear to the tip of his chin. The second was bald and had a tattoo on his forehead which read, "No regerts" -which I would have laughed about if I didn't happen to recognize them. Of course, these two were people -if you could call them that-  you did not forget and tried only to see once. They looked like kicked puppies for fun and maybe put babies on spikes in their free time. 

I kicked Bart's shin and told him to turn around. He took one look at them and immediately wished he hadn't. 

"Kray Brothers," he whispered. 

I nodded solemnly. Most people would have been scared senseless after seeing them. What bad luck one must have, seeing these two, not once but twice. But, I wasn't most people. I was furious.  Because I knew why they were here. The bastards. 

"Idiots!" I muttered, a little too loudly. 

Bart kicked my shin with such force that I winced. The Kray brothers turned to look at me. Their faces went from a solemn stare to a petrified one. I made a cut-throat motion with my thumb, which made the two whip around to face the guard. 

I heard them mutter something along the lines of, "We aren't hungry" and "We can have lunch somewhere else," and "I'm allergic to couscous anyway". But the guard refused and shoved them into a pair of chairs at the far end of the cafeteria. They looked from me to each other and then muttered amongst themselves. 

"Ah, this is going to be fun. Bart? I think I know how we're going to get out of here." I whispered excitedly.