Cabal Strauss coughed up the furled morsel of dragoon out the passenger side window of the Enterprise rent-a-car. Quite the delicacy in Burundi, she had been told.
“Crisp!” She faced her master and plucked a tiny fuzz feather lodged between her retainer and a canine. “I ordered medium rare.”
“Need I bitch-slap you, again?” Miss Snark dropped the hair of the dog into the cup holder jutting from the dashboard. “I've told you before. When on a stakeout, only trust Burkina
Faso takeout. She reached for the door handle. "I’m going after him.”
“Why? The bathroom light just went on. He may be jumping in the shower.”
“Cabala, papaya, fi fo, banana. Not only do I know that, but I’m counting on it.”
“Snarkie..." She sneered. "You have protection, don’t you?”
“Protection?” Miss Snark patted down the hard handle of a Berreta 9 mm underneath her Gap sweatshirt and then moved to the embossed ring on her jean’s ass pocket. “Either way, it’s a go.”