50 I John W. Warner IV Lil* ol me? Colonel Leon Schlesinger, at your service, ex Hollywood. You all are going to be the evil ogres in my next Bugs Bunny cartoon courtesy of Jack Warner and his brothers. I pay top dollar. Free studio cocaine. .And Hollywood is chock fall of your kind of swine. W-what do you…want? asked Arruda in a deep voice. He reached for his half-empty wine glass, but the Spanish woman put her knife through his hand, nailing it to the table. Agggnnntthhhh… Un regalito de Dios she snarled, nose to ear. The Prussian man stood in anger. Leave him b The other Spanish woman slapped him in the head with her pistol. Show some respect, diablo Hijo deputa She sat him down and put the barrel in his mouth, causing him to gag. E-e-easy, senoritas, lets be gentle, said Bernie softly. Were in polite company. Quality folks only. A salubrious Dark Workers union meeting. W-what is it you…want? asked Arruda again as the knife was withdrawn and its blade cleaned on his silk red robe. She then put it to his throat, tight. Gahgg… Want? Bernie rubbed his chin, then pointed to all the prisoners at the table; the SOE men forced them to eat flesh by pressing the barrels to their heads. Steak and kidney pie, lads. Eat up now, healthy appetites, said the sergeant. Use your hands, grab that meat, open yer gobs. Dont spare the gravy. He then rifle- butted a man in his spine. Eat, I said! Bernie sighed lengthily. Want? Not much, your unholiness. Just some detailed information on your kiddie-loving pals bopping around Europe trading valuable secrets for gold doubloons or vice versa, and their polished-boot royal hosts in their lofty castles, all the Dracula types naturally. We love blackmail too, such a sharp tool for the shadow war, eh? All this shabby occult skullduggery thatsunfortunatelybeen highly necessary throughout history to balance things out far below the surface of our, ahem, agreed-upon false reality. Oh-h-h, and were greatly interested in your Vatican business dealings with jolly ol Adolph and his SS boys, your little Italiano cliques of freaks. He cradled a dead childs head gently, running his fingers through the soft hair lovingly and felt sick, wanted to cry all of a sudden, but steadied his nerves with gritted teeth and a bit interior cheek He swallowed hard, tasting his own blood and its earthy iron finish, his lightheartedness thick armor, intellect a war hammer. A chummy German friend told