Genet wiped the knife on his shirt. Together, he and Ramon began to pull the rope, which connected a simple pulley system. The body of that famous killer, Prairie Grass, began to rise up the lamppost until his bull-like body was dangling from the light, casting weird shadows over the road and dipping black liquid onto the orange road.
"Always admired old Prairie," he told Ramon. "I've been wanting to do that for a little while."
The two of them left, and rounded the corner. Genet had calmed down since the ketchup incident, once he had found Prairie to take his rage out on. He had all but began to hack him limb to limb but for Ramon, who had placed a hand on his shoulder, which always had a calming effect on Genet.
Now that they were a few blocks away, Genet said to Ramon, "I think we need to get out of here. Do you know where a tourist bureau might be?"
Ramon looked around. Then, he pointed to a nearby sign. Surprised that he had missed this, Genet peered at it in the dark.
"What would I ever do without you, eh, Ramon?" he grinned. "You're like a human GPS."
Ramon stared at him wordlessly. Genet took the lead towards the bureau.
But it was late at night, and the bureau was shut.
"I need a map," said Genet. "Ramon, can you get me one, please? I'll be the lookout."
Ramon complied and, seizing the door, forcibly tore it off its hinges. The accompanying sound was horrific, and lights started to go on in the windows of the nearby buildings. The giant threw the door aside, and crashed into the shop. A car siren went off, and in a hurry the Glock was out, loaded, and the car was shot to ribbons. Genet could hear screaming from one of the houses. Something fell over in the shop.
"Godverdomme, Ramon, do you think you could be a bit quicker..."
A curtain twitched. Distantly Genet could hear a police siren. Flashing lights rounded the corner. How ironic, thought Genet, that red, white and blue should be the colours of freedom, yet they're on top of a car whose occupants are paid to incarcerate you...
"Ramon! Damn it!" he shouted.
The giant loped out of the bureau. He was holding three maps. Two were in Japanese.
"For God's sake, we only want the one we can understand..."
The Police pulled up. Three policemen ran out, batons at the ready. In the second before they and Ramon and Genet clashed, the latter said to the former:
"You know the drill."
One policeman went flying and landed in the middle of the road. The second got his head blasted off, and the third managed to strike Genet before Ramon picked her up and hurled her on the floor.
Genet marched to the police car. The last policeman got out and began to run, but Ramon, taking a baton from where it had fallen, struck him and he fell down at once. Then, the two of them took the car and vanished.
Genet opened a map, and, upon realising it was all in Japanese, threw it out the window. The second one was also in Japanese, and, getting increasingly annoyed, Genet shredded it before he disposed of it. The Dutch map he opened, now, and guided the two of them out of Moscow, until they were in the Russian fields.
They soon found an old barn, and, in remembrance to the rare, happy days of his childhood, Genet suggested that they spend the night in there.
"You know, Ramon," he said, as he lay on dry, dark straw, covered in Ramon's massive coat as a blanket for his relatively small frame, "I've never told you just how grateful I am for you being here."
Ramon looked at him, and then turned back to the lookout post.
"We've been friends since for ever, and you've been the only person who's really stuck through with me in all of this," Genet continued. "I mean, you've been there at almost every major event in my life. You were there when I finally deserted, you were there when I bought my first major brothel, you were there at every Killer's Game so far..." Ramon didn't look at him, but Genet knew he was listening. "And not once I've said thanks."
Genet yawned. Something shifted, but he didn't pay attention to it. Probably a mouse, or something. From where he was, behind a bale of hay, he could not see the door.
"We're like father and son, you and I."
Well. Maybe. Almost. Not like the father and son relationship Genet had known in his youth, nothing like that. No, they were how a father and son is 'supposed' to be. A strange sort of warm, unfamiliar kind of feeling enveloped Genet and made him feel safe and looked after.
"Just wake me up when you want to sleep," he said sleepily, and shut his eyes, his head resting on his right arm, his left hand still clutching the Dutch map of Moscow.