“’Ey Frankie, I need
anothah beeyah heeyah,” Steve calls across the bar.
“Gimme a sec, Timmy,
I gotta help this moron.”
Steve settles onto
his barstool. According to the team, he’s really good at mimicking accents, so
when they needed someone to infiltrate in Boston, who better to send than
someone who can sound just like them. He cringes at how crude the dialect
“I ain’t got all
day, Frankie. I gots things t’do, people t’see.”
“Yer a fucker Timmy.
Here’s yer beeyah. Now get outta my sight.”
Steve smiles, not
minding that he ruffles a couple feathers. How else is he supposed to fit in?
“Well you didn’t
have to be rude,” Natasha’s voice
comes over his earpiece.
“Have you spent any
time watching me? These people have two modes, loud and rude. Also they can’t
drive for shit. Have any of them heard of a blinker? And what’s with the
streets? I never know where the fuck I’m going. I’ll be driving along and suddenly,
the street becomes one way, but there’s no where to turn and I can’t make a
U-ey. This is a messed up town, Nat.”
“Jesus Steve, I didn’t
realize you felt so passionately about Boston. I thought you woulda loved it,
considering you were around when all that patriotic shit went down.”
“Fuck you, I’m not
replies, a smile in her voice. “Just get back to it. I’ll check in later.”