Needs Must….

Well Dear Avid Reader…

I’ll let you know this is part of the ‘Shadow’ series and apart from that you’re on your own….

FtF

____________________________

 

Sometimes Sean loathed his job.

****

Sal Cuferi walked into the bar, uncomfortable and excited at the same time as he scanned the early evening crowd. This early and the bar just seemed a little seedy, probably more tattoos on show than there would be in an average bar but nothing you could put your finger on. Unless you knew the bar’s reputation and then it became obvious. He stepped up to the bar, pulling on the neck of his white t-shirt as he waited for the barman to finish serving the man he was serving. He grinned to himself at how uncomfortable he felt in the t-shirt when most of the time he wore a collar and tie, his natural colouring he supposed in the world of finance where he made his living, the uniform of predator and prey alike.

The last month had been extremely stressful but the deal was done and he owed himself a little reward, a little R & R away from prying eyes. His little secret that his friends and family, even his wife didn’t know about. It was part of him and he had learned early on, even before he was fully aware of all the social conformities and still a child that most people looked down on such things. It was all so different now, now he could shout it from the rooftops but he was on the wrong side of fifty and they do say that a leopard can’t change its spots. The grin remained on his face as he knew he preferred it this way. He’d given his wife the requisite two children, one of each, and now, although they slept in the same bed, they didn’t have a sex life.

He pulled himself back from his reverie and began to scan the crowd with a more discerning eye as he waited for the barman. There was only a small scattering of females in the bar, either in couples or single and outnumbered by at least four to one by men. His cock was a rod of blue steel inside his trousers with anticipation but no likely candidates stood out. The barman eventually came over and took his order of lager. He watched as the barman pulled his pint and all at once felt the hairs on the back of his head stand up. A shiver ran down his spine as he glanced past the barman to see the man that was being served when he approached the bar still standing there with two glasses in front of him staring along the length of the bar straight into Sal’s eyes. He had dark short hair with a touch of natural curliness and was maybe thirty five years old wearing a very old battered mid-length leather jacket.

He was smiling. It wasn’t a smile that Sal liked, the stranger’s teeth seemed to gleam unnaturally and even though he was a good fifteen metres away he could see the man’s tongue work upon one of his eye teeth. He felt his cock begin to soften and the hair on his head seem to pull into his scalp when a voice from behind him said “Haven’t seen you in here before?”

Sal forced himself to break his gaze and caught the stranger’s reflection in the mirror at the back of the bar turning away. He couldn’t explain but he was glad that he had seen it. Slightly shaken he turned his attention to the person who had addressed him. A shaven headed man in his mid to late twenties was leaning against the bar beside him dressed in tight jeans and an equally tight red t-shirt. Sinewy muscles were evident beneath the thin material, not showy like a body-builder but defined like a manual labourer. “Hi… err… no, I… only come here occasionally when I’m in town.”

“You’re a Yank, are ya’?”

Sal rankled slightly, “Canadian!” he answered.

“Sorry, my bad, I thought you guys always wore a maple leaf somewhere?” he asked with an infectious grin.

Sal relaxed realising why he had come to this bar and that it had been some aberration in his mind that had unsettled him. He glanced behind him and saw the man now sitting in a booth with a young black woman deep in conversation. He looked quickly back at the potential bed fellow before the man had any chance to look up and catch his eye again. “Sorry, I left my collection of Canadian badges back in my hotel room, my name’s Sal, by the way” he said offering his hand.

The young man took the proffered hand in a strong grip as Sal realised he had for the first time ever given his real name in this type of bar. “Sean… a collection, y’ say?”

Sal nodded grinning as his cock swelled back to full hardness, “And you’re not English?”

“Ahh, fuck jaysus no, Irishman through and through”

****

Sal and Sean remained in the bar for just under half an hour before Sal’s hard-on got the better of him and he took the younger man back to his hotel.

****

The stranger sat in the booth swilling the remains of the amber liquid around the bottom of his tumbler as he watched Sal and Sean leave the bar. “You got a look on your face, O’Neill” said the woman sitting beside him.

“You know how it is, sometimes you just take an instant dislike to a fella” he replied, “something bad about him…” his voice trailed off as he waited for the rebuke from his lover.

“From across a bar? You are some boy!” Iz replied mimicking his accent, “If you must, you must but we have a dinner date and if you’re not there within an hour, I’ll be locking the door and keeping Nef to myself!” O’Neill turned his head to look at her with his big brown eyes for twenty seconds before she relented, “…probably.”

“I’ll just grab a quick bite…”

****

Sal and Sean were barely in the door of the hotel room when the older man’s hands were fumbling with the younger man’s belt and pulling down his zip to release the cock from within. He was pushed backwards onto the bed and his trousers almost ripped off. The young man grasped his erection and squeezed it hard and slowly began to pull on it. Sal groaned and lay back on the bed as the strong fingers moved up and down his shaft. “Oh fuck yeah…” he muttered.

“You like that, don’t ya’?”

Sal groaned loudly as the young man’s hand gripped him even harder and pulled upwards on his cock till his sac was dragged upwards. “Oh…yeah…” he moaned. The young man’s hand moved sharply downwards pulling his foreskin down to reveal his angry looking glans covered in a thin film of pre-cum. Again and again his cock was pumped with a vice like grip, a grip so tight he could feel his balls tightening again and again.

Sean looked at the short fat cock in his hand, a look of distaste pasted across his face as the old man, eyes closed, writhed on the bed, jerking his hips in time with his hand. He glanced at the door wondering how long it would be and if he’d have to take things further. He was as far from an erection as he had ever been but needs must he thought. “Pump it you little fucker” cursed Sal drawing his attention back. He wondered if he had the strength to rip the appendage from the man’s body, he seemed to remember that it was a sure way to kill someone if they were unable to stem the bleeding. His Adam’s apple bounced up and down his throat as he gulped and knew that the ‘Assignment’ would want something more, sooner rather than later. He’d seen at least two or three possible ‘Targets’ in the bar, two of which he was sure had a different interest in the ‘Assignment’ than the general clientele of the Gay bar.

He silently swore to himself that he wasn’t being paid enough for this. A grin curved his lips as he had to admit he had taken a pay-cut to take the job partly because he was using a new alias but mostly because he had an ulterior motive. Sal started to raise his head from the bed and Sean reached forward and massaged the man’s saggy scrotum. He moaned loudly as Sean’s thumb pressed along his taint and his head fell back once again and he raised his ass clear of the bed. He felt the man’s cock twitch and gripped it all the harder feeling his testicles rise up. Don’t fucking cum, you scumbag he thought silently.

“I knew you were a creep Cuferi… but this?”

Sean released Sal’s cock and twisted his head to see a smartly dressed business woman standing inside the door he had handily left open. Sal’s semen flew high into the air as Sean stumbled backwards to fall on his arse at the corner of the bed, “What the fuck… I don’t do dames!” he hoped his feigned shock was believable as he turned his look to fear as his hands dropped to the small calibre pistol in her hand. “Oh shit… this… shit!”

“Shut the fuck up, kid” ordered the woman, a brief look of curiosity and a tiny grin flicking across her face as she took in Sean’s physique. Her attention turned back to Sal who had raised himself on his elbows and was frozen with a look of terror on his face. His cock was now completely soft even though a final spurt of startlingly white cum oozed from the dip into his grey pubic hair. Three or four long streaks stood out on his olive skin as if someone had used liquid paper on him. “This is too easy, Cuferi, and I thought you were meant to be one of the baddest boys in the city! Well, you’re mine now!”

“What… who… what?” stammered Sal from the bed only just beginning to move. Sal’s attention was focused on the top-of-the-range phone in the woman’s left hand which had been obviously filming the two men before she interrupted. Sean wasn’t sure if Sal had even noticed the Beretta pistol in her right.

“You’re new boss, you can call me Mrs Towne, you may have heard of my husband. I’m Lil to my friends but you’ll never be my friend” her eyes looked to the younger man cowering at the corner of the bed and thought if he hadn’t gone for balding old men he could well have been a ‘friend’. She moved her eyes back to Sal, “From now on you’ll be reporting to me as well as Leaman on all the unsavoury little deals you get up to and if I want in, I’ll be in! Is that understood or would you like little Mrs Cuferi, you’re children and all those pillars of the community you so like to impress to happen upon my little video on YouTube?”

Sean shifted slightly moving his foot beneath his ass, all the time trying to look panic stricken and not as if he was ready to pounce. He hadn’t expected a gun but then again he had expected a man rather than a woman to have been the client who had instigated the Assignment. He was still struggling to think of a way he could play the situation to get what he really wanted when the woman pointed the pistol at him. “You did well, kid, now get out of here!” she nodded towards the door behind her.

Sal looked at him and even though they were complete strangers the look of betrayal on his face suggested they had been childhood friends or even family. “Just a job, man” he said as he stood up and did up his belt.

Mrs Towne’s eyes roved up and down Sean’s physique, “Oh, come on Sal, surely you don’t really think a ‘hotty’ like him would go for a fat balding, fuck like you?”

“Bitch!” muttered Sal from the bed glancing down as his state of undress, his hands twitched as his eye went back to the small gun unsure in his head whether he was allowed to move.

Sean dusted off his ass unnecessarily as he realised there was no way he could play or manipulate the situation to his aims. If either of the other people in the room could have seen his eyes at that point they would have seen his pupils shrink to almost pinpoints and his lips tighten together as he came to a decision. He forced his mouth to smile as he turned back taking in the amateurish stance of his Client and the ‘hard look’ within her own eyes which was probably very similar to his own. He wasn’t sure how much information he could get out of Sal but he had a name he could work with and he was convinced that he didn’t have the time to torture or threaten anything out of the woman. “Well, I hope this is satisfactory?” he said to her in a crisp English accent.

“Very… couldn’t have been better. Thank you Mr Smith” she smiled at Sean as he made to move behind her.

Sal’s timing couldn’t have been better as he muttered “Bastard!” and eventually felt brave enough to reach down and pull up his clothing. The split-second as the woman turned back to Sal was all the time Sean needed.

The only sound she made was a small squeal of surprise. Sean’s right hand had shot out and up to clasp the gun around her hand, his thumb deftly pressing the safety catch. His other hand was lightly gripping the back of her neck as his right leg swept around her knees and pulled them towards him. She never had a chance as she concentrated on the now useless gun, pulling futilely on the trigger and trying with her other hand, the camera phone still within its grasp, to lever his fingers away when she should have been trying to stop herself falling. Sean’s hand behind her neck guided her head down, all his senses hyped up on adrenalin as he aimed her temple towards the low wooden footboard of the bed. He heard a faint crack as her head flipped upwards and her body hit the floor. The phone made a louder thump as it dropped beside her.

He released her hand and her arm dropped to the floor, the gun falling onto the deep shag of the carpet almost silently. His fingers slid around her throat, the tips finding her carotid artery. Looking into her blank staring eyes he already knew he wouldn’t find a pulse but he was always thorough. He pulled a latex glove out of his pocket and deftly pulled it on noting a small patina of talcum powder setting onto the recently deceased left hand. He’d have to make sure that was invisible later he thought to himself as he picked up the gun. “Well, Mr Cuferi, a bit of a shame I couldn’t take her alive, could of found out who her cohorts were but it’s better to be safe than sorry, I always say!” The gun disappeared into the back of his waistband.

“…” said Sal his mouth opening and shutting like a Goldfish with a lobotomy.

“My name’s Mr Jones. Mr Leaman retained me some time ago as a Consultant without Portfolio…” Sean couldn’t help smile at the stupid business speak which he knew Sal would just lap up. “We knew that Towne and her husband had been showing a great interest in Mr Leaman’s business for the past two years and we knew their modus operandi was generally blackmail or cyber-infiltration so after seriously ‘beefing’ up the firm’s firewall and monitoring the total flow of information we knew they would have to go for the blackmail option.”

“Errr… can I…” Sal nodded to his trousers.

“Sure Mr Cuferi” replied Sean as he knelt down beside the warm corpse and rifled through the pockets of her jacket. He opened a wallet from inside her jacket, scanning the brief synopsis of her life summed up with plastic cards (credit and access), five almost crisp twenty pound notes that appeared to have dwelled within the leather since they were minted and two pictures. One obviously her parents and either a younger sister or herself as a child; he held the other photo in his latex gloved fingers, “Mr Towne, I presume…” he whispered to himself.

“Is she d…d…dead?” stuttered Sal.

Sean looked at her cold staring eyes and felt almost nothing. “Sooner or later it would have been you Mr Cuferi, only after they had used you to the point of worthlessness.” He stood up slipping the photo surreptitiously into his back pocket. “Now look at me… not her. We’ve got to move fast, probably only got a half hour before someone will be calling on that phone to see how your entrapment is coming. You have your laptop?” Sal nodded dumbly, “Okay while you access all your files and change your protocols and passwords I’ll ‘clean’ the room.” He pulled out a small pack of wipes from inside his pocket and looked at the unmoving man, “Come on, Sal! As soon as they realise something’s up they’ll be coming down on us and your accounts like a ton of bricks!” he snapped his fingers together a couple of times before the old man started to move.

Methodically Sean moved to the bathroom and grabbed a bin liner from the waste basket and began tossing Sal’s toiletries into it. He gave it thirty seconds before he walked past the open doorway and glanced at the old man hunched over the laptop breathing heavily. Sal’s back was to him as he watched, he jostled the bag in his hand as he watched the edge of a plain blue screen on the laptop melt away to be replaced by the corner of an image. It was a Gulfstream jet Tail fin if he was any judge.

Sean lowered the bag to the floor his eyes on the back of Sal’s head as the man began to type furiously. Silently he stepped onto the carpet and stood beside the bed pulling the gun from his back and thumbing the safety catch. He inhaled once and knelt on the bed, Sal’s head twitched and if Sean had been able to see the man’s hackles he knew they had just sprung up. His left hand grasped the top of Sal’s sweaty balding head and pulled him backwards to stare up briefly into the last eyes he would ever see. The pillow from the bed was firmly across the old man’s face and the muzzle of the gun pressed hard into it. Sean heard the faint crack of Sal’s nose before he pulled the trigger. The sound was sufficiently muffled and all of the contents of the old man’s skull had been kept beneath the soft pillow. Apart from the neat black hole in the pristine pillow when Sean had removed the gun and a solitary feather floating upwards on a draft Sal could have been just shielding his eyes from the overhead light. The opened shirt and hairy chest with the drying cum stains on the fat stomach did suggest more of a story.

Sean moved around the bed and sat beside Sal’s legs as they dangled lifelessly of the edge and lifted the laptop across. Pulling a memory stick from his pocket he inserted it into the side of the machine and instructed it to copy all the files within. “Fuck” he swore as a pop-up box requested a password. He didn’t dare close the laptop as he figured the ‘sleep’ function would require another password. “Fuck, shit, and bollocks!” he cursed and watched a feather alight on the keyboard in front of him. He stared at the small white feather as it crawled across the keys driven by a draft of air. A draft thought Sean and his heartbeat slowed as he lifted the laptop back onto Sal’s thighs.

His eyes flicked up to the curtained windows which gave him no reflection to check his back. Slowly and casually he stood up and moved to the small bedside table and lifted the phone before twisting around and levelling the gun at the man wearing a battered leather jacket leaning against the wall just inside the door. The stranger simply nodded at him and continued surveying the room with its two bodies.

Sean slowly walked around the bed till he stood two metres from the man who looked as if he was simply waiting for a train or a bus. “Can I help you?”

“No, I don’t think you can” two dark eyes met his own, “Very professional if I might say… though…hmmm”

Sean was at a loss, the man was obviously not fazed by the steady aim of the gun at his heart and spoke with an Irish accent, somewhere to the north although the trace was diluted. “Just here sight-seeing, are ya?”

“No, I was here to pretty much do what you did to yer man there, though I wouldn’t have been anywhere as neat, mind!”

“You had issues with the late Mr Cuferi?” asked Sean.

“Mr Cuferi, is it? No I didn’t know the man… just took a sorta dislike to him down in the bar where you picked him up… what was that about anyway? You’re obviously a professional but this seemed an extreme set-up… and maybe a little personal, too!”

“For fuck’s sake…” Sean shook the pistol although his aim remained steady on the strangers centre mass, “the gun… do you not know…”

“Protocol” suggested the man.

“Aye, protocol!”

“I guess I don’t. Longford?” he asked raising his eyebrow.

“Westmeath, just beside the county line…” Sean berated himself silently for his automatic response, “Is that Armagh I hear?”

“Monaghan, a very long time ago… your original question, I don’t think you can help me but I reckon I can help you!”

“Is that so?” Sean was a moment away from putting a bullet through this casual stranger and yet in this strangest of situations he found himself liking the man.

The man pointed to the laptop, “I’m pretty good with those things, you need the files within and those little pieces of silicon just love to sit up and beg for me!”

“And why would you do that?”

The stranger glanced at Sal’s body with the laptop sat on his thighs and down at the smartly dressed woman at the foot of the bed, “Well, you seem to have gone to a lot of trouble and if one exile can’t give a helping hand to another, well what’s the point?”

Sean found himself backing away to the corner before he even replied, “You are some sorta fella, aren’t you!”

“That’s what my Iz says about me… you might have seen her in the bar!”

“The tall black woman?” the man nodded and Sean now remembered him standing at the opposite end of the bar as he had approached Sal and then joining the woman in one of the booths. “Were you responsible for Cuferi being so jittery?”

“It’s possible, I sometimes have that effect” he walked slowly and unthreateningly round the bed and sat down beside the no longer jittery Sal. The laptop was moved once again and the man’s fingers raced over the keys as his thumb glided over the ‘mouse-pad’. It was less than thirty seconds before he twisted the screen towards Sean and he could see the upload bar crawling from left to right as his memory stick was filled. “Of course you could just take this with you, if you wanted; I’ve removed all of the passwords and disabled the GPS tracker.”

Sean looked at the man sitting beside a dead body; his body language suggested that for all the bizarreness of the situation he could be simply enjoying a coffee on a sunny afternoon on any street in any city. “My friends call me O’Neill” he said simply.

“O’Neill…” for over a week afterwards Sean still couldn’t believe what he did next. “O’Neill, you won’t mind if I don’t share my name?” He thumbed the safety catch on the gun and tucked it into the back of his jeans once again.

“I can see that” O’Neill’s attention reverted to the screen in front of him, “Yer man looks like he had a lot of dodgy share deals going on… a rather aggressive raze and burn style if I’m any judge… is this simply because he owed you money?”

Sean rested his ass against the window ledge behind the curtains, “No, not quite… it is about his share dealing though…”

“It wasn’t your money he stole? Family?” Sean nodded in reply. O’Neill looked about at the two cooling corpses, “Well as far as Mr Cuferi and his laptop are concerned he was only a mid-level player… two bodies and the real criminals will be heading for the hills and no mistake…” O’Neill’s dark eyes returned to Sean’s and he could easily imagine how they had spooked Sal earlier on and yet even apart from their mutual country of birth he felt a strange kinship. “I reckon I could help a little bit more…”

“Go on” replied Sean shaking his head at this curious man.

****

Sean sat in the old worn armchair, his fingernail absent-mindedly picking at a loose thread on the arm. The house smelt stale and it had only been two months since he’d had to put his mother into care. He missed the old smells of stew and damp clothing, one he adored and the other he hated but they were the ‘markers’ of home. Home he thought to himself as he stared at the glass of cheap whiskey that stood atop the nest of tables still untouched. They’d moved here when he was nine years old into the middle of the concrete jungle away from the lush green fields of Westmeath. He remembered those six years and the bitterness that he had unfairly felt towards his parents. He could almost hear himself shouting at his Da when he’d been accused of being unreasonable and only now could he see the sorrow that had been behind those warm brown eyes.

He had understood back then, even at the age of nine and all the more so as the years had progressed that it had been financial necessity that had taken them from the ‘imagined’ nirvana of his early childhood and it had been as much of an upset for his parents and sister as it had been for him. He had been unable to cope with this hell when he knew there was a heaven and had run away at the age of fifteen. He knew now that it had been his refusal to admit that this ‘home’ wasn’t so bad that had been his problem and his problem alone. He had simply not wanted to admit he was wrong.

Life on the ‘road’ had led him back to Ireland to discover his ‘true home’ wasn’t the nirvana he remembered and still the stubborn streak forged over the years refused to let him return home. Life on the ‘road’ became life on the ‘run’ as he became submerged into the ‘black’ economy and the criminal fraternity. He was seventeen when he met Liam Devlin and found a cause which filled the void within him only to find so many years later that the ‘struggle’ could never be won at the end of his sniper rifle.

It was fourteen years after he had ran away before he had returned home. His father had been dead for over a decade and although his mother welcomed him as the prodigal son his sister had simply told him later that his ‘betrayal’ had broken his father’s heart. He was never able to mend the wound with his sister but the two of them settled for a truce whenever they were with his mother.

And now after losing her life savings with the Wormwood Investments fraud, money that she and his father had scrimped together over the years it seemed that he had lost her as well, maybe not in body but at least in soul. The hospital was okay and the staff were excellent but it was only a stop gap before he found somewhere better where he could spoil his mother in her final years. A single tear ran down his cheek as he thought about the paltry sum of £5075 that his mother had lost had been enough to break her when he had accounts in various countries with strict confidential codes that earned that in interest in a single month. His mother hadn’t needed the money, he had long since bought her house for her and paid all her bills but it had been her husband’s money and seemingly a remaining link that she couldn’t do without.

His phone beeped from his pocket shaking him from his reverie. The number displayed on the screen was unfamiliar and he generally didn’t answer them letting his voice mail take a message. “Hullo” he said simply.

“How are ye, Sean? It’s O’Neill here.”

“That’s impressive… no one has this number!”

“I told you computers want to have my babies, didn’t I?” Sean heard a female chuckle from the other end of the line.

“That you did, what can I do for you O’Neill?”

“Ahh… Sean, it’s what I can do for you. You’re about to get a text with an e-mail address, you’ll find it way more secure that the ones you were using, the password is ‘Ballinalack’.”

“Now you’re just showing off, O’Neill” replied Sean grinning at the use of his birthplace as a password.

“Sorry, just can’t help m’self sometimes. You’ll find everything you need in there already, dates, times, places and the name. The man you want is Damian Towne.”

“The recently deceased Mrs Towne’s husband?” asked Sean.

“Sort of… it seems they had only just divorced the day before, slightly ironic! Although it did add some weight to the scene the Cleaners set”.

On the night Sean had met O’Neill after unlocking the laptop he had suggested that he would take care of the hotel room as well; “I have some people that ‘do’ and as I said with two dead bodies the people your after will probably disappear. I think as Mr Cuferi has willingly supplied some DNA evidence and…” he looked down at the late ex-Mrs Towne, “I reckon her injuries could be explained away so Cuferi disappears and she has an accident, of course we’ll leave that evidence to hint that maybe it wasn’t an accident and he had something to do with it and so does a runner?” Sean had agreed, he still wasn’t sure why he trusted this man but his logic had been unarguable. The various reports in the press over the next week had seemed to play this out.

“It seems our Mr Towne” O’Neill continued, “recently had a small blip on his otherwise unpleasant résumé; a sabbatical of some sort but now he’s back and by the sounds of it is going Global with a vengeance. If you weren’t so set on him I might have had an interest in him myself.”

Sean didn’t comment on O’Neill’s last remark, it had been obvious the man had killed and had little compunction about it; whether he was some sort of vigilante was another matter as originally he hadn’t seemed to know Cuferi, had simply disliked him. Sean couldn’t really judge him as he had killed for a cause that had in the end simply seemed pointless and then killed for money. He knew that most of his professional ‘hits’ had been people the planet was better off without but not all.

“The other man you want is the Leaman fella that Cuferi mentioned, seems Towne and him were generally in cahoots when robbing people not that it didn’t stop the two of them trying to get the better off the other! So much for honour among thieves?” added O’Neill.

“So the world will be better off without them” replied Sean.

“It will” O’Neill paused before finally adding “One thing Sean, revenge doesn’t always assuage a person’s guilt. Trust me, I speak from experience… it takes something positive in my opinion. If you do go through with this it’s a whole new level, they’ll be after you again anyway they can, you’d better put your Ma somewhere she’ll never be found… I might have put some stuff in the e-mail concerning that, just use my name if you go with it.”

“You might be right, O’Neill…” replied Sean, “I’ll think about it and thanks for the info, I owe you!”

“Just a pint or two, Sean, just a pint or two…” and the phone went dead before loudly beeping in Sean’s ear as a text message was received.

Sean placed the phone on the arm of the chair and looked at the untouched glass of whiskey. He sat still for over five minutes before lifting the glass and draining it in one go. “Time to go to work!” he said to the picture of the Blessed Heart adorning the wall in front of him and picked up the phone as he rose.

 

To be continued…

~ by ftfagos on July 16, 2012.

One Response to “Needs Must….”

  1. mmmMMMmmmMMM…

    OHHH… how I love O’Neill!

    xxV

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