🚀 go-pugleaf

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   ||      !!GOMI!!    ���      �����������������         Betty Yeh      ||
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   ||   ���������������//       �����������������    Knight of NEE!/rkm  ||
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                                  Issue  9
                             DIA DE LOS MUERTOS
                                Part I of IV


                           O Rose, thou art sick.
                             The invisible worm
                           That flies in the night
                            In the howling storm

                            Has found out thy bed
                               Of crimson joy,
                           And his dark secret love
                             Does thy life destroy.
                                       - "The Sick Rose"
                                         William Blake


San Antonio, Texas
October 31st, 1990, 11:57 pm -


        "P-pu-please," the man begged.  "I... I have children."
        Kirk "Mortar" Stymes light his cigarette, keeping the revolver in his
right hand steadied on the middle-aged store owner.  "You have no idea how
often we here that," he droned.  "Lemme guess.  Four children, starving.  A
wife dying of cancer and you're the only hope they have.  A mortgage on your
home.  No money in the bank."  His thumb grew back the gun's hammer.  "If you
will notice, my heart isn't wrenching too much.  I hear this crap all the
time.  Quite frankly, if you couldn't pay off your loan from Mr. Cecava,
you shouldn't have bor-"
        "But I didn't!" he pleaded.  "I never, EVER aske-"
        The second shadowy figure brought his gun down against the back of the
man's head.  "We didn't asked for commentary," he hissed.
        Mortar pulled in a few more drafts from his cigarette and kneeled.
"I don't like people like you, Mr. Moretti.  You're rude.  Now, before you
interrupted me, I believe I was about to say you shouldn't have asked for a
loan from Mr. Cecava if you weren't able to meet the payment dates."  He took
his cigarette and tapped the red cherry against the back of the shop owner's
hand.  Ashes crackled as the man yanked his hand back.
        "You're a leech, Mr. Moretti," Mortar continued.  He tapped the nose
of his gun against the man's head.  "You cause grief to innocent businessmen
like our employer, and expect me to feel pity for you.  What about Mr. Cecava
and his family?  He has a wife and a kid, just like you.  He's gotta put
food on the table."
        The shop owner didn't reply.  He didn't even look up.  His heaving
breath became louder, more desperate.
        "You think your silence is going to save you, Mr. Moretti?" Mortar
asked.  "Interesting how people seem to think that.  Just like a little kid.
Maybe if you act real quiet and be real still under the covers, the boogie
man will leave you alone - is that it?"  Mortar stood, extending his firearm
to the full length of his arm.  "No.  Not this time.  This time, you don't
wake up from the nightmare."  He paused.  "Look at me."
        Silently, the shop keeper looked up.  Quiet tears poured from his
eyes.
        "You disgust me, Moretti," he continued.  "You're pathetic.  Crying
like a wounded dog.  All you need to do is yelp and lick your wounds."  He
smiled.  "Are you going to yelp for me?"
        The man did not respond.
        "No.  Trying to pull some sort of pride, I suppose.  No matter.  You
are a dog, Mr. Moretti.  A sad little bitch who should have been tossed into
the river long ago, in a sack full of rocks.  I'm going to enjoy this.  But
look into my eyes as I tell you this, because I want to make sure you know
one thing."  The thug flicked his cigarette onto the ground, stomping the
small fiery life out of it.  "Cecava bought you that day you borrowed all
that money - you were his pet.  But in the end, you were my bitch."
        It only took one shot.
        "Damn you're long winded," laughed his friend.
        "Shut up, Chauncy," Mortar said.  "Help me bag him.  Don't wanna leave
more evidence than we have to.  He fished through the body's pant pocket and
pulled out a wallet.  "But first, we get our Christmas bonus early."  He
flipped through various credit cards and pulled out a wad of bills, but
stopped suddenly.
        "What's wrong?" Chauncy asked.
        "Peter M. Delaney?" Mortar said allowed.  "Damn - he really wasn't
Moretti."
        "I know," Chauncy said.
        "You did?" Mortar shot.  "You knew and you didn't tell me?"
        Chauncy nodded.  "I offed Moretti this morning - after he gave me
Cecava's cash - and a bit extra to assure no harm would come to him or his
family."
        The two exchanged course laughs.  "What the Hell(tm), eh?" Mortar
chuckled as he lifted the body and forced it into a plastic bag.  "It _is_
Halloween, right?"
        "Trick or treat?" Chauncy giggled, pinching the dead man's cheek.
        "Where'd Myre park the car?"  Mortar glanced about.  "Where is that
moron?  I'm sure by now one of the locals has called the cops."
        "I told him to wait behind the alley," the portly goon reminded.
"Behind that big dumpster?"
        "He freaks me out, that one," Mortar confided, dragging the dead
body of Peter Delaney.  "That way-off look in his eyes and all that other
weird f------ s--- he does."
        "No kiddin'," Chauncy added, lifting the corpse's feet.  "You ever
been on a job where he pulled the offin'?"  When his comrade shook a negative,
Chauncy excitedly recounted the strange tale of how, a few weeks prior, he
and the gentleman named Myre went on a business call for their employer,
Miguel Cecava, to reclaim various goods of the forbidden kind for resale
on the streets of Austin and Houston.
        "So we're in these guys' basement, right?" Chauncy spat.  "They musta
been fresh outta college or somethin' - thought they were all smart and crap.
Made themselves up a nice little drug lab in there.  Anyways, we go in there,
and we ask them nicely to return Mr. Cecava's merchandise, but they say
they've got a better idea and offer us a part in on some stupid scheme - like
if we double-crossed Cecava we'd live passed the hour?  So we empty into
them."  Chauncy stopped to take some air into his frumpy body.  "Nothing
big, but then Myre - he bends down and puts his finger into one of the holes
in this one guy's chest, and tastes the blood and - get this - smells it!"
        "You're fulla it," Mortar choked nervously.
        Chauncy wiped sweat from his brow.  "As sure as we're standing here he
did!  You'd have thought he was sniffin' wine or somethin'.  Then he mumbles
something about impurities."
        "Some folks ain't right," Mortar muttered.  He produced a key from his
pocket and open the trunk on a black 1986 Cadillac.  Quickly, they stuffed the
still body in the back, covering it with a blanket.
        "We got a problem," Chauncy said, squinting.
        "And that would be?"
        "The car's empty."
        Mortar ran around to the driver's side.  "Jesus!  Where's Myre?"
        Chauncy shrugged.  "Your guess is as good as mine."
        "He left the keys in the ignition," Mortar said.  "Careless jerk!  I
don't care how freaky he is, I'll have his ass for this."  He turned to his
friend.  "C'mon.  I'm not gonna wait around anymore.  Let him get caught."
        The two hurriedly hopped into the car and tore through the dankness
of the alleys as sirens drew closer.


        "I can't believe he just left," Chauncy repeated for probably the
hundredth time.
        "I know, I know," his old friend said.  "Well, he is a rookie - you
remember what it was like.  You get scared, you do stupid stuff."
        "To Hell(tm) with that," Chauncy yelled.  "He wasn't scared.  It was
something... something else."
        Mortar took a draft from his third cigarette as the car slowed to a
stop for a red light.  Some children, clad in ghoulish costumes, ran to the
side of the stopped vehicle.
        Chauncy rolled down the passenger side window.  "Whatcha got to say
there, ghosties?"
        "Trick or treat," cried four little monsters.
        "Ooh, ain't you a scary litter?" he teased.  "Hold on a sec."  He
opened the glove compartment and pulled out a handful of bright colored
candies.  "Here you go, tykes.  Now skee-daddle, and don't eat none of your
candy 'til your ma and pa check it."
        The children clattered excitedly, spouting thank yous.
        "Now get back to your neighborhood - these streets are even a bit
scary for the likes of your zombies," Mortar followed perkily.
        They watched the children scampered back to the sidewalk, comparing
their loot.  "God, I love kids," Chauncy admitted aloud.
        "I hear that," Mortar followed.
        The light turned green and the Cadillac lurched forwards.
        "Look at that little girl, Morty," Chauncy said, pointing to the
opposite side of the street.  "Now isn't she a cute little princess?"
        Mortar glanced over and smiled.  "She sure i... huh?"  He pulled
to a stop on the other side of the intersection and parked, then exited the
car.
        He pudgy pal followed suit.  "What's wrong?"
        "That's Myre."
        "The girl?"
        "No, no!" Mortar said excitedly.  "Look - he's the one walking with
the little girl."
        Chauncy thought.  "I didn't know he had kids."
        Mortar squinted, then gave a horrified look.  "He doesn't.  Oh Jesus."
        "What wrong?"
        "Rose," Mortar answered.  "Rose.  Dear God!  They ducked down that
alley."


        "Myre!" Mortar called out.  "Myre, stop!"
        The alley was a dead end, and the two comrades knew this.  None of
this seemed right.  Mortar knew he had to approach this in as amiable a way
as possible.  Someone as sick as Myre, if feeling cornered, might do something
drastic.  Something fatal.
        Myre stopped and slowly edged about.  The two men could see he had
a long knife at her throat and tape over her mouth.
        "Jesus, Myre, what're you doing, buddy?" Chauncy asked.  "Tha- that's
Mr. Cecava's daughter, Rose.  Now, I'm sure-"
        "Shut up," he replied.  "I'm not interested in what you have to say.
I'll give you a chance.  Leave here now, and I will see to it neither of you
will be linked to anything.  All you have to do is say nothing."
        "Chauncy, back off," Mortar whispered.  "He's cracked."
        "Listen to your friend, Chauncy," laughed Myre.  "Trust me.  This
is bigger than you."
        "And what?" asked the pudgy man.  "You can't kill her.  Look, Rose
is just a child.  Is this about money?  If that's it, I've got some saved
up.  I'm sure it's more than enough to cover any ransom."
        Myre's face contorted with disgust.  "You think I'm doing this for
monetary value?  How pathetic.  I'm warning you both."
        "C'mon, Chaunce," Mortar said.  "If we stay here, we'll just egg him
on."
        Panic hit Chauncy's eyes as he looked to his friend.  "And leave her?
With him?"
        When he turned to face forward again, he say Myre - one inch away from
him.  Myre picked the fat man up with one hand.
        "I warned you," he grunted.
        As if bending a straw, Myre broke Chauncy's neck.  He spasmed a bit
and went limp.
        He dropped the body and turned to Mortar.  "Kirk," he started, "now
listen to what I'm about to offer you.  I'm giving you a chance at something
greater.  No longer working for Cecava - a chance to pull any job your seedy
little mind wants."  He pulled a ring with silver band and a black opal from
his breast pocket.  "See this, Kirk?  It's a very special ring, Kirk.  I do
not think you realize how special it is - I doubt you could if you lived for
over a century.  I'm going to give it to you with an understanding.  What you
saw here tonight - you never saw it.  Ever.  If you agree to leave here, not
tell anyone about Rose, Chauncy or me, I'll see to it your tracks are covered
and for the rest of your life, as long as you're smart, you'll live in a
thief's paradise."
        Mortar searched for words.  "Ra-ra-Rose..."
        "No, Kirk," Myre said.  "Rose is not an issue.  There is no Rose,
Kirk.  There is only you and I."  He tossed the ring in the air and caught
it in his gloved fist.  "I have something to give you, Kirk.  A freedom - a
life like you never imagined.  A chance to start over again.  If you want,
you can go off and get that family you've always wanted."  He smiled.  "But
not you.  You'll start over the same old life, won't you?  Kirk, you look
so confused.  Kirk, just take what I have to offer.  There's no use in being
a hero.  Take my gift."
        Mortar's glance fell on Rose, who was whimpering in the brick corner.
Slowly, he reached out.
        Myre laughed.  "Good, good choice, Kirk."  He cupped his hand around
the goon's.  Mortar yelled as steam shot from the clenched glove.  A single
drop of blood fell from his, spattering on the pavement.
        Myre let go and walked towards Chauncy's still body.  He bent down,
making a wiping motion over the corpse's face.  Mortar strained to see what
was going on.
        Finally, the bizarre man stood.  "As of this day, Kirk Stymes is
officially dead."  He kicked the body over.
        Mortar gasped for air as he looked on at his own face.
        "Impressive, isn't it?" Myre asked.  "He has everything of yours.
Your blood type, DNA, fingerprints.  He is you, Kirk.  When the police find
him, they will assume you were murdered by Chauncy.  Your case will go down
as one of those unsolved mysteries in the city.  And as for you, look at your
hands."  Myre waited for Mortar to obey.  "What do you see?"
        "What am I looking for?" asked Mortar.
        "Stare hard."
        Kirk's jaw dropped.  "No prints."
        "No fingerprints, no DNA, no blood type."  The shadowed man crossed
his arms.  "But it doesn't stop there.  No shadow, no footprints.  You're a
ghost, Kirk.  Oh, people will still be able to see you.  You're not invincible
either.  But you're the perfect thief.  Just use your head.  Now, a deal's
a deal, Kirk.  Go."
        Mortar bowed his head.  "Y... yes, sir."
        "Oh, and Kirk?" Myre added.
        "Yes?"
        Myre's stare became cold.  "Don't go playing in any crypts, okay?"
        Mortar stared with a confused expression, but slowly crept from the
alleyway.
        Myre walked back towards Rose.  She looked up at him in fear.
        "Don't worry, love," he chuckled.  "I'll take it nice and slow, so
you don't miss a cut."


                                  ----= * =----


October 28th, 1996, 6:39 pm:


        He leaned back behind his desk.  "I understand you are good at finding
things.  Is this true?"
        Betty Yeh reached into her briefcase.  "Would you like to see some
of my files from past cases?"
        "No, that won't be necessary."  The elderly man stood and walked to
a fish tank in a corner.  "I heard about you through various associates."
        "Word of mouth has been good to my business," the young woman chirped.
        "They said you were crazy.  That you take risks for the most bizarre
cases.  That you believe in ghosts."
        Betty Yeh stood.  "Believe isn't strong enough a word.  Hey, I don't
mean to be rude, but I drove quite a long way to see you."
        He didn't reply.  He continued a transfixed stare at the occupants of
the tank.
        "Mr. Cecava?" Betty asked.
        "Back in July, you... you brought down Neurodine Medical," he said
at last.
        "You make it sound like I huffed and puffed," Betty replied.  "I did
help bring it down.  The one survivor found is pending trial."
        "One?" Miguel Cecava asked.
        "There was a second," Betty said, "but he'll be spending the rest of
his days in a padded cell I think.  He complains a lot about vengeful spirits
and such."  She smiled.  "But I'm sure a sophisticated man such as you doesn't
believe in all that."
        He dragged his finger along the top of the tank's water.  "I want to
believe ghosts are real, Ms. Yeh.  You've no idea how greatly I believe they
are real and forgiving."
        Betty coughed in hopes of getting Mr. Cecava's attention.  "On the
phone, you mentioned me finding someone?"
        "Six years ago, my daughter, Katrina Rosa, disappeared," he explained.
"It destroyed me, my marriage, and I feel my business has suffered."
        "Ah, yes," Yeh nodded.  "The... collection agency?"
        "Don't you mean racketeering?" he said, looking at Betty from the
corner of his eye.  "You can say it, Ms. Yeh.  I won't mind.  I never thought
it would ever have an effect on my family... that I could seperate the two.
But after Rose disappeared, we searched.  Three years later, her body turned
up."  He returned to his desk and pulled an envelope from a drawer in his
desk and handed it to Betty.  "The only reason the police knew it was Rose
was because of dental records and whatever else they do.  Her arms were
missing, was the back part of her skull.  Her pelvis was split open like
an apple.  It's all there."
        Betty thumbed through the pictures.  "Well... oh my.  Not something
to slip in at the family reunion, I guess.  And you need me for what?"
        "I need you to find the murderer."  He pulled out another envelope.
"It can only be one of two men:  Quincy Myre or Toby "Chauncy" Cortez.  I
compiled all the information ever found out about the case for you.  Records,
scenes from murders they committed in the past.  Everything I could prepare."
        "Seems like it's possible it could be murderers," Betty said.
        "I doubt it was Chauncy.  He loved Rose like a little sister.  No,
no I'm very sure it was the other one.  Myre."
        Yeh put the envelopes in her briefcase.  "I have already told you my
payment policies.  For this I'll probably have to add on extra charges.
After all, I don't normally located deranged killers with possible pedo- and
neutrophilic tendencies."
        He sat down again.  "I don't want you to find them, Ms. Yeh.  I want
you to kill the murderer."
        Betty gave Mr. Cecava a you-are-out-of-your-mind look.
        "I'll happily pay you triple your going rate, plus all expenses," he
threw.  "Anything!  Ms. Yeh, it's all arranged.  Seven murders identical to
what happened to my daughter have occurred in the past two months, each one
closer to this town.  I have certain contacts in the police and sheriff's
department.  As long as you are discrete, it can easily be done."
        "Yes, I suppose," Betty Yeh said.  "So you expect I'll just nod and
happily go out and knock off someone.  Just like that?  Don't you have some
lackeys for that?"
        Mr. Cecava's stare went past Betty.  "Of the thirty-one men I have
sent, Ms. Yeh, all have ended up dead."
        "Y'know, you're not exactly selling me on this case," Betty coughed.
        "They were, as you put it, lackeys.  Hired guns who made their living
ending other people's.  They were not thinkers.  Ms. Yeh, I have heard about
you as I said.  I admired your abilities.  Please, I need your aid.  I must
have this man stopped.  No one else has been able to."
        Betty locked her briefcase and headed for the door.  "Good evening,
Mr. Cecava."
        "If you don't stop him, Ms. Yeh, he'll keep killing," Cecava cried.
"All of them have been children, Ms. Yeh.  Little girls.  Daughters.  Right
now there are seven other pairs of parents asking God why.  How many more
must there be, Ms. Yeh?  And with Halloween coming up...."
        Betty halted.  "Triple you said?"
        "Yes, I'll triple your price!" Cecava chanted excitedly.  "And any
expense you have, I'll take care of.  Any need you have, tell me.  Just ...
please, find him."
        Betty did not look back to him.  "I'll take the case, Mr. Cecava.
Go home and rest."
        "One more thing, Ms. Yeh.  Halloween is coming up-"
        "I won't be trick-or-treating on the job, don't worry."
        "No, no," he said.  "I know you believe in ghosts.  November 1st and
2nd are Dias de Los Muertos.  The All Souls Days, Mr. Yeh."
        "I am familiar with it," she said.
        He hesitated.  "Yes.  Yes, you are.  I just... I just wanted to make
sure you knew because... because."  He thought.   "Because, Ms. Yeh, my own
daughter is already dead because of who I am.  I don't want the misery of your
parents on my head as well."
        She glanced back.
        "Be careful, Ms. Yeh," Cecava said.  "San Antonio can be a strange
place."


                                  ----= * =----


Holiday Inn, four blocks from the Alamo, 7:00 pm:


        "This place is great," Sandy squealed.  "Look!  The TVs have that
Nintendo channel!  We can play any game we want!"
        "No N64?" Hell Kitty growled.  "What kinda dump did you set us up
with, Cho?"
        "Kitty, button it or I'll string a violin with you," Betty Cho warned.
"So, Detective Yeh, whatcha got for us?"
        Betty Yeh sorted through pages from the envelopes.  "I don't want
any of you involved in this matter.  I'm not going to risk you guys."
        Cho staggered back.  "Betti-kins, I'm hurt.  You act as though I
might not be of aid.  Have I not stood by your side since we were but young
lumplings in the Brownies together?"
        "You were in the Brownies, Betty," Yeh reminded.  "You and Vivian.
I refused to demean myself with that uniform.  Still, I don't want you guys
messing with this."
        "Whatever," Sandy yelled.  She whirled about and snatched up some
of the photographs.
        "Sindy!  Damn it!" Betty Yeh bellowed.
        "Yuk!" Sandy said with a gag.  "What happened to him?"
        "That's Kirk Stymes," her sister said, yanking back the photo.
"His neck was broken."
        "At a perfect ninety degree angle, no less," Hell Kitty said after
peaking.  "Pthagorus did it.  Case solved."
        "Hey, Purry Mason, shut up and get Mario to the princess, okay?"
Betty Yeh laughed.  "Honestly, guys, I don't want you in this at all."
        "Can't we help just an idle-widdle?" Betty Cho cooed.
        Betty Yeh scanned over the papers.  "Maybe a little.  I need some
research done.  I wanna see if there's any connecting traits between the
victims."
        "Done and done!" Sandy screamed.  She jumped onto the bed.  "Consider
it found, sissy."
        "Research crap?" Cho asked.  "C'mon, I wanna kick ass."
        "I've got Skinnybutt for that, thank you."
        The Korean stormed to the opposite side of the room.  "Oh, great.
You'd rather depend on the next step up from Purina Worm Chow to save your
butt than me.  What's he got that I don't?"
        Betty Yeh was growing terribly frustrated.  "It's more what he hasn't
got that you don't - a life to lose.  Now if you wanna help, shut up and get
over here.  Help us try to find some sorta rhythm."
        Hell Kitty hopped onto the bed.  "Rhythm is a dancer," she sang,
gyrating her fuzzy hips.
        Sandy gave Hell Kitty a sideways glance.  "That violin idea is
sounding better and better."
        "You brats fight among yourselves," Betty Yeh, huffed.  "I'm going to
get a coke from the machine down the hall.  Anyone want anything?"
        When no one replied, she left the room.  A few minutes later, she was
struggling with the vending machine.
        "I gave you seventy-five cents," she griped.  "Give me my cola!"
        "Allow me to help," said a familiar voice.  A white gloved handed
took hers.  "Focus, now.  Focus."
        A minute of intent concentration, and black sparks shot from Betty's
fingers.  The vending machine choked and gagged, and spat her cola out.
        "Thanks, Ski-chan," Betty said.
        "Hey, what are the eternally undead for if not helping getting your
beverage?" he asked.  "We need to train that more, dear.  You've come pretty
far."
        "It'll have to wait," Betty said.  "You know the case and all."
        Skinnybutt frowned.  "I don't like it.  I'd prefer you'd have refused
it, Betty."
        "Well, I'd prefer a lot of stuff, but I don't get it, do I?" Betty
fought.  She calmed a bit and shook her head.  "I don't mean to take it out
on you.  It's just this case and Sandy and Betty and Kitty being here - I
mean I didn't know it was gonna be ... well, dangerous.  I thought it would
be a neat little vacation.  And then there's Betty."
        Skinnybutt glanced back at their hotel room door.  "She's been a bit
antsy to fight since that whole Neurodine thing.  You'd think she caught a
heroism bug."
        "Well, maybe we'll be able to figure something out from those files
Cecava made for us," Betty said with a hopeful tone.
        "You know better," her ghost answered.  "All those files have are
what is known.  They might as well be blank."
        Betty leaned against the machine.  "It's better than nothing."
        "Barely," her pet replied.  "I did a bit of independent research
while you guys were getting settled in."
        "Ah, the pleasures of having a phantom," Betty giggled.  "You can
skulk about and find secret stuff and never get caught."
        He produced a small stack of photos.  "Coroner's shots, dear."
        The young PI shifted through them.  "What?  No Miss January?"
        "If you'll notice, my lovely bundle of wit," Skinnybutt continued,
"each girl was murdered in precisely the same fashion - including all wounds
being precisely in the same places.  Even the same amount of broken bones."
        "Skinnybutt, I knew this already," Betty said.
        "I know, dear.  Really, you are an impatient little koala," Ski-chan
rambled.
        "Koala?"
        He pulled three photos out of the stack.  "Look at their necks and
tell me what you see?"
        Betty did as bade.  "Necklaces."
        "Not just necklaces," the ghost corrected.  "What's on them?"
        "Pendants?"
        "Ooooh, close, Ms. Yeh," Skinnybutt spout.  "We do have a lovely
consolation prize so you don't leave empty-handed."
        "Your point behind this being...?"  Betty could feel the blood rushing
to her face.  Skinnybutt, being eternally dead, seemed to forget quite often
not everyone had all the time in the world.
        "St. Christopher charms," Skinnybutt admitted.  "The protector of all
children according to Christian mythology.  As a matter of fact, all the
girls, including Rose, were Roman Catholic and wore some sort of jewelry
marking them as such."
        "So its religious?" she asked.
        The undead protector shoved the photos back into Betty's hands.
"Hey, you're the protagonist.  I'm just the lovable dead guy.  You figure
it out."
        "It's a start," Betty sighed.  "Thank you, Skinnybutt."
        "Yes, you will," he added.  "You can start by, tonight, helping me
train you on focusing my energy through you."
        "Look, Ski-chan," Betty started.  "I know it's important to you and
all-"
        She never finished.  He'd disappeared.



To Be Continued...
+++++++++++++++++++
                        http://www.io.com/~nee/
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  ||(C)opyright 1996 rkmilholland/ ||  Sacred Circle of Confusion, LTD.  ||
  ||     Knight of NEE! #166       ||   "Because Buddha loves you, and   ||
  ||   nee@io.com/randy@unt.edu    ||             I have a gun."         ||
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