A waitress came over and Walden ordered two lemonades. Minutes later, Warlock returned as the drinks were being placed on the table.
“Thank you,” Walden said as he handed the waitress a large bill. “Might as well keep the change. I don’t think I’ll need it where I’m going.”
“And where are you going?” asked Diosa as she took the chair on the opposite side of the table.
Walden didn’t answer. He held up a palm to stop Warlock from speaking as he stared at the currency in the waitress’ hands. Before she folded the bills, the pilot pointed at the high-value pesetas.
“Can I see the serial numbers on a few of those?” he inquired.
“I don’t gamble,” the waitress said defensively.
She’d worked the lounge off the poker room for a year and was accustomed to gamblers trying to trick her out of her pesetas.
“It’s not a scam,” explained Walden. “I’m an amateur numismatics.”
“A what?” questioned the server.
“I study currency,” he explained. “It’s a hobby.”
She spread the bills but kept them close to her waist to keep him from grabbing at the money. Walden peered at the bills before reaching in his pocket and counting out four matching denominations.
“I’ll trade you for those four,” he offered holding out the older crumpled pesetas.
“Well you are kind of cute and you tip good,” the waitress said as she exchanged Walden’s bills for the newer ones. “Do you need anything else?”
When Walden just gazed at the server, Warlock replied for him, “That will be all, thank you.”
The server winked at Walden before walking away to take orders from a different table.
“Poet. You’re not going to prison,” Warlock assured him. “If I can help it.”
“She said I was cute,” gushed Walden. The bills were crushed in his hand which rested on his knee.
“Maybe she’s just enamored with meeting a numismatics,” Warlock suggested.
“With a what?” he muttered obviously not paying attention.
“The study of currency,” replied Diosa. “Like the four you’re holding in that death grip.”
“I know what it means,” he protested.
“Should I call her back and you can exchange more pesetas?” inquired Diosa.
Sheepishly, Walden raised the bills and turned to face Warlock.
“These are counterfeit,” he announced as he spread and smoothed them on the table.
Although Warlock knew it was a possibility, she didn’t know how her researcher recognized the fake bills.
“They look legitimate to me,” Diosa stated. “How can you tell?”
“The serial numbers on these four,” Walden explained while pointing at the bills. “These bills are numbered 029, 061, 093, and 125.”
“Poet, how does that tell me anything?” questioned Diosa.
“The Realm mints use skip numbering. For example, bill 001 is printed on the top left-hand corner of a sheet. 002 is on the corner of the second sheet and 003 is on the top left-hand corner of the third sheet,” Walden described. “With skip numbering, the mint makes one cut and has a stack of sequentially numbered bills.”
“But these aren’t in any kind of order,” protested Diosa as she tapped the bills with the tips of two fingers.
“But they are,” advised Walden. “If they were printed sequentially on each sheet, the bottom left-hand corner of a 32-bill sheet would be 29. The same position on sheet two is 61, 93 on sheet three and 125 on sheet four. The possibility of a waitress or anyone having those bills in that order is astronomical.”
“Unless they were sequentially printed and recently,” Diosa said glancing at the new currency.
“You should get back to the game,” suggested Walden.
“I am. But not to that poker table,” stated Diosa as she scarfed the bills from the table. “I’m going to drop in at a different game. How are you at anger management?”
Chapter 5 – Game Set Smash
Other poker games were in progress and, to respect the players, everyone kept their voices down. The hush was broken when an argument broke out in the lounge. Before security could reach them, a man and a woman shouting and pushing at each other brought their loud disagreement into the poker room.
“You gave me these?” the woman screamed as she waved a fist full of pesetas in the man’s face.
While she accused him of some unknown grievance, the squabbling pair moved deeper into the poker room.
“And it’s not enough for you?” the man shouted back as he attempted to move away from her. “What more do you want from me?”
His angled walk carried them to the back of the poker room.
“Not to be cheated,” the woman cried as she punched the man in the chest.
Although Diosa pulled the punch, it hurt Walden’s sternum and he gasped as the air exploded from his lungs. Without thinking, he shoved the Marine with all of his strength. For a second, he wondered if he used too much force.
The waitress in the lounge put a hand over her mouth in shock at the violence. The rushing security officers increased their paces to intercede. The dealers and players who witnessed the assault believed the woman could be injured by the man’s harsh push. None of them, except Walden, saw the smile on Diosa’s face as she flexed her knees and launched her body back and away from her pilot.
Warlock flew through the air, smacked hard on the carpet, and performed a reverse summersault. She came up unsteadily on her feet and stumbled back trying to maintain her balance. Finally, losing her footing, the Striker fell against a poker table then dropped to the floor.
The poker room’s security force was rushing to squelch the disturbance. Before they reached her, three of Niles Arvid’s bodyguards formed a wall and stopped them.
Niles, after a shake of his head to freeze the remaining bodyguard, peered down at the attractive woman sprawled on the ground beside his chair.
“Are you alright, Miss?” he asked with a tight smile.
“They’re paying with counterfeit currency,” Diosa exclaimed. She raised her arm and waved the bills at the mob boss. “Here, look for yourself.”
Niles took the cash and glanced at the bodyguard.
“Help her up,” he ordered while examining a bill in the light from an overhead fixture.
Diosa extended her right arm towards the bodyguard and gathered in her legs. When the bodyguard’s fingers touched her hand, she kicked out at his shins with both feet. The force drove the man’s legs out from under him. A pull from Diosa on the sleeve of his suit jacket caused him to fall forward where he landed on top of her.
***
When the bodyguard went horizontal, Poet threw his arms in the air and raced over to Zelman and the dealer at the original poker table.
“Carlos run. They have guns,” Walden shouted to the dealer. “Take flight, Carlos, save your life.”
The dealer had no vested interest in any kind of confrontation and certainly not in anything that might result in gunfire. Leaving the deck of cards, Carlos deserted the table and ran for the guarded door at the rear. Walden was right on his heels.
***
As the bodyguard fell, Warlock snaked her left arm down and located his pistol. He must have felt the weapon leaving the holster because he crunched sideways trying to bring an arm down to stop her. Before he could grab her wrist, the Marine formed a claw with her right hand. As quickly and deadly as a cobra, Warlock struck.
The bellow of rage and pain released by the bodyguard paralyzed the poker room. No one was aware of the fingers that jabbed his eyeballs or the palm thrust that broke the cartilage while driving the ruined nose into his sinus cavities. All they heard was the roar of an angry man. When the pistol fired and one of the poker room’s guards crumpled to the ground, his comrades assumed the shots were fired by Arvid’s bodyguard. They pulled their pistols, and returned fire.
Warlock scooted further under the poker table to avoid the b
ullets. On the far side, she stayed on her hands and knees and high crawled along the back wall. A glance up showed her the guarded rear door was swinging wide open then almost closing before swinging open again. She wanted to rise up and sprint to the doorway but two stray bullets impacted the wall just over her back. It was probably a good idea to stay down and, besides, her balance seemed off. She decided crawling faster was the best solution. That was her plan just before the wall melted into a flowing stream of swirling colors.
In the distance, the distinct sound of a bullet breaking skin, separating adipose tissue, breaking a bone, and entering a heart took over her consciousness. As if on a loop, the sounds played over and over again in her mind. Between the colors, the dripping walls, and the death, the retired Marine was paralyzed in mid-crawl.
***
When the shots rang out, the eight dealers on the floor ran for the rear of the poker room. Seeing them bearing down on him, the guard punched in the code and opened the door. Seven raced by him and he watched Carlos and another man as they closed the distance. The guard started to stand and block the extra man but more pistols discharged. He squatted beside the doorway and held out an arm planning to intercept the stranger before he could get through.
“Authorized personnel…” the guard started to say before Walden changed course and tackled him.
With no fighting skills and little physical prowess, the pilot settled for wrapping his arms around the guard’s chest. They fell to the side with the door between their legs. Rolling back and forth, the guard tried to untangle himself from the man’s arms. As they struggled, their feet kicked the door open before they rolled the other way almost kicking it closed. Walden’s close quarter fighting tactics were to interlock his fingers behind the guards back and hold on until Diosa arrived.
His issue was he didn’t know how long he could maintain the bearhug.
***
Warlock’s brain twisted with images, sounds, and murky fantasies. Fighting to get control of the psychedelic visions, she lifted her right hand and struck herself in the forehead. Her right eye closed in a reflex action and the intensity of her brain’s activity lessened. In a moment of clarity, she reached into the pouch and pulled out the goggle.
With the ultrasounds, smells, distorted colors, and UV input blocked, the visions diminished. Warlock resumed her crawl towards the swinging door. Even as she moved, the mutated optic nerve pulsed from over stimulation. She’d need to remember to keep the eye covered to prevent a reoccurrence. Looking up, she saw the rear door had stopped swinging.
***
Walden’s cheek was still pressed against the guard’s chest but his arms were slipping. Squirming and jerking at the pilot’s arms had unclamped his fingers. With only his forearms pressed against the guard’s ribs, Walden realized his mission to hold the door open was seconds away from failing. Once the door closed, any chance of retrieving his agency PID would be lost, as well as his chance of staying out of jail for pawning the high-security Personal Information Device.
Then the guard went limp and the hands that gripped Walden’s arms fell away. The pilot remained clinging to the man’s chest.
“Poet. We have a PID to find,” Warlock advised from where she knelt next to the guard’s bleeding head. “Or have you grown attached to him.”
“No, ma’am. Not at all,” Walden assured her as he lifted his eyes to stare at the retired Marine. “It’s just that my arms won’t move. I can’t seem to catch my breath.”
“You are going on a physical training regimen once we’re done here,” Warlock informed him as she slipped the guard’s gun from the holster. “Let go of your boyfriend and move your butt.”
Warlock didn’t wait for Poet to climb off the guard. She grabbed the back of his jacket and dragged him through the doorway allowing the door to close and lock behind her. A hallway stretched out before them. They could see the faces of dealers and poker room workers at the end of the corridor. Between the workers and Diosa and Walden were two doors. After letting Poet gain his footing, Warlock guided them to the first door.
Chapter 6 – Armed Retrieval
It was metal, locked, and inaccessible.
“What are the chances management would keep trophy devices in the cashier’s cage?” Diosa asked. She aimed the pistols at the end of the hallway keeping an eye on an empty doorframe. The dealers, it seemed, had decided to back out of the line of fire. “Providing they knew what they had.”
“Not much,” guessed Walden as he twisted and pulled on the security door. “The cage is sparsely decorated to prevent theft.”
“Let’s skip the cage. I’ll check the other door,” suggested Warlock as she pulled out the baton, extended it, and handed the weapon to Poet. “Jam this between the handle and the frame to secure the door. And keep an eye on the entrances.”
She moved further from the cashier’s cage and the access door. Halfway to the other door, the reports of gunfire ended. With the distraction finished, someone was sure to check the backroom after discovering the unconscious guard. They were out of time and she needed to check the manager’s office. For a moment, Warlock paused as if reading the sign on the door before raising a foot and kicking the door handle.
The handle popped out of place leaving a hole in the door and dragging the latch mechanism out of the doorframe. If Warlock had time, she would step to the side, question whoever was in the room, and analyze the situation. She didn’t have time.
***
Diosa moved five paces from the door and aimed the guard’s pistol at the ceiling.
“You there! Get away from that door,” she shouted as if ordering a door kicking intruder to stop. After firing two rounds into the ceiling, Warlock ordered. “Get after them. I’ll check the manager’s office.”
Once back at the doorframe, Warlock called into the room, “You in the manager’s office, is everyone OK?”
“We’re fine,” a man answered.
“Lay down any weapons and raise your hands in the air,” she directed. “We are coming in.”
“Lay down my pistol and raise my arms? Why? There’s no one else in here,” the man challenged.
“What would you say if an armed suspect had a gun to your head?” asked Warlock.
There was a pause before the man replied, “Come in.”
Warlock pivoted around the doorframe, dropped into a shooting stance, and sighted in on a man.
***
He stood behind a desk with his hands in the air. A pistol rested on the desktop and Samantha, the dealer, sat twisted around in a chair looking at the doorway.
“You aren’t security,” observed the man.
“Correct,” Warlock said as she crossed the room.
“I don’t keep cash in my office,” the manager informed her. “You’ve bought yourself a world of hurt for nothing.”
Warlock snatched the pistol from the desk and scanned the room. On a bookshelf against the wall, she spotted Walden’s PID. It sat between a few pieces of fine jewelry and several expensive watches.
“Samantha. Be a dear and hand me the Personal Information Device,” Diosa instructed.
“Why not take the jewelry as well. You won’t get far with any of it,” sneered the manager. “Even if you get by my people, Planet Uno’s Security will hunt you down. You’ll pay for this.”
The dealer moved to the bookcase slowly as if afraid she would be shot if she rushed. When she reached it, Samantha picked up the PID and scooped up the jewelry. Then she turned and offered the items to the woman holding two pistols.
Warlock plucked the PID out of the pile of jewelry before backing up to the doorway.
“Poet. Moving,” she announced keeping an eye on the manager. “And don’t forget my baton.”
“Moving,” Walden assured her.
When her pilot appeared in the hallway behind her, the Marine tossed the PID to him. After a salute to the manager and Samantha with one of the pistols, Warlock left the office and joined Poet.
They raced to the breakroom and found it empty. Warlock scanned the corners and under the table searching for threats.
“Door,” Poet informed her as he ran to the exit. “The dealers must have gone through here.”
“Don’t open it,” advised Diosa. She shouldered her pilot aside and opened it a crack. “We’re good. It’s a landing and an exterior door.”
“Excellent. We can get out of here,” Poet stated. “I’m sick of this place. A man can’t find an honest game of poker anywhere these days.”
He quick-stepped across the stairwell and placed a hand on the push bar. Before Walden could open the exterior door, Warlock gripped his shoulder, pulled him back, and shoved him towards the staircase.
“Up,” she instructed. “And don’t stop till you reach the floor with your room.”
“I’ve seen the room. And while it’s nice,” he advised while taking the steps two at a time. “I have to think they’ve canceled my comps.”
***
No guards manned the hallway when they reached it. Voices drifted up the grand staircase as the disruption in the poker room continued. With the factions arguing, none of the supervisors thought about posting security on the upper floors. It made the escape easy and bloodless.
“My room is just down there,” Poet declared but, again, he was jerked back.
“Not down. Up,” Warlock told him as she cupped her hands together and rested them on her bent thigh. “Put your foot here and jump. I’m going to throw you through the hatch.”
Poet glanced up at the tight opening in the ceiling and studied the hatch covering it.
“It appears to be a miniscule egress,” he stammered. “Considering the velocity and mass necessary to overcome the hatch, the force generated will be considerable.”
“What does that mean?” questioned Warlock.
“It’s going to hurt,” Poet replied.
“I’m going to hurt you if you don’t hurry up,” warned the Striker. She waved her hands at the pilot. He inhaled, stepped on them, and was launched into the air. “Remember to grab onto the frame.”
Op File Sanction Page 5