by Abigail Roux
“Care to elaborate on that?” Nikolaus asked.
Brandt was very close-mouthed all of a sudden, and getting information out
of him was like pulling teeth. Carl took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was getting a headache.
“We need to be fully equipped,” Brandt said evasively. “It’s going to take…
uh… fuck.”
“You can’t remember?” Shawn asked flatly.
“It’s been a long fucking while since I’ve been this low on supplies, okay?
It’ll come to me.”
“Doesn’t matter what type of fucking flower we lay down,” Thiago said
quietly, his eyes unfocused and his voice far away. “If she’s being watched the
deliverer will have to disguise himself somehow.”
“How does she know how to get in touch with you after you give her the
flower?” Remy asked curiously as he sprawled himself out upside down onto the
floor and rested his feet in Thiago’s lap. Carl looked at him curiously, wondering how
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many facets of personality the man had. He seemed so childlike sometimes. It was
frighteningly disarming. “How does she know which customer is requesting what?”
he asked as he looked up at them from the floor.
“She always has in the past,” Brandt said with an unconcerned shrug. “It’s
not my job to know her business. Just mine.”
“And yours would be picking flowers?” Remy asked with a grin as he looked
at Brandt upside down. He looked completely ridiculous. And though Carl hated to
use the word in reference to the young killer, completely adorable. It was no wonder Shawn couldn’t resist him.
“I blow shit up,” Brandt replied with a grin.
Remy raised an upside down eyebrow and smiled brilliantly, and Carl barely
kept himself from groaning as he saw Shawn stiffen ever so slightly. This just kept getting worse and worse. Carl wondered whether Brandt and Remy were flirting with the express purpose of pissing Shawn off. If they were, it seemed to be working.
“What sort of disguise?” Nikolaus inquired of Thiago. Both of them seemed
to be blissfully unaware of anything other than the discussion they should have been having, and Carl wondered if he was the only one able to sense these kinds of
emotional disasters waiting to happen. Sometimes it seemed that way.
“Well, one of us can’t just waltz up there with a rose between his teeth,”
Shawn said irritably. “If she’s being observed, which she almost certainly is–”
“Roses!” Brandt said triumphantly.
They all looked at him blankly as he beamed back at them.
“What color?” Remy asked finally, and for some reason, Carl found the
innocent inquiry phenomenally amusing. He bit his bottom lip in hopes of refraining from laughing.
“Different colors mean different things, ja?” Nikolaus offered as he leaned forward and looked at Brandt. Carl snorted and clapped his hand over his mouth.
“There’s yellow, pink, red, white… aren’t there black roses?” Shawn said
seriously as he looked across the room at Thiago.
Carl began to laugh silently, his shoulders shaking as he tried to contain it.
Remy snickered slightly, and Thiago smiled fondly at Carl as he tried to control
himself. Carl shook his head as if to say that he had no idea why he was laughing, and Remy began to laugh.
“There’s different colors of red, too,” Nikolaus offered helpfully. “They all
mean something different, socially, I mean.”
“I doubt there’s one for ‘I wanna blow shit up!’” Carl wheezed as the
conversation finally overtook him and he began to laugh raucously.
His laughter set off Remy, who doubled up on his side and clutched at his
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stomach as he laughed silently, and even Thiago covered his mouth with his hand as he looked up at Shawn apologetically. Shawn narrowed his eyes and huffed, and Carl buried his face in Brandt’s shoulder so he couldn’t see Shawn glaring at him.
“You blokes are hopeless,” Shawn said in disgust as he walked away toward
the kitchen.
Two hours later Carl was still laughing raucously, but they were far beyond
the flowers. They were discussing costumes, and who should be the one to deliver the flowers to the table.
“They’re after two men,” Remy said for the fifth time. “That’s what the
Washburn kid told us.”
“Yes, Remy, we heard you,” Shawn said testily. “You’ll observe from
somewhere close, if there’s suitable cover. We’ll have to keep you out of sight.
Nikolaus as well, since you two are the ones they’re really after now.”
“That’s not my point,” Remy said irritably, having been interrupted for the
fifth time. “They’ll be watching every man that goes near her.”
“No.”
“Shawn!”
“No!”
“What’s the problem?” Thiago asked carefully.
“He’s trying to make one of us dress as a woman,” Shawn said accusingly,
and Carl laughed merrily at the insulted look on Shawn’s face.
“Well, why not make Dixie do it?” Brandt asked. “He’s pretty like a girl.”
“Hey!”
“No one is dressing as a girl!” Shawn shouted as he stood and began to pace.
Carl briefly wondered why he was so adamantly against what was decidedly
their best option. He and Nikolaus were once more afflicted with the giggles as they both imagined any of the others in a dress, and Carl decided not to worry about
Shawn’s reasons. He thought it was funny simply because he knew it wouldn’t be him in the dress, and for that reason Carl could afford to laugh.
“Don’t be making a bahbin about it,” Remy said good-naturedly. “You’ll
make a lovely woman.”
Shawn growled at the younger man as Remy snickered quietly.
“Making a what?” Carl asked in amusement.
“He says I’m pouting,” Shawn huffed in explanation.
“Well, it’s either you or Thiago,” Remy reasoned with a laugh. “Brandt and
Carl are both too big to pull it off. And you’ve already made it clear that Niko and I
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are to stay out of sight. So… what… do you want to draw straws, or… ooh we could
dress you both up and see who looks better!”
Carl and Nikolaus both laughed gleefully, and Brandt leaned forwards and
smiled expectantly, looking like a lion preparing to pounce.
“I will not wear a dress,” Shawn growled dangerously.
“Oh, come on! It’s not like you haven’t done it before!” Remy shouted at
him with a laugh.
“That was different!” Shawn squeaked.
“Oh? Was our life on the line then, too?”
“Well… yes, but… that was different!” Shawn repeated desperately as he
paced back and forth.
“How many exits are there, Brandt?” Thiago asked as he ignored Shawn’s
pacing.
“She’s outside,” Brandt said with a shrug.
“I think what he means is….” Carl looked at Thiago for permission to
continue, and Thiago nodded. “If you were going to trap her, how many things would you blow up to block the path?” Carl asked with a little smile.
“Three,” Brandt said without hesitating.
Carl had finally figured out how Brandt’s brain worked. That in itself was a
frightening concept. Carl made a note to
check up on his own sanity with one of the others tonight. Thiago or Nikolaus, maybe. Perhaps Shawn. Definitely not Remy.
“There are three distinct lanes,” Brandt said as Carl winked at Thiago and
received a grin in return. Shawn still paced and Remy watched him in amusement.
Carl leaned back and threw his hand over the back of the couch, and Nikolaus settled into the crook of his arm as naturally as if they had been doing it for all their lives.
“One person could cover each one with little to no difficulty. Though, with only the handguns, Trigger’d have to be at the largest one, since I assume he’s the best shot. I can wire the smallest with what I have laying around here and blow it all to Hell if need be.”
“What exactly do you have ‘laying around?’” Remy asked in alarm as he
tore his attention away from Shawn.
Carl’s mind went back to that timer that was missing yesterday, and he
looked at Brandt in concern. Had it ever been found? Carl couldn’t remember.
“I’ll put something together,” Brandt said with a shrug. “If Dixie and Gizmo
have to lay low, then you’ll have to decide which of the two of you is the best shot, and conversely, which one can slip away the easiest if it goes to shit.”
Carl was impressed with the logic, and apparently so were the others. Brandt
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never ceased to surprise him. In that respect, the big man reminded Carl of Remy, and vice versa. Carl suddenly felt very sorry for Shawn. No wonder he was so fucking
confused. Thiago blinked at Brandt blankly, and Shawn stopped pacing and stared at him.
“That’s settled then!” Remy declared with a smile as he jumped to his feet
and turned to grin at Shawn. “Seeing as how you’re the only one in the room to have ever shot someone else in the ass, accidentally or otherwise,” he said maliciously as Shawn growled wordlessly at him. “What do you suppose?” Remy asked as he turned
to look first at Thiago and then at Brandt, Carl, and Nikolaus. “He’s a what, ten?
Twelve, maybe?”
“Might need to take him to be fitted,” Carl snickered as he hid behind Brandt
once more.
XXIII.
SHAWN couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. If these bastards thought they
were going to get him in a dress and out in public without a gun held to his head, they were sadly mistaken. Yes, he’d worn that getup several years back, but their lives had been in immediate danger and Shawn had been bleeding quite profusely at the time. It had been necessary. That’s right. Necessary.
Their lives were not now in immediate danger, though. And no one was
bleeding. Not yet, anyway. If Remy took one more step with that measuring tape, then blood would definitely flow.
“Come now, Beignet, be a sport,” Remy said coaxingly as Shawn growled at
him like a cornered animal. He was cornered. They had him boxed in, Remy and Brandt, and Shawn was simply trying to decide which one to go after first before he attacked. This was their revenge for his being such a bastard, apparently, and though Shawn was more than willing to make amends for his behavior in many ways, this
was not the way he planned on doing it.
“I will not ‘be a sport’,” Shawn spat. “There are other ways of doing this.
You’re just being a twat for the hell of it.”
“So? You fuck around with people’s minds for the hell of it,” Remy said
bluntly. “And this is what you get as punishment.”
“Well then, I want to see Brandt in ruffles,” Shawn shouted angrily, pointing
at Brandt as he glared at Remy. “You’re not the only one who got fucked with here!”
“I didn’t fuck with you,” Brandt said indignantly as he took a step closer. He
looked like he was preparing to lunge forward and Shawn turned to face him,
chalking Remy up as the lesser threat at the moment.
“Fuck you, Everett,” Shawn growled angrily. “You may be crazier than fuck,
but it’s no excuse for what you said.”
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Brandt’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Shawn didn’t care. He was still
stinging from the ‘discussion’ they’d had the night before, and he wanted to lash out.
He wanted to hurt something. Brandt, preferably. Maybe he would take a page from
Brandt’s book and blow something up. What Brandt had said to him hadn’t bothered
him quite so much as it probably should have, but knowing he had hurt Remy so
needlessly made it hard to look anyone in the eye, especially Brandt or Remy. He felt guilty and hurt and more than a little confused, and he vented those unfamiliar
emotions in the only way he knew how. Anger.
“Perhaps later,” Brandt responded haughtily as he took another step forward.
Shawn growled wordlessly in warning and saw Remy step closer in the periphery of
his vision. He knew he was done for when Remy’s movement distracted him, but he
put up a fight worthy of a Class One agent, regardless of the odds stacked against him.
Brandt lunged forward and wrapped his muscular arms around Shawn,
pinning his arms to his sides and pressing their torsos together so hard that Shawn was bereft of the ability to breathe for precious seconds as Remy leapt into the fray.
Shawn struggled and growled and cursed and kicked and even got a bite in
on someone’s hand as all three of them went crashing to the floor, but it was all in vain. He landed on top of Remy, who immediately thrust the measuring tape forward around Shawn’s waist and then wrapped his sinewy arms and legs around Shawn’s
body from behind. Brandt made certain that Remy had Shawn’s arms pinned before
he reached down and took the tape in his own hands, winding it around Shawn’s
midsection.
“Quit squirming!” Brandt yelled irritably as he tried to read the tape, and
Shawn got in a good knee to his ribs in retaliation. He didn’t want to hurt either of these men or he would have been free some time ago and having a nice relaxing
cigarette as they both bled to death on the expensive white carpet, but he didn’t mind causing a few bruises here and there. He smiled grimly as Brandt whuffed and cursed colorfully. Brandt spared him a glare before jabbing Shawn in the ribs with his fist.
The pain was just sharp enough to make Shawn stop struggling long enough for
Brandt to get a read on him. “Eighty centimeters,” he gasped as he pressed his weight down on Shawn to keep him from going anywhere.
Remy was probably being squished with the weight of both men on him, but
Shawn found he really didn’t give a fuck. You reap what you sow.
“Eighty centimeters is roughly thirty-one inches, isn’t it?” Thiago asked
casually as he walked up to look at the three men struggling on the floor.
“Thiago! Help,” Shawn panted pitifully. Thiago looked at him
sympathetically, but shook his head and took a casual sip of the God-awful mate he always drank.
“Sorry, amigo,” Thiago said sorrowfully. “If it’s not you, it’d be me, and I’d like to keep my dignity, gracias.”
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Shawn narrowed his eyes at the other man and growled in the back of his
throat. Brandt attempted to slip the measuring tape under his arms without making Remy let up on the pressure he was exerting, and Shawn began to struggle again.
“That’s right, Zed, keep your dignity,” Carl said happily as he came to stand
beside Thiago and looked down at them as well. “Eighty… thirty-one. So what dress size is that?”
Thiago shrugged and Nikolaus came up to stand beside them an
d observe as
well as Shawn struggled with Brandt and Remy and the Measuring Tape of Doom.
Another swift punch to the ribs knocked the breath out of him and before he could recover, Brandt slid the tape mostly under his arms and up his body. He now looked directly into Brandt’s amused brown eyes, and he narrowed his own eyes hatefully
and growled again.
“Thirty-one inches is a… uh… ow! Fuck! Bastard! Hold still!” Remy ground
out as Shawn shifted his body weight and dug his hip into Remy’s groin. “It’s a size fourteen.”
“How do you know that?” Thiago asked suspiciously.
Remy laughed with difficulty, and Shawn thrust his hips upwards and back
down hard to accentuate the point that Remy should not reveal where he got that information, or why they had needed it. And it wasn’t just because it would be
slightly embarrassing to explain. Some things went beyond pride.
“I am sorry, mes amis,” Remy gasped as he tightened his hold on Shawn.
“That’s Classified. Top Secret, if you will,” he said cheekily before biting down hard on Shawn’s shoulder.
Shawn cried out in anger and surprise and pain and almost managed to
dislodge Brandt as he bucked upward.
Carl turned to Nikolaus and Thiago and murmured, “Ten to one they end up
fucking.”
“Twenty,” Thiago and Nikolaus responded in automatic voices.
Shawn grew angrier than ever. He was not going to drop some stupid
fucking flower on some stupid fucking table like some stupid fucking spook in some stupid fucking spy novel, and he was not going to wear some stupid fucking dress
while doing it.
“Stupid fucking bastards,” he ground out as he tried desperately to free
himself.
“So that size, is that U.S. or U.K.?” Nikolaus asked curiously after several
more moments of silent struggling.
“U.S.,” Remy offered in a strained voice as Shawn pressed his body
backward and tried to squeeze the life out of the younger man.
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“What’s the conversion?” Nikolaus asked.
No one answered and Brandt finally got the tape wrapped around Shawn’s