by Bella Knight
Wraith put the duffel back over her shoulder, went back down the stairs, picked up her tea, gave him the duffel, and charged out as if her hair was on fire. He went to the restroom to make his own changes. She made some texts and got some info, all heavily coded. She learned the location of the shooting range and found they would be open for another two hours. Saber came out, got on his bike, put on his helmet, and followed her out.
The gun range smelled like creosote, leather, desert dust, gun oil, and gunpowder. Located in the north part of town at the city limits, it covered so many acres that she wondered how to find their target. She followed Saber, who would know how to find this asshole gunrunner.
He was on the far edge, watching a man in a blue shirt take out long-range targets. If it’s an assassination he wants, I’ll give it to him, she thought. He had a shaven head, his face tattooed into a demon skull. The edges of the demon, skull tattoo she knew were there, peeped out from under his blue, sleeveless shirt. He wore long military shorts with pockets. All the better for your gun collection, she thought.
She selected a chair, and a target. Saber wordlessly took out the sniper rifle and laid it in front of her as if he were giving her a scepter. She took it out, put it together, checked the wind speed and direction, sighted, and took two shots to familiarize herself with the unfamiliar weapon. She sighted again, and took out increasingly difficult targets. She stopped, reloaded, changed seats, and did it again. She changed seats three times, her shots getting farther and farther out. They sounded the bell for last shot. She took it, broke down her weapon, and put it away. She gave it back to Saber, and he took the case as if it were glass. He put it away in the duffel. She swung it on her back and made to leave.
Talamates had been watching her. He walked up to her, and said, “You cops? Ex-military?”
She said, “Fuck you,” and made to walk past him. He touched her arm. She had her hand up to his neck in a killing blow.
He removed his hand before she finished the blow. “Touchy,” he said.
“You touch me again, I remove your hand or your life,” she said. She crossed her accent with her Norwegian grandmother and her Russian father. It came out rather European, and very deadly.
“I take it you aren’t law enforcement?” he said.
She moved towards her gun at the small of her back. He held up his hands. “What about him?” he said, tossing his head at Saber.
“You are a fool,” said Saber, channeling his Vietnamese father. “She is my woman. You think she will hang around a pig? No, she will kill first.”
“I am not a fool,” said Talamates. “I wish to… divest myself of some… useless people.” His voice was pure Mexican, with a flat affect combined with a low menace that was just… strange. Robotic. Like he had a script for which voice he’d use in which conversation.
Simple psychopath, he’s not, thought Wraith.
“I like money and I like Columbian coca,” she said. “If you have much of them, I can help you. If not, don’t waste my time.”
“Why the coca?” he said. “You use?” He mimed sniffing coke.
“No!” she said, recoiling. “Is popular where I am from. Send care packages home.”
“For money,” he said.
“A lot of money,” she said. “My weapons are expensive.”
He nodded. “Can do both. Maybe a gun or two thrown in.”
“I have many guns. I do not need more.”
“But, are they the right kind of guns?” he asked. “Why do you use an American weapon?”
She snorted. “On private plane, can move. But, was in a hurry for job.”
“Completed?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. “Businessman dead.” She made a face of distaste. “Poison. Had to look like heart attack.” She smiled, those icicle-eyes stabbing outward. “I watched. It took some time.”
“One L42 AS50.”
She laughed. “Will be hard to carry back.”
“And two keys of coke,” he said.
“I will do two kills for this.”
“Three,” he said. “And I’ll show you a nice place in the desert to hide your weapons and your money.”
And swing back to pick it up when I’m gone, she thought. “I have my own places,” she said, disdainfully. “Let us go. I tire of this desert wind.”
A very crappy car, an ancient green Pinto, followed the bikes out of the lot, Talamantes’ massive monster Harley and their two smaller machines. A black Jeep followed them later, three car lengths behind, to be replaced by a lime-green metallic Mercedes, itself replaced by a battered silver Camry. They wound their way in and out of neighborhoods, to an extremely northern Las Vegas desert community which, oddly, wasn’t a gated community. It opened up with rows of identical off-white stucco on largish lots. There was a side pad on the lot and a paved front yard. Wraith counted twelve bikes, and several Kawasaki crotch rockets in addition to Harleys and one classic Indian.
They went onto the porch and sat on canvas chairs. A tiny Chicano with slicked-back hair and eyes that never stopped moving, came out with beers.
Wraith turned her nose at it, waved it away. “I never drink when working,” she said. “Shameful habit.”
Talamates lit up a cigarillo. Neither Wraith nor Saber took one when offered, but neither reacted to the sickly-sweet smoke whipping past their faces.
“Fucking Nighthawks,” he said. “Kill them.”
“Which ones?” she said. “You only get three.”
“One-quarter key for every proven target after the first three,” he said.
“These walking corpses have names, or do we just guess?” asked Saber. He nodded as the shifty-eyed man brought out Cokes. He popped the top of his, put it in the holder on the canvas chair.
“Ivy has white hair, like yours, but more yellow,” said Talamante. “She wears it like those Rasta fools.”
“One,” said Saber. “Two more?”
“There is an old man, he should be in a hospital. We wanted to… entertain ourselves with him some more. If you bring him here, you get a bonus. A quarter-key. His name is Henry, and he’s a Paiute. The last one is Ace. He is found at the same bar as the Ivy one. Kill them there, and you get two at once.”
They don’t know about Gregory, or any of the alliances, noticed Wraith.
“It is simple. When shall I begin?” asked Wraith.
“Finish your Coke,” he said, gesturing at Saber. “Then you can begin killing.” He waved over the tiny man. “Carlos here will shadow you.”
She snorted. “He will get me killed, or himself,” she said. “His eyes move too often. Stillness is called for in this profession.” Wraith detected a whiff of relief from the shifty-eyed man.
“I can spare no one else,” he said. “But I must have proof.”
“We shall purchase two burner phones. You shall have one, I shall have the other. I will send photos of their bodies to you. Then, we will both throw our phones into the big lake in the desert.”
“It is acceptable,” he said. “I will send Carlos.”
Wraith handed Carlos a fifty-dollar bill. “Bring me some lime water,” she said. “Lime, not lemon.” He scurried away.
“I use the restroom,” said Saber. “Inside?”
Talamates waved his hand. “Do not get shot,” he said.
Saber moved like he was in a hurry. Wraith gave a sardonic smile.
“Why are you with him?” asked Talamates.
“He makes many arrangements for me,” she said. “It is deadly dull. I wish to,” she said, raising her finger, “pull the trigger. The business, it works well without me. He brings the messages. I am The Messenger.” The Messenger was somewhat well-known in international circles; the only two things known about her was that she was female, and she could shoot anyone, anywhere.
He nodded, modeling being impressed. He failed; he merely saw a tool. She shuddered internally.
“You can work for my organization,” he said, trying to
mimic the voice of honey, but it came across like honeyed vinegar.
Some people missing from your “organization,” she thought. “I am listening,” she said.
“I can keep you in keys of coke, weapons, ammunition, travel,” he said. “Private planes.”
Daddy’s planes, she thought. Probably how he’s running the drugs.
“And money?” she asked, sitting utterly still, as a raptor coasting in air before a dive.
“From time to time,” he said. “Of course, you will take other work. Fill your coffers. Sell your keys. Our contract wouldn’t be… exclusive.” His attempt to sound sexy would have worked if she hadn’t known what he was.
“That… could work,” she said.
Saber came back out, another Coke in hand. “What could work?” he said.
“We’ve been talking about… settling down a little,” she said. “We can use this city as a base. Private planes going in and out.”
“Some work in Mexico City,” offered Talamates. Wraith could hear the lie.
“Very busy. Very polluted. Very easy to enter and exit,” said Wraith. “I can be like smoke there.”
Saber nearly choked at her making a joke of her biker name. “That could work. The money good?”
“Trade,” said Wraith. “Acceptable trade.”
Talamates bristled slightly at the “acceptable” comment. To him, he was being highly generous. “It is an excellent offer.”
Wraith waved her hand. “It is… there is the Carlos person now,” she said, cutting herself off. “Good,” she said, taking the sealed lime water, the phone, and the charger.
She handed the phone and charger to Saber. She was amused as both Talamates and Carlos went for their weapons as she reached into her back pocket. She pulled out a white fast charger.
“Use this,” she said, passing it to Saber.
She pulled out another one, and handed it to Talamates. He handed the fast charger to Carlos. Wraith snorted mentally as Carlos watched Saber unbox the phone, using a switchblade to carefully cut open the plastic bits. He inserted the chip, plugged the fast charger into the bottom, and followed the directions in the box to get the phone turned on, then put in a code. Saber read off the number for Carlos to put in the phone, and Carlos read the number off his phone in Spanish, while Wraith sipped her water.
When it was complete, she stood. “I will go,” she said.
“Do you wish to use our restroom?”
“Are there fools inside smoking pot?” she said. “The smell is very difficult to get out of leather.”
“I do not believe so,” he said. A faint hint of amusement went behind his eyes.
She sniffed disdainfully. “Very well,” she said. She turned to Saber. “Is it dirty?”
He shrugged. “I’m a guy. I don’t care.”
Outright laughter from Talamates. It was a bizarre sound, like the rasping legs of a grasshopper.
She went in, smiling non-committally at nothing. Two were playing a video game, a 3D racing one. Three were clustered around a kitchen table, munching on chips and playing a card game, guns at their right hands. Several were walking down the corridor, going into and out of several bedrooms. The sound of noisy sex was coming from one of them.
She went into the closest bathroom. It was made of cheap, molded plastic. She put on plastic gloves before she searched a little, but found nothing of interest. She took out a tiny fingerprint scanner and scanned the push-button toilet flusher, the sink handles, and the edges of the towel bar. She used the bathroom and rinsed her gloves. She then dried them, put them away, and walked out as if she owned the place. She kept walking, right to her bike. Saber was already there. She gave a little wave, and they rode off.
They knew where Henry’s hospital was. There were fake blood capsules in the bag, a mix of powdered sugar, cocoa powder, red food coloring, and water. But, they had to seem to search for Henry, and they were certainly being followed. They went to several area hospitals, and Wraith switched out her Glock 9mm bullets with blanks. At the second hospital, Ghost followed her into a restroom. There she palmed her two fake blood capsules and pointed to the exact position, a chest shot. She passed a note about the star-shaped hole in his hospital gown hidden by duct tape backing. Ghost smiled, and entered a stall, ready to text.
They gave it more time, searching more hospitals until they “found” Henry’s room. Wraith had no idea what they’d told the nurses, but the room was dark for nighttime, and there were neither nurses nor any other patient in the room. She screwed on a silencer, entered the room, “shot” Henry, posed him with a glassy look in his eyes, took several photos, and ran down three flights of stairs to where her bike was parked around back. Saber followed her to an all-night diner, where they texted the pictures while they dined on fries and drank cherry Cokes. They caught sight of the shifty-eyed Carlos, twice.
They kept their accents, trying not to laugh, as they had spotted the Kawasaki with the sticker of a blue, naked girl in the parking lot, a double for the one at Talamates’ hideout.
“We will find this Ivy person now,” said Wraith. “It may be difficult, as this bar is closed.
“Not so difficult,” said Saber, gesturing with his chin.
Ivy strode up to their table. She dropped the duffel on the table. “I hear you have new friends,” she said.
“Possibly,” said Wraith.
“I want to trade this money for the girl.”
“What girl?” asked Saber.
“The one I like to fuck,” said Ivy. “Open marriage thing. None of your god-damn business.”
“How much?” asked Wraith, her voice low.
“Five thousand,” said Ivy. “Right now.”
Very slowly, so as not to alarm the watchers, she took out her burner phone and sent a text.
“Why not?” texted back Talamates. Send me a photo of the money.
Hoping that the trackers weren’t visible to the camera, whatever they were, she unzipped the bag and took a photo of the money.
“Bring her,” texted Talamates. “And the bag.”
They took a circuitous route. Once at the house, Saber took the bag and Wraith followed Ivy to the front. It was ink-dark now, streetlamps seeming to hoard light. Ivy strode to the door and flung it open. The men inside trained guns on her. She ignored them.
“Where’s Inola?” she bellowed. “I paid good money for her.”
Talamates smoked a cigarillo on a high-backed armchair, looking like a king on a throne.
“You do not seem to be upset about losing Henry,” he said.
“I’m behind Ace,” she shrugged. “We’re in business together. He can’t cross me and I can’t cross him. Not yet, anyway.” She brought breath into her lungs for another bellow.
Talamates held up his hand to forestall another bellow. “Stop making that noise,” he said. “What about the Paiute reservation?”
“What about it?” asked Ivy. “I’m not Paiute.”
“I plan to run some… product through there.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re running guns, blow, or women up your ass,” said Ivy. “I want my fuck buddy, now.”
“Your… woman. She is Paiute.”
“She does what I say. She inherits the property from Henry. Besides, all she cares about are horses and dogs. Hate the things,” said Ivy. “All big and snorty.”
Talamates snorted. “Very well. As I was saying…”
“I brought ten thousand,” said Ivy. “I’ll give you the whole fucking thing if you just shut up and give me my woman. I’ll leave you alone with Nordic Ice Princess here and I can go home.”
“Shoot her,” said Talamates. “I’ll throw in half the ten thousand.”
“Very well,” said Wraith. She brought up the Walther P28, pulled the trigger, and punched a hole in Talamates’ sternum.
Ivy moved like the wind, a gun in each hand, running down the hallway, shooting at anything that moved. Wraith used her considerable talents to
shoot the people shooting at Ivy, knowing Saber had her back. He plugged the three in front. Shots came through the kitchen windows, big booming shotgun blasts. Might leave someone alive, thought Wraith. Might not. Need at least one of those fuckers to talk.
Glass broke in the back of the house, and the garage door slammed open. Wraith laid down covering fire, hoping not to get shot by crossfire or friendly fire. She turned and followed Ivy in.
The first door was wide open and held nothing but bleeding gangbangers. The second door held Ivy, propping up a woman covered in bruises, blood dribbling out of her mouth. Ivy had given her one of her guns and held her around the waist. Inola’s brown-black hair was now streaked with blood and grime.
Inola stopped at the first bedroom and shot everyone there until the gun stopped clicking. “I’m out,” she slurred.
Ivy took the empty gun back and holstered it. Wraith thought about handing over the blanks, but Inola was damaged, not stupid. She took out her Glock and handed it over. Inola fired at the two in the hallway, and the two glassy-eyed ones slumped on the couch. She entered the rest of the clip into Talamates’ sightless eyes. Wraith held out a hand for her gun, and took it back, reloaded it, and gave it back.
“They’re already dead,” said Saber, coming up behind her. Wraith realized she was glad to hear his real voice, with only the faintest whiff of a Thai accent and word choice.
“She’s making sure,” said Wraith.