by Bella Knight
The agent that approved the transfer; one of Saber's oldest friends, a beautiful, bright, sunny agent, died of an aneurysm in the shower two hours before the transfer. The guy that was supposed to check in the truck on the other end died in a car crash two days later. And the truck driver, who supposedly had no idea what he was delivering, was missing. There was blood all over the truck, but no body. Saber was the only other person who knew about the transfer, but he found out about it, then went undercover on an op for three weeks. He had neither the inclination nor the time to tell anyone. Neither his phone or his computer was hacked, and neither were the ones at ATF, or the destination. He was determined to figure it out. He put the cold case aside; he would figure it out… someday.
He spent time on a romantic letter for Wraith. He wrote with a brush and black ink in calligraphy, all on special gray paper with a silver border. He missed her so much it hurt. He hid the letter in the false bottom of one of his dresser drawers. He planned to add ribbons, and maybe seals of red wax.
He put all the work away, and concentrated on the title fight. Muay Thai, or Thai kickboxing, brought in the tourists. It was also big money, and a way for homeless boys to get off the street. He paid into his retirement accounts, his vacation money, but he didn't have much else to spend it on. So, he bankrolled a club for homeless boys to learn Muay Thai, paying for their food, schooling and training. He popped some popcorn, and cheered on the fighter, one from his own small town. The underdog won. He went crazy dancing around the house, which annoyed the kitten, who wanted to sleep.
Saber heard the door rattle, and went for the drawer where he kept his gun. "It's me," said Sigrun. The cat stretched, then leaped off the couch to stalk its human. Sigrun put down her backpack on a table by the door. "Okay if I keep my stuff here?" she asked.
"Fine," he said. Sigrun smiled. "Good." She kicked off her boots, hung up her leathers, and said, "That microwave popcorn?"
"Absolutely," said Saber. "Right next to the microwave."
"Got it," said Sigrun.
She came in and sat down. "Muay Thai?" she asked.
"Game over, sadly," said Saber. He handed her the black remote control. "You have the power."
She laughed and picked an action movie with several long fight scenes. They laughed at the terrible blocking and absurd running-up-a-wall stunts, but enjoyed the relationships among the characters. They watched the final car chase, and turned off the TV.
"That was cool," said Sigrun. "I work a lot of jobs, and don't watch much TV."
"What do you do?" asked Saber.
"I model at two schools. The students love drawing my hair. I clean up the art room, stock supplies, that sort of thing. I am a courier, and I also have to study. I do makeup for the film majors. I'm considering a specialty in that. Makeup, creating masks, that sort of thing. I like working with latex."
"Wow," said Saber. "Have you thought about working with undercover agents?"
Sigrun laughed a long, cool sound. "You get me that gig, Saber, I'll make you dinner every fucking night." She laughed again, and played with his saber earring. "I can make a go bag, one with things ready to go, like wigs, prosthetics, makeup for four or five different looks. Pair it with clothes and jewelry, and you can walk into someplace and walk out looking totally different." She traced his eyes with his fingers. "We can't change being Asian, you know. Hard makeup trick. With glasses, I can give us the illusion of being white, or even Hispanic, or mixed. Black, I can't do with us. At least, not well."
"I'm full Thai," he said.
"Super-amazing Malay mom, part Chinese, part Malay. My mom married an Indian man."
"Are they still alive?"
"Sure," she said. "In Malaysia. I'm here on a student visa. Started out in Boston and worked my way here."
He reached up, played with her earrings; drops with a fall of semiprecious stones. With blue sodalite, rose quartz, black onyx, and garnets.
"You're amazing," he said. "And busy. You probably want to go to bed."
She laughed. "Let's go."
She went to her room to undress, with her earrings, and her soft blue shirt, and her long underwear beneath black jeans. He stripped slowly; sweatshirt, jeans, long underwear. He carried them to the hamper in his bedroom and threw them in.
He came back in and said, "If you're too tired..."
She shook her head, making her braids fly. "Let me explore you," she said, and drew him in closer.
She stroked his chest. She turned him, like a doll, making him snort with laughter. She stroked down his back, making him shiver, going over the bullet holes, and cuts from the occasional blade. She had him hold his hands up, so she could explore and stroke his sides. She walked around him, and stroked his chest.
He pulled back a little. "Shot in the chest, fairly recently. Had broken ribs, couldn't breathe. So, be careful with that."
"That sounds like it really sucked," she said.
She stroked him from head to toe while he was still standing, then led him to the bed. She put him on his stomach and lit some pillar candles; one blue, one purple. She put some sort of soft music on her cell phone with a lot of chimes and flutes, and turned out the light.
She took something out of a drawer, and stroked him with a light almond oil. She bent his arms and legs and fingers, shook out exhausted muscles, and dug out knots he didn't know he had. He let her manipulate him; his arm sockets, leg sockets, fingers, and toes. She spoke in a soft murmur to ask what he wanted, harder or softer. He wondered if he could duplicate what she did, but he doubted it. She wiped down his back, butt, and legs with a warm, wet towel. She flipped him over, put aloe on his face, and dug into his neck muscles. She popped his neck, rubbed his ears and throat, and dug into the tiny muscles at the back of his neck. He moaned with pleasure. She worked on his arms, then his legs. She wiped his face and body, then sat up.
"I wish I could do that to you," he said. "That's a two-hour professional job. Let me pay your phone bill." She laughed. "I'm serious. If you do that to me, I'll pay a bill for each massage you do. That was..."
She kissed him. "I didn't do it for payment."
He cupped the side of her face, her hair falling past his hand like soft water. "Don't ever undervalue yourself. You are amazing, and incredible, and... and I'm running out of words. Let me help you, and you will have more money for classes, and books, and Valkyrie rides."
"Okay," she said. "Skuld has been on me about using my skills and getting paid for them."
He kissed her gently. "I agree with Skuld," he said. "You must be exhausted!"
She laughed. "I am used to getting no sleep. Besides, I model early tomorrow. I can just sleep. Like I said, they like drawing my hair, trying to get all the little complicated braids just right."
"May I hold you?" he asked.
She got up, blew out the candles. "Let's hit the head, then hit the sack." They went to their separate restrooms, then came back to bed, Roxie trailing Saber, the mighty feline hunter. Roxie curled up on the floor, on the comforter where it pooled.
Their lovemaking was slow, sensuous. Saber kissed her everywhere, from her forehead to the tops of her feet. He used long, slow strokes with the tips of his fingers until she was wriggling beneath him. He put his fingers inside her, and she gasped. She was hot, slick, ready for him. He put on a condom, and they went slowly, her on top. She came twice, groaning, head thrown back in pleasure, then he released. They cleaned up, and she fell asleep in his arms.
Once again, Saber woke up to the scent of bacon. He found his breakfast sandwich in the microwave. He ate, showered, dressed, cleaned the litter box, washed up, petted Roxie, and played with her a little, before he headed out.
He wore his worst clothes, sealed in the trunk of his “on-a-stakeout” car. He took out his jewelry, and used makeup to look dirty. He hid in an alley in a cardboard box, and covered himself in ratty blankets and clothes. He drank from a bottle, the liquid actually hot apple juice. He hid heated pads under the blankets
. The wind was like ice. He watched numerous drug buys (microphone and video) hidden in the alley.
Finally, the Big Honcho entered the alley; Orenville Davis, otherwise known as Big Daddy. He was in charge of drug distribution in the northwest part of Las Vegas. He had dreadlocks, wide eyes, and huge hands and feet. He dwarfed every member of his team, from the little-boy runners to Sam the Alley Man in that particular alley near Martin Luther King Boulevard. He walked with an oddly-fast, tip-toed gait for such a big man.
"You got my Benjamins?" he asked Sam. Sixteen days, and this was the first time Big Daddy had ventured into the alley.
He rotated everywhere, always on the move in an armored SUV, checking out his territory. Saber pushed a tiny button while pretending to snore, his mouth opened to show his artificially blackened teeth.
"Six hours' worth," he said. "Be double this in double time." Sam was tall, gangly, skinny. He carried a Tec-9, 9MM in a holster slung on his back.
The gun was hidden by the folds of his duster, a .22 in one boot, and a knife in the other, as well as box cutters in both pockets, along with the little drug packets in their baggies. The ones stamped with evil cartoon characters to set them apart. The money, he kept in small denominations in one pocket, and in his money belt for anything bigger. Only someone supremely stupid would try to shortchange or steal from Sam.
"What you need?" asked Big Daddy.
"Vampire rabbits and mutant hedgehogs," said Sam. Saber fought to keep a slack face. The rabbits were heroin, a very fine grade indeed. The hedgehogs were filled with crystal meth dyed an odd blue color, making them look like rock candy. "And gimme some of dem T-Rexes." The T-Rexes were a potent mix of Ecstasy with a light dusting of PCP, otherwise known as angel dust.
This ugly little mix was why Saber was in a cardboard box. Combining a hallucinogen and a euphoric drug led to higher highs, and things like people thinking they could fly while walking out of hotel-tower windows. There were six dead so far, and two expected to die. One in a deep coma with cranial and spinal damage from leaping into traffic, and one from walking out a third-story window, with a shattered pelvis and a brain bleed. Big Daddy pulled out packets of the plastic baggies, rubber-banded together. Saber twitched a finger twice. That was the go signal.
There were six cop cars, two more cops hidden in the alley, a sniper up above, and a drone. They converged so fast that Sam was still reaching into his duster to swing out the Tec-9 when the sniper got him in the shoulder. They all identified themselves; LVMPD drug squad, DEA, and Saber, the lone ATF guy.
There were a lot of Tec-9’s in this gang, surprising when most of them did just fine with six-shooters and Glocks just six months before. Even the huge profits Big Daddy was raking in wouldn't account for all of those new, shiny weapons. A gun nut named Henrik Sabanson was murdered by his abused wife, and his teenage son Gunter had pawned entire crates of daddy's collection anywhere he could sell it. One crate of Tec-9’s had made it to Big Daddy. Little Gunter Sabanson was now in prison for selling his father's things on the same day of his death. He was probably going to do more time than his mom would, for killing his dad.
Saber reached around, got the Tec-9 off the bleeding, whining Sam. He checked the serial number. "We're in business on my end," he said.
"Outstanding," said Wraith, smiling at her man. "Now, go and clean up. You smell like this alley."
He said, "That was the point, Ma'am."
Saber took the Tec-9 into evidence, took lots of photos, took his own cameras with him, but left the others for LVMPD and his lady. He left the contents of the cardboard box for the next homeless person, and scooted back to his office. He dropped off the evidence, camera, and SD card from his digital camera, took a shower, and dressed in clothes from his locker. The homeless-man clothes went back into the sealed container in the trunk of his car. He hated having to have one; he loved his Harley. But, he needed a mobile command center, and the black Datsun was it.
He went back in, filled out so much paperwork he actually thought he'd never finish, wolfed down some orange chicken at a fast-food Chinese place, and went to see what they got in the raid. They had hit six, total, safe houses used by Big Daddy. Two were drug manufacturing centers with women counting the money while stripped to their bras and panties. Three were businesses, fronts for Big Daddy --a dry cleaner, a laundromat, and a pawnshop, each with beds in the back, big enough for Big Daddy. The sixth was the well-run apartment building Big Daddy owned, where he kept his higher-class whores and his own apartment.
"Found your box of Tec-9’s," said Lieutenant Trudy Stately of the LVMPD’s drug squad. "Took photos, bagged 'em and tagged 'em. Got serial numbers from the same lot on his six most trusted people. Two are in the morgue, but their guns are here."
Saber looked at her photos, then checked each and every evidence bag, checking off the serial numbers on his tablet PC. "Got two missing," he said.
Detective Fatima Orono slid around the corner, evidence bag in each hand. "Got some guns, Lou. Where you want them?"
The lieutenant hooked a thumb at Saber. "They're his."
Saber took the bags, and checked off the serial numbers. "That's them." He handed them back. "Where'd you find this one?"
"You'll never believe this one," said Fatima. "Your lady was his newest, most trusted lieutenant, since she pretended to be blood thirsty and crazy as a loon. So, she got one on her initiation, her beatdown into the life."
Saber's face grew still. "I thought her face was puffy," he said.
Lieutenant Stately touched his arm. "They took her to Valley, and she's fine. Lacerations and bruises, mostly."
"Mostly?" asked Saber, his voice cold.
"They branded her," said Stately. "On the shoulder. A little skull."
Saber's eyes grew frosty. "This evidence. Must be. Perfect. In every way." He handed back the bags, and slid his tablet into the special pouch he had sewn into his leather jacket.
Lieutenant Stately nodded once, crisply. "We will dot every ‘i,’ cross every ‘t,’ I swear."
Saber nodded at her, unable to speak past the dry mouth, frozen heart that had stopped beating, and the sound of air rushing in his ears began. He took his tablet back out and filed everything he needed to file. All while he paced the super-long hallway, entered the elevator, and went up to the parking garage, he abruptly realized he shouldn't be driving, and called an Uber. He got to Valley, and found her filling out reams of paperwork. He took out his credit card, and wordlessly handed it to her. She waved it away, filled out another form, then stood.
"I'm leaving now," she said. "We're good?"
The blonde at the window kept typing. "Just a few more questions..."
Saber leaned over, put his badge on the counter. "Finish them. Right now. We're leaving."
She stopped, stuttered, and asked some very quick questions. "Finished," she said. Saber pocketed his badge, and followed his lady out.
"Your bike here?" he asked her.
"Was going to ask you the same thing," she said.
They walked up to the taxi stand, and were home within sixteen minutes. He walked her in, and the kitten greeted them with an imperious yowl.
"We have a cat?" asked Wraith.
He helped her out of her jacket, and wriggled out of his as she knelt to pick up the kitten. He kicked off his boots, and he took off hers as she leaned against the wall, and looked the purring kitten in the eyes.
"Roxie," he said.
"She's gray all over," said Wraith, "with blue eyes." She petted the cat with a finger. Roxie fought bravely, but succumbed to the head scratches.
Saber led Wraith over to the couch. He sat he down, and put an ottoman under her legs. He looked in the refrigerator, and found food in clear, labeled, plastic containers. He put together the last of the smoked chicken, shredded carrots and bell peppers. All in a wok with some sesame oil. He put on ramen noodles to boil, and heated the chicken and veggies. He made a peanut sauce of half chunky peanut butter and half soy s
auce, then drained the water from the cooked noodles, added them to the wok, and tossed them in the peanut sauce. He put the concoction into two bowls, put them on a tray with two cans of cola, plastic chopsticks, and napkins, and fed Wraith.
They both ate mechanically, neither one able to talk. He cleaned up the wok, rinsed the bowls and chopsticks, put them in the dishwasher, grabbed plastic wrap and electrical tape, and led them both to the bath. He covered her bandages and taped them up, and led her into the shower. He washed her carefully; watching blood, grime, and gunpowder residue flow down the drain. He leaned her up against the wall of the shower stall, washed himself, then turned off the water. He led her out of the shower, and wrapped her up in the huge gray towel. He put a small towel on her head.
He led her to the little stool in front of the vanity in their bedroom. He gently patted her dry, he towel, then blow-dried her hair, then wrapped her in a warm robe. He dried himself as she applied aloe and burn cream to various parts of her body. He dressed in sweatpants and heavy socks, leaving his arms bare for her. He dressed her in a camisole and yoga pants. He got her into bed, propped up against the backboard. She grabbed the remote control and put some nonsense movie on the flat screen TV.
He went back into the kitchen, made a pot of blackberry tea with honey, and put it on a tray with two mugs and a box of chocolates. The kitten had already located her again, and was nestled in her arms, purring its little, kitten heart out. She put it under the comforter with her. Saber poured her tea, then his. He brought his around to his side of the bed, and put it on its nightstand. He propped the pillows up behind him, and they watched movies with nonsensical plots.