by Henry Roi
Noticing my interest was more intent on the girl-beast than her, Blondie folded her arms and glowered. I'm usually all over her after a job like this. And it's been a long time since we've done a job. Before I could explain my leering was out of respect, Big Guns refocused our attention on the not-quite-finished job at hand.
“Trouble,” he said in my ear.
I froze. “Where?”
“Two cars pulled up. Doesn't look like a mob.”
“It couldn't be. The EMP prevented anyone from calling for help.” There are probably a dozen people out front wondering why their phones and cars won't work.
“There must have been a meeting scheduled. Diep just got out of one car. What's he doing here?” he muttered in thought. “Four guys got out of the other car. His personal guard. They are a little more capable than the lons you put to sleep. Be careful.”
“All right.” I looked at the girls. “Party's not over yet.”
“How many?” Blondie said.
“Five. One is Diep.”
Blondie's eyes popped.
“Who's that?” Shocker said. Her demeanor was completely different now. More human.
“He runs the Tiger Society,” Blondie breathed, mentally floored as the ramifications dawned on her. “What the fuck???” She took a breath, composed her hair.
“I'm not sure why he's here and the Two-Eleven and OBG bosses aren't. And I don't care. This is an opportunity to grab the snake by the head.” I swung my arms to prevent stiffness.
Shocker tapped her fists together. Clang. “Let's get them before I cool down.”
My envy betrayed me again as the girl-beast marched over and punched a guy that was trying to get up. He exhaled sharply as the blow hit behind his ear, knocking his head back to the deck, asleep. Blondie glared at me, fuming, and I realized I should have at least complimented the way her ass looked during the fight before she spun on a toe and stalked away to the kitchen entrance, standing to one side.
I sighed, looked around the yard. Several dogs were sniffing the men on the ground. The one still alive in the ring was trying to leap the wooden wall, limping around with his long pink tongue wagging, too injured to make the jump. Several wads of cash and baggies of drugs were in the grass. The stereo and speakers on the deck were destroyed and scattered, beer bottles and cups and knocked out Special K victims lay strewn everywhere. The tranquilizer had definitely supplemented our fist work. If it wasn't so damn smart it would feel like cheating. I inhaled with a deep sense of achievement.
I walked to the kitchen door. The girls stood on the sides, out of sight of anyone inside. Diep and his crew spotted me as soon as they walked into the kitchen. Through the sliding glass door I saw several girls and Little Guy all talking at once and gesturing at the backyard. Diep barked an order. Little Guy ushered the girls into the living room quickly, heads down, and four stocky men surrounded their boss like shields, one drawing a gun from a shoulder holster.
“Shit. Gun.” I told my crew. Big Guns groaned. I looked at Blondie, Shocker. “Five guys, one known gun. What do you want to do?”
“Shit, babe. Fuck them up.” Blondie flexed her leather fists around the iron bars.
Shocker looked at me, eyes of a demon, in Fight mode once again. She growled, “They won't be quick enough. Let them get close.”
Oh, man! Was this chick beyond awesome or what?
I nodded, put on my greasy, hate-me-pimp-face, and yelled, “Hey Diep! You fucking peasant. Lon,” pussy. “Your boys throw a shitty party, man. They couldn't even handle a little S and M action from two hookers.”
Blondie groaned in exasperation. Shocker directed her beastly eyes at me. I gave them a greasy car salesman smile, then watched Diep and his boys rush out the door to confront me.
The leader of the Tiger Society was small framed but tall for a Vietnamese. He looked very American. His hair was cut in a preppy style, mustache and goatee trimmed low on a lean, tawny face. Eyes too close together, giving him a mean countenance. Dress slacks, black silk shirt. His presence said chief, and he gave me the feeling his rep for cruelty wasn't exaggerated. He pointed a finger at me, angry. “Who-” he started, freezing at the sight of the carnage.
The pause was all the girls needed. Blondie announced her presence with a hook thrown into the crotch of the gunman, instantly grabbing and wrestling the pistol from his hands. She leaned back then forward quickly, hammering the weapon into his stomach and head repeatedly. He folded under her vicious assault.
Shocker said hello with two loaded, huge right-hands back to back, WHAM! WHAM! pulverizing the heads of the two closest to her. They went down awkwardly and she kept hitting them, arms churning out serious hurt with every thudding shot.
Blondie aimed the gun at the remaining bodyguard, who was trying to pull a gun from behind his back. “Don't do it,” she warned, pointing the muzzle at his eyes. He made a frustrated sound of anger, held his hands up reluctantly. Shocker clocked him in the back of the head, stumbling as he fell against her.
In the seven seconds it took for this to take place, Diep had turned to see his men being attacked, turned back to see me start after him. He pulled a gun from under his shirt and managed to get behind Shocker as she tussled and dropped the bodyguard. He grabbed her around the shoulders, put the gun to her head. She stilled, eyes bugging, and a most distressing and unexpected emotion crossed her features: fear.
She's been shot before.
Diep screamed at us, a cornered animal. “I'll shoot her! Get away! I'll splatter her brain-”
His hand holding the gun exploded in a red spray, the bullet going through his palm, into the vinyl siding he slumped against. Blood, skin and bits of metacarpals coated Shocker's hair, cheek, arm and dress, dripped on the ground. The gun clattered on the patio. Diep roared in agony, voice high, ululating. He clutched his wrist in an attempt to tourniquet the flow of arterial blood skeeting everywhere. He leaned against the house, eyes rolling wildly from the trauma, whimpering, then screaming, calling out names to come help.
Shocker decided to be of assistance. He looked up at her. She zeroed in on his raised chin and sent her brass hook on a bombing mission, grunting with animalistic femininity as it knocked him out of his misery. He slid down the wall, fell on his side, face on cement. His pain quiet, we could hear the sounds of summer in the neighborhood, the faint techno still beating in the living room. Shocker leaned down and took the belt off a bodyguard, looped it around Diep's wrist tightly and sat him up. Raised his injured arm over and behind his head, leaving it there. “It's above his heart. He won't bleed to death before the EMTs get here,” she said, trying to wipe blood off her face. It just smeared like war paint, the sight and smell causing all kinds of weird sensations in my mouth. I wanted to bite something.
“Who shot him?” Blondie said, looking out over the fence in the direction it had been fired from. “Did Big G bring a rifle?”
“No,” I replied, knowing who gave us sniper support. I shielded my eyes, searching the roof tops of the many houses visible on the next block. The shingles were bright with afternoon light. One home over a hundred yards away had a chimney with a figure dressed in black lying on the side of it. A huge black rifle on a tripod was propped in front of him, silenced, I assumed, since we never heard the shot. I could feel the cross-hairs as he surveyed us with his scope. I help up a hand, flashed an OK in appreciation.
Blondie saw him, too. “Who the freak is that?”
“Loc,” Shocker breathed.
I grinned broadly, pleased with my team. “Our new recruit.”
VI. F#@k That
I squatted down behind my girl and said to her ass, “Good job!” I high-fived her cakes before she could scoot out of the way, grinning at her yelp. I ducked back from her responding swing.
“Fucker! And just when I was about to show you another of Victoria's Secrets.” She folded her arms, turned her head away.
We stood in our apartment bedroom. Blondie wore a large white towel wr
apped around her, a smaller one on her head. She smelled like exotic bath oils. I was naked. I sat on the bed, took my socks off. “Sorry Babe. You know I can't help myself. Your ass did such a masterful job mesmerizing all those gangsters, I just had to give kudos.”
“Mmm-hmm, right.” The setting sun beamed its rays through the huge window behind her. Tie-dyed hues played artfully on her face and white shrouded curves. She smiled forgiveness. “All right then. Go take your shower. I'll be ready when you get out.” She ran a hand down my chest, stomach, and flicked a finger at the head of my penis.
Ow! my Johnson complained happily. I resisted the urge to take her right then, and padded quickly to the shower, ignoring the meat-seeking missile slapping my legs as if to try and turn me around.
Clean, dry, with a pair of black boxer-briefs on, I walked back into our bedroom. The space was large and welcoming. The carpet was blue, walls a simple white with several motorcycle and boxing scenes painted directly on the sheetrock in one corner. The opposite side of the room was one of my masterpieces (if I do say so). Airbrushed in realistic style was a field of flowers, grass tall up close, shorter in the background. Walking in the middle of the field were three very primitive, very naked women. Blonde. Brunette. Scarlet. Raw gorgeous, no makeup or expensive hair styles. No jewelry. Their beauty was in the most natural state, without any possibility of shallowness. When I viewed them I felt refreshed. When I asked my roommate what she thought she waggled her hand to indicate mediocrity and said, “Aaa…”
The head of the bed was positioned right under them, facing the window, white sheets glowing the same golden red as the hair of my scarlet fantasy girl, a magical nest for the real goddess sprawled in the middle on top of several pillows. Legs crossed at the ankles, tall black boots ending mid-thigh. A lacy garter of some material I didn't know but instantly liked was clipped to them. Her lingerie was purple and light green, lacy white around her boobies. Cute little darker green bows topped her shoulders, more in her hair, which was almost dry now, long locks framing her makeup-less face. My eyes moved down. Her stomach was bare and mouth-watering. She rubbed her hands along her sides, over her stomach, slowly, sensuously, eyes half closed. She wasn't acting now; this was the real Blondie. The woman that loved me. Her manner was completely different than when she was working her charms on marks. Her sincere, vulnerable seduction was just for me, really special, and much hotter.
She opened her eyes and said in a tender, breathy voice, “You like?”
“Oh. Yeah.” I got onto the foot of the bed, on my knees, started rubbing her boots.
She chortled in pleasure. “Well, you chewed up the last lingerie I bought- you still owe me for that, by the way- so I decided to go a different route this time.”
“Different? How could you possibly look any sexier?”
For an answer, she opened her legs, showing me the sexiest pair of crotch-less panties on Earth, a purple see-through garment that showcased her blonde pubbies like jewelry at Zales. My erection was borderline painful. She saw my other brain trying to take the controls and put a boot on my chest, pushed me back, smiling slyly. You owe me mega foreplay her beautiful eyes narrowed at me.
I held my hands up. “Hey. If your kitty cat did that to those panties, I'm not going anywhere near that thing.”
She laughed loudly. “Yeah right.” She put her legs under her quickly, sat up on her knees, mouth an inch from mine, bright eyes staring into me. She stroked the front of my underwear, whispering, “You'll go near 'that thing' when I say so. Understand?”
All I could do was moan in response.
* * *
“I've been waiting out here forever,” Shocker complained as Blondie let her in the front door. “I saw your lights blinking on and off real fast, and I heard music, so I knew you were here. What the hell?”
“We have a Clapper,” I elaborated, sitting in a chair in the living room.
Blondie bit her lip, closed the door.
“A Clapper? So you two just hang out and clap your hands to music?”
“Yeah. Let's say we were clapping our hands.” I smiled facetiously.
Blondie cleared her throat, fighting a grin.
It dawned on Shocker what was making the lights blink as if a stoned lab monkey were in control of the switch. She sighed, shook her head. “You freaks have so much sex you make me want to take a pregnancy test.”
“Where's Ace?” Blondie said, sitting on a gray leather divan that matched my chair, a small glass table between us, lamp on, illuminating her fresh glow of makeup. The room had a low ceiling to give a feeling of closeness, hardwood floor, no rugs, a small TV that we never used. The art on the walls was a mix of weirdness. Our tastes in paintings went from gruesome evil to breathtaking landscapes and a Marilyn Monroe portrait. We had a shitload of art all over the apartment.
Shocker inspected the seat next to Blondie before sitting on it hesitantly. “Ace is at Bobby's house. No telling what they're up to. Perry will be here in a few minutes. He's going to cook us a big meal.” She smiled fondly, adjusting her snug fitting tank, the power source for her silky black compression sleeve. “Any news from Big Guns?”
I looked at Blondie. She said to Shocker, “Right after we crashed the Two-Eleven's party Diep went to the hospital, where an army of gangsters showed up. Biloxi PD had to make them leave. The entire Tiger Society has been alerted, nationwide. Big G said every TS affiliate old enough to hold a weapon has been armed and given our descriptions.”
“Good,” Shocker smiled. “I don't mind being recognized in this instance.”
I laughed. “Next time we're filming it.”
“When is the next time, Mister President?” They both looked at me, but before I could answer someone knocked on the door.
“I got it.” Blondie padded barefoot to the door, yellow shorts and white blouse seeming to make her hair brighter. She peeped through the hole, squealed in delight and jerked the door open, arms wide to give Perry a hug. Bobby and Ace crowded behind him, all smiles.
Perry walked into her arms, hands full of grocery bags, Tupperware. “Sweetheart,” he greeted her.
She squeezed around his shoulders with dainty cuteness, stepped back, waved everyone in and closed it. Pointed to the kitchen, the living room. “Make yourselves at home.”
Perry nodded to Shocker, who stood to hug him quickly. Nodded to me, bags crinkling in his huge hands. “I heard you guys had quite a day. Thought I'd help replenish those weapons you call arms and legs.” He grinned, walked into the kitchen, Blondie following.
I looked at Shocker. “What a swell guy.”
She smiled. “You won't say that after he swells your gut with all the food he's going to spoil us with.”
“True.” I patted my stomach. It gave a slight growl, reacting to the sublime smell I knew would be wafting from my kitchen any minute.
Ace leaned over and kissed Shocker. “Dear,” he said endearingly. I squinted at his shirt. WIRED was proclaimed in artfully colored wires and electronic components.
“Hey you. What you have two been working on?” she said, smiling Hello to Bobby.
Big Swoll answered. “Wrecking.” He stood in front of the TV facing us, hands in jeans pockets, another bodybuilder tank top showing off his immensity, this one fluorescent orange.
“Ace, you said before that you have a 'Wrecker.' I'm not as computer savvy as you and Blondie. Care to explain what that is?” I queried.
“He's Apex,” Blondie said as Ace opened his mouth. She licked something off her finger, walking out of the kitchen.
Ace never closed his mouth, staring at her incredulously. “How…”
Blondie smiled at him. Turned to me. “Remember when we read about botnets?”
I nodded. “A supercomputer comprised of millions of connected PCs and laptops.”
Blondie's eyes gleamed. “It's beyond my experience, though I've always wanted to design malware to get a system like that going.”
“No you don't,”
Ace muttered, staring at the carpet.
My girl shrugged. “Botnets start with creating a Trojan virus inside a 'free download' ad.” She didn't let his cynical attitude affect her excitement. “Email it to a gazillion people and sit back and count how many marks click on it. You'll have control of their computer's processing power. Take over a few million computers and you'll have more processing capability than the world's best supercomputers.” She smiled wistfully. “There are only a few known botnets. The people running them sometimes lease processing time, similar to how a university rents time on their supercomputers. I needed some major mojo for a job in 0-nine, and found a notorious operator on the 'Net that called himself Apex. I tried to trace his location but couldn't, of course.” Her hands typed an air keyboard while her face looked adorable in disappointment. Then she smiled, No prob. “But I was able to find other chat rooms he did business in. 'Wrecker' and 'Wrecking' were how he described his rig and work.”
“You're Barbie Killer?” Ace said, voice still tinged with disbelief, though now full of respect.
“Recognize, motherfucker.” Blondie smiled prettily, held her fist out. He bumped it and gave a nervous grin, turned to his girl.
Shocker and I frowned at each other. Bobby hmmed thoughtfully. Perry, oblivious to us, sang a country song while pans sizzled and spices filled the air-conditioned apartment.
“I get the Barbie Killer tag,” Shocker said, inclining her head at my girl. She looked at Ace, deciding whether to be pissed about not knowing his criminal name while others did. “Why Apex?”
I answered. “Apex predator. The animal above all other animals. Killer of killers.”
“He was killing it, too,” Blondie told the room. “He could take down any system, defeat any hacker or security firm that challenged him. Bad MFer.”
I watched Shocker and Bobby closely. They weren't surprised by this revelation. They know of Ace's skill, obviously. But he didn't tell them everything. I looked hard at the girl-beast, at the geek, more of the puzzle falling into place. “You quit when you met her,” I told Ace, no question. He looked embarrassed. I grinned, I'm right, aren't I?