by Henry Roi
The drug melted, liquefying in my sinuses, absorbing, cruising past the blood-brain barrier in seconds. The numbing-zip took over and decided I didn't need neural pathways that reported pain: All nerves will hereby be commandeered under the Feel Good Act. Bullet wound? “Pfff,” I said to that and the girl-beast who frowned disapproval at my first-aid solution. I took the Ziploc from Blondie and unloaded several more enormous bumps, eyeing Shocker challengingly. She folded her wings down sharply.
A surge of energy flooded my limbs. I had enough presence of mind to know it was transient, and I needed to hurry and engineer a way out of this before my body bucked the Feel Good Act. My vision steadied, the shed and everything in it becoming more defined, and with it a plan began to stir in the part of my mind that stays on scheming stand-by regardless of my health. “I have an idea,” I said, feeling in control once more.
Shocker took a roll of paper towels and a roll of duct tape from a shelf behind her, handed them to Blondie, who rolled up my pants leg and began constructing a compress. She tore a strip of tape, affixed it over a folded wad of Brawny and said, “What's the plan, Babe?” She taped the bandage over my shin, then made another one for my calf before wrapping tape around my leg several times, finally stopping the bleeding.
I looked at my crew one at a time. Shocker had a wide range of emotions coursing through her entire body, as if several personalities were in there arguing about who should take the wheel for this situation. She was highly offended, and eager to do something about it. Ace wore a similar, though less aggressive, look of determination on his triangular jaw. Bobby looked puzzled, likely pondering how he came to be here with us crazy white motherfuckers, in this conundrum. Blondie sat on her heels, hands on my leg, looking into my eyes. She had shrugged off the panic, though I could tell a substantial amount of rage was suppressed between her boobies somewhere, energy she'll release on our foes at a more opportune time.
Aberrant feelings washed over my chest, killing my high. I wanted to embrace the bonding sensation, but it just wasn't one of my instincts. I was confused. I felt like these people were my family now. And it made me highly uncomfortable. And pissed off, I growled in thought, remembering the men outside. They have hurt countless people for no real reason or profit, and now my squad was on their radar. Heh. Gaydar. I called Diep a fag… I shook my head, then snorted a magnificent drip. Ziiinggg! The bell tolled pleasure this time.
Now to business.
“Diep ordered Vietech to come up here. That means what?” I asked the two computer whizzes.
Ace answered. “He's going to find my computer in your lab. We had just set it up.”
Blondie looked at him and smiled, her optimism fully restored. “I seriously doubt he could break into the Wrecker.”
Ace squinted a half smile. “No way.”
“What about your rig?” I asked my girl, though I knew she never kept anything vital in it. My eyes couldn't help drifting to a spot between her legs.
She pouted her lips. “He could steal my e-book collection.”
Ace laughed. He gave Blondie a smug look that said, We're the shit, and everyone else just sucks.
She smiled, Mmm-hmm.
“Razor!” Shocker barked at me. My indignant look just made her put her very capable hands on her hips. “Stop thinking about Blondie's hoo-hah and tell us the idea.”
“Sorry. Got distracted. I'm delirious from the bullet wound.” My sincere tone didn't seem to convince her. She didn't believe a word I said, but my effort made her see that I'm still in this and fit to lead.
“Coke-induced ADD is more like it,” she said, relaxing her hands by her sides.
Blondie did a cute, miffed snort, and looked at me and Shocker like, So you consider bullet wounds and cocaine as the reason he's unfocused, but not my hoo-hah???
Maybe I read her expression wrong. She grabbed me to help me stand. I held my breath, ignored the cool, tingly-numb fire that stoked the lower portion of my leg and climbed to my feet. Held her and the desk for balance. Let go and waited for my head to stop spinning before I spoke. The sudden reset of equilibrium was refreshing.
I sighed. “Now. Back up to altitude. Let's assess our escape possibilities.” I stretched my arms then spoke without looking directly at anyone, eyes darting around the shed. I pointed at the speakers on the shelf behind the desk, eight inch sub woofers in black boxes with mids and highs for full-range sound. They were expensive, and it stressed me to think about what we had to do to them. I said in a low voice, “We'll use the magnets on those Kenwoods to slide the latches open. A distraction will hold their attention so we can get out the door and disarm them. We'll need their guns to run off the rest.”
“Um, question,” Shocker said. “All that sounds spiffy. They certainly won't expect any coordinated attack. But how are we going to distract them from here?”
“We're not.”
“Um…”
I looked at my girl. She read my thoughts and squealed, wagging her shoulders. “Babe! I've wanted to do this forever!” She patted her pockets and looked around in a half circle before remembering our phones had been taken, just as I did. “Shit,” we said in unison.
Shocker's eyes widened in comprehension. “You can scald them!”
“With the little helicopters from Blondie's,” Bobby said, chest muscles jumping energetically.
“Will they fly from Biloxi to Pass Christian?” Ace queried my girl.
She waved a dainty gesture. “Won't have to. I opened a Blondie's here last summer. The problem is, we don't have a phone.”
My mind rushed with a solution. “You old Droid Razr is in the desk,” I told her. The gangster missed it in his search.
She pouted again, this one making my optimism waiver. She glanced at Shocker dubiously, then told me, “I thought about that. It doesn't work.”
I didn't recall her breaking it. “Huh?”
“I used the battery for something…”
I remembered. “Seymour. Bitch.”
I sighed. Seymour was her vibrator. I supposed I shouldn't feel so annoyed, considering all the times I've witnessed her masterful skill with the toy. But I couldn't help it; Seymour's battery upgrade ruined my plan to get us out of here (And, if I'm to be honest, I had an irrepressible fear of the damned thing, ever since she threatened to work me over with it. I no longer allow her to bound and gag me).
Shocker seemed to ascertain that “Seymour” plus a cell phone battery plus me and Blondie equaled something sexual. She puffed her lips in derision, then wagged her ponytail and grinned. Ace shot her an embarrassed glance. Bobby stared at the door.
Why does it feel like my life has become a mash-up of Sons of Anarchy and The Bold and the Beautiful?
I restrained myself from screaming. My drugged mind realized I had seriously digressed as I rubbed my itchy, dehydrated eyes. “Coke-induced ADD,” I mumbled, looking around. Shocker put her arms around Ace, hugged him briefly. Her compression sleeve shimmered like it was alive, a living organism with its own thoughts and drama, reflective scales on a body with superb power…
My eyes widened. I love it when a plan is just meant to be. I pointed at Shocker's magical arm and proclaimed grandly, “POWER.”
Everyone looked from me to her. Ace grinned like a kid finding a Cracker Jack prize. He said, “Duh. We can power the phone with the Power Felt!”
“Shh,” Shocker told him, looking at the door. “Not so loud.” She was all teeth, though. “Should I warm it up?”
Ace's face scrunched in calculation. “Uh, she'll need to stream live video, which will require the full three-point-seven volts. So yeah. Warm it up, dear.”
The girl-beast's shoulders relaxed, her feet widened, hands came up in loose fists, and she flowed smoothly into light-intensity shadowboxing, ducking, weaving, stepping around the drone throwing punches.
Blondie dug the phone out of the desk, stilettos tapping vibrations that my over-sensitive nerves rather enjoyed. She vibrated around me, ret
urning to my side, seductive perfume tantalizing, testing my focus. I looked at her boobies. Looked at the Droid Razr she was dismantling. The back of it came off, battery box empty, brass terminals shining in the dim light cast by the crack under the door. I left the work up to them, watching as Big Swoll grabbed the two speakers off the shelf behind the desk. He lay them on the concrete, on their sides. He stood up straight, face showing reluctance for the chore. Raised his size 14 work boot. We both winced as he stomped the first one, composite box bursting like a jack o'lantern vandalized by mischievous trick-or-treater's.
Man, from now on we're keeping a tool set in here. Then, Damn, I hope they don't come see what that noise was…
With both boxes open, Bobby and Ace removed the sub woofers, jagged fiberboard shards sticking out from them. Ace removed a length of speaker wire, handed it to Blondie. “That'll do it,” she said. Her deft little fingers proceeded to connect it to the positive and negative terminals on the phone. Bobby put the speakers by the door and walked over to watch my girl work her engineering magic.
“Let's try it,” Ace told Shocker.
She stopped, wiped thick sweat from her forehead. The shed was stifling in this heat without the door open. Ace unplugged a wire that connected her sleeve to the Power Felt tank top. Blondie handed him the wire that was connected to the phone. He squinted at it, pinching individual copper strands, separating them from where they stuck out of the clear, 16 gauge insulation. He twisted a few strands together on the positive side, a few on the negative, unable to use the entire wire; it was far too thick. With hands that worked the hair-thin strands with practiced ease, he slid the downsized wire into the output plug on Shocker's sweaty tank.
“We're in business,” Blondie said as the Droid's screen lit up in her hands, LCD bathing her face and boobies in bright white. The phone booted up. We waited impatiently.
“I want to see the photo,” Bobby teased my girl.
“What?” she said. “My fuck-up?” He nodded. She cut her eyes at him. “It was an epic sunset, okay? It needed to be shared.”
“So share,” he replied, teeth bright in the dimness.
She snorted, Forget you dude, then looked at me, eyes searching mine. She leaned into me, kissed me slowly. “I'm sorry, Babe. No more Facebook. I promise.”
I just looked at her. She wasn't getting off that easily. My non-response reiterated the I'll-deal-with-you-later promise. She accepted that with only a slight distasteful twist to her luscious lips. She looked at the phone, used the touchscreen to select the dial pad. Punched in a number and put it on speaker. It rang six times.
“Hello?” a girl answered in an irritated, you-freaking-woke-me voice.
Ms. All Business Blondie: “Diana! Get your ass up. You have work to do.”
“Uh. Ma'am?” Diana quickly lost the attitude. I smiled at that. Sniffed a drip.
“I need you to go to the boutique and prepare a dozen coffees for Draganfly delivery.”
“Uh…”
“You'll be paid for overtime.”
“Double overtime,” I added.
Blondie nodded. “I'll take care of you. Just hurry.”
“O-kay,” Diana said slowly. “You guys having a party or something?”
“Or something. How fast can you be there?”
“Um. Maybe twenty minutes?” Covers rustled in the background. I couldn't help picturing the blonde nineteen year old knockout climbing out of bed in a tee shirt and panties. I sniffed again, eyes darting.
“Make it ten,” Blondie commanded her employee, “Skip the primp. This is an emergency.”
“Yes, Ma'am.”
“Call me as soon as you get there.”
“Okay. I'll call you back.”
Blondie ended the call. Shocker looked at her and commented, “I had my employees call me Boss or Clarice. Ma'am made me feel old.”
Blondie shrugged. “Ma'am makes me feel like a madam.”
Shocker was titillated. She gestured at me. “I thought he was the hooker boss.”
“Oh, I am,” I assured her, then pointed at the girls. “And I have two of the best hookers to ever bounce their boobies on these streets.”
Blondie swatted my head. Shocker's eyes narrowed, but she couldn't make herself quit smiling. Ace and Bobby chuckled. Isn't it great that we can find humor at times like this?
Ain't nobody fresher than my motherfuckin' clique, clique, clique, my subconscious rapped.
I looked over at Big Swoll, realizing I knew absolutely nothing about him. I asked, “So what's your story? I know a little about the fugitives though nothing about you.” I chuckled, “Well, except that you can Hulk-smash gangsters as well as you can speaker boxes.”
He glanced at Shocker. Intertwined his hands in front of him, widened his stance. “Not much to tell, really. I'm married to a wonderful woman. We have six daughters.” Ace's eyes widened at the “wonderful” description of Bobby's wife. Big Swoll shrugged. “I used to work for Clarice doing paint and body work. Now I do it for myself. And I'm presently training for an amateur bodybuilding competition.”
That explains why he calls her boss… I nodded thoughtfully. Looked at his vascular arms. “Awesome. We'll go to your show.” For some reason I felt compelled to shake his hand. I did so, Blondie frowning at me; I never shake hands. I said, “Pleasure to work with you.”
“You too.” His grin shined from his dark face.
I shook Ace's hand. Shocker's. Put a hand on my girl's shoulder. “We'll get out of this,” I told my crew, deadly serious, “and we'll finish the job.”
Everyone watched me. I looked each of them in the eye, knowing I was part of something truly special. These people were fighting for a good cause, with no percentage for themselves. And the best part?
They were criminals!
“Bitch.”
Diana made it to the boutique in eleven minutes. She called Blondie. “The machines are on. The water will be hot in a few minutes,” she reported. I pictured her behind the coffee bar, large stainless steel machines humming, heating the water that would become our weapon.
“Boil it. Hotter than usual. And I don't care what kind of coffee you make. Just put lots of chocolate and cream.”
“Yeah. That'll stick to 'em,” Bobby said.
“Stick to them?” Diana said, confused.
“Never mind,” Blondie told her, frowning at Bobby. He mimed zipping his lips. “Get us six Draganflies ready for delivery.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
We waited perhaps another ten minutes- Diana was moving quickly, eager to impress for that double overtime payment-before the coffee was ready to fly. Blondie logged on to her store's website, entered her password and was able to selectively view what each helicopter saw, and even take over flight controls if she wanted. Master of flying puppets. “Oh yeah. We're gonna buzz them up,” she told her Draganflies. Looked at me.
I said, “Get one overhead so we can figure out what Diep is doing. He's not going to just leave us in here. Hide the other five close by until we need them. We'll recon first, then decide how to hit them.”
“Gotcha.” She thumbed the screen, selecting a function on the site that allowed her to talk to her employees while piloting. She rang Diana's cell.
“Ma'am?”
“I need your help, um, delivering these.”
“O-kay…” She paused in bafflement. Said, “I thought I was sending them to you.”
“You are. Kind of.” Blondie took a breath, glanced at everyone. There was a chance this girl would freak and call the cops. Shocker and Ace, being on the FBI's Most Wanted list, certainly couldn't afford that. And Blondie and I would let ourselves get killed before dialing 911. She had to solicit Diana's help carefully. “Remember when I told you how we could drop coffee on people that screwed with us?”
She giggled. “How could I forget? I have, like, ten ex-boyfriends I'd like to do that to.”
“Well, how do you feel about Asian gangsters?”
“Gangsters? You're serious?”
“She's serious, Diana,” I chimed in. “Just pretend you're playing Angry Birds.”
Ace snickered, “Angry Draganflies.”
Bobby and Shocker looked at him in amazement, impressed. Apparently, he didn't crack many jokes.
Blondie, mouth parted, like we were stealing her role in the show, thrust out a hip, planted an exasperated hand on it and reprimanded us, “Excuse me.”
“Mea culpa, Babe.” I gestured, Please go on. Everyone paid attention once more.
She told her employee, “Yes, I'm serious. I need you to help us out of a bad situation. You can fly better than anyone else. We'll hold up for any trouble with the cops,” she added hastily, as Diana started to protest. “I know you aren't the bad girl type. This really isn't against the law. It's self-defense.”
“We're helping law enforcement,” I added, making Shocker giggle-snort, embarrassing herself.
“Helping law enforcement,” Diana said cynically. I pictured her with a reluctant pout. She sighed as if knowing she would regret this. Then gave in. “So these gangsters are there now?”
* * *
Diana landed five Draganflies on the south side of the condo building's roof, hiding them from our enemies while making them quickly accessible. Blondie controlled #6, hovering it fifty feet above the garage while Shocker shadowboxed to keep the phone juiced up.
I looked at the Droid screen. The Draganfly's camera showed the top of the garage: two sheds, the El Camino, Ford, and my Suzuki, all itty-bitty looking. The condo's roof behind us, a highway of headlights out front. Street lights everywhere. Blondie zoomed in on our shed. Two Viet guards stood outside the door, fifteen feet away, near the edge. She turned the camera on the lab. The door was open, a light on inside. Yeah, they brought a power source. A battery and a power inverter. Or a fuel cell. I would have heard a generator…
Blondie flew closer and zoomed inside. Several steel tables were positioned around the walls of the lab, loaded with tools and various equipment in neat rows, more on shelves above the tables. Consumables and other supplies underneath on the floor. On a workbench to the left was an enormous black computer, Ace's Wrecker, with an Asian kid sitting in front of it.