“No,” she said, cutting him off. Chas could feel her spine bristle against his. “Let me speak. I have several things I need to say.”
Now Chas was glad he didn’t have to look her in the eye. “Okay,” he said, “shoot.”
“First off,” she started, “I don’t need saving. I don’t need anyone to tell me what I should be doing. It’s my life, got it? And if you ever lie to me again, I’ll rip your balls off and wear them as earrings.”
“Wow,” he breathed, “not the romantic moment I was hoping for—”
“Second,” she cut him off, “if you don’t stop treating me like a little girl who needs protecting and start telling me every goddamn thing about whatever the fuck is going on here, I’ll shoot your dick off and wear it as a necklace.”
He swallowed, knowing when to shut the hell up and listen. “Duly noted.”
“Thirdly,” she continued, “I love you, you goddamn prick.”
Before he had time to react to that, Chas heard a beeping from below. He realized, with something between horror and relief, that it was twelve noon and his watch was about to blow. He must have turned the timer on by mistake when setting the clock. Shit. Angling his wrist to point as much toward him as possible, and away from Susannah, he waited, panicked, hoping he had the correct side of the watch pointed toward the floor. Then there was a pop, and the tiny bullet shot clear through their handcuffs. Making use of their newfound freedom, Chas and Susannah helped each other remove their restraints. “Stroke of luck,” Chas murmured.
“That looks like one of Scrubs’s inventions. From Lisa Bee?”
“That’s right. We’re all on the same team now.”
Their eyes caught. He was startled by how deeply he wanted her. He wanted to kiss her, but was waiting on her go. “I like the dark hair,” he said, hoping to break the ice.
“That all?”
“No. That’s not all. You’re it for me, Susannah,” he said, his voice even and true. “You’re the one.”
“Well, finally,” she spat. “Now get the fuck over here, Tex, and it better be good.” She grabbed him and pulled him to her and their lips met. And everything melted away. The tension of the moment. The fear of losing each other. The pain they had both endured in the midst of this crazy cat-and-mouse chase that left them bound together in a basement on the Lower East Side. It all poured out of them, through their souls, past their lips, and into each other. And if any kiss on earth could have created a spark that turned into fireworks that burned down the entirety of the Heavenly Balls Meatball Emporium, it was this one.
About two minutes in, when Susannah was so hot she was about to ignite and Chas was only seconds away from ripping her clothes off and taking her right then and there, his earpiece came back to life. There was a pause in which AJ clearly got wind of what was going on.
“Hold your horses, cowboy,” said AJ. “We’ve got a few things to take care of before you can let ’em out of the stable.”
“Sorry, Fingers,” Chas said, breathing heavily and trying to regain his balance. “That was just what the doctor ordered. Talk to me. What happens now?”
“Time to make your way out. FTP is closing in fast.”
“Am I clear out of the panic room?”
“You’re clear, cowboy,” she said. “Go left and you’ll meet a couple of ladies who’re here to save your fine ass.”
Turning to Susannah, he said, “Come on. Let’s bust out of here. And when we’re out, I’m going to make you the happiest woman who ever lived.”
She quirked a smile. “You already have, Tex. You already have.”
‡‡‡
TYKA AND LISA BEE had crawled the equivalent of half a block through an air shaft when they got to a vent, Tyka leading.
“Stop there, Tyka,” AJ directed. “And be as quiet as possible. The men are just outside the door.”
Silent as a cat, Tyka dropped to the ground. Lisa Bee attempted the same, but as she wasn’t used to being in the field, she got caught in a piece of the air-conditioning vent. Cursing, she took it down with her, and it caused such a profound clattering that Tyka imagined the entire city now knew where they were. They walked out of the room carefully and found they were between the exit to the restaurant and the men coming to investigate. One of the men, the Italian’s second bodyguard, fired off a round of shots, but Tyka and Lisa Bee took cover behind the metal door. Tyka had her pistol in her hand and was about to take a shot when suddenly, from the exit now to the left of them, something flew threw the air and knocked the gun out of the bodyguard’s hand. Then he was shot dead.
Lisa Bee peered around the side of the door to see the Boss holding a gun and Jackson holding a tub of frozen meatballs. Jackson eyed the Italian, who was left standing alone. “You wanna behave, or you want a meatball in the head?” Then he laughed. “I always wanted to say something like that.” He put a meatball in his hand and waited for a response.
‡‡‡
CHAS AND SUSANNAH made their way down the corridor toward the scene unfolding before them. Neither one of them was armed, and Chas was casing out every step they made, protectively sheilding Susannah with his body. As they cautiously walked forward, Chas said, “I can’t wait to hear how you figured all this out. It seems you’re one step ahead of me, Legs.”
Susannah smiled and moved around him to stand by his side. “Actually,” she said, “I’d like to be standing next to you.”
“Sorry,” he said, “overprotective apish male instinct again.”
She laughed. “I like it. I just want to keep it in check. Actually, the real hero here was your father. He was one step ahead of you all along.”
“How?”
“It was the clue he gave you—about the bride and the weather. The painting.”
“Oh god!” He exclaimed. “It’s my favorite! I spent my whole life looking at that Kokoschka painting without realizing—”
“That your father had hidden a flash drive and a clue in a small safe in the credenza beneath it, that only could be opened by a family heirloom?” Susannah grinned. “How could you have missed something so obvious?”
Chas beamed. “I love that you figured that out. Blows my mind.”
“Well,”—Susannah smiled—“I had a bit of help.”
‡‡‡
LISA BEE STOOD behind Tyka, trying to use the willowy blonde for cover. She was only partly successful, as Tyka’s thighs were the size of her arms, and Lisa Bee’s hips were twice the size of what passed for hips on Tyka’s adolescent-looking body. She watched on, with a mixture of fear and pride, eager to see what would happen next. This was the beginning of a whole new part of her career, she could feel it.
‡‡‡
JACKSON’S EYES WERE only on Lisa Bee as the fight came to a climax. At that moment she turned to face him, and he grinned and winked. She grinned back. That’s how he had to play it around her: like he was always joking. Then he’d never have to actually put his cards on the table.
‡‡‡
SEEING THAT JACKSON and the Boss were in control of the situation up ahead, Susannah and Chas came to join them, noticing Tyka and Lisa Bee in front of a room on the right, Lisa Bee taking cover behind Tyka, Tyka keeping her pistol trained on her mark. The Boss had his gun aimed at the target, as well. Tyka reached into her boot, pulled out a small pink revolver, and slid it along the floor to Chas. The Italian was now completely surrounded.
“This is it, Bruni,” said the Boss. “Time to give up. We have enough to convict you, now that we have a flash drive with documents that link you to every major white-collar crime from here to eternity. That’s one of my favorite films.” He smiled, proud of his ability to work the names of the classics into the least-expected moments. “We also have the numbers of all the members of your cell. Though I understand it was a bit of work to get them off one of the first commercially
available flash drives. Nice work, Fingers, by the way,” he said, winking at one of the security cameras.
“Well, trolls do love their treasure.” She chuckled into his earpiece. “And I do like the old technology. Like shopping at vintage stores.”
“And,” Susannah jumped in, “would you like to know where that flash drive came from? It came from Chas’s father. He left it for his boy to find, to expose you. Seems he really did get you after all.”
Chas choked up with pride, and his chest swelled with a fierce need. It was time. He had what he needed. The Italian had started it so many years ago. And now it was Chas’s turn to end it. “If you all wouldn’t mind,” he said to the others, “I’ve been waiting for this for a long, long time.” He pointed Tyka’s pink pistol at the Italian. “Time to say good-bye, Bruni.”
13
THE DEATH OF her father was the event that had marked Susannah’s entire world. She had built her whole life to become the type of person who could understand how her father had died, and why. If her father was indeed murdered, she’d want to avenge his death. And she’d never stop until she had the chance.
Susannah thought of that now as she looked at Chas. Thought of the years she spent desiring revenge against an unknown perpetrator, and imagined Chas had done the same. It was only a hunch she had, that her father had been murdered, and it was made stronger by what her mother had revealed back in Virginia: her father had been undercover for her entire life. And perhaps he, too, had been hiding something that would be revealed later on. She watched Chas with a mixture of envy and pride, glad that he finally had a chance to even the score, and jealous that she didn’t have the same. She wondered when and if she’d get that chance, and vowed to reopen her father’s case as soon as she returned to FTP headquarters.
‡‡‡
IN KHARTOUM, it was just after seven p.m. Mahmoud Assouline had spent the previous night and much of the morning in bed with an exceptional fellow operative, a French double agent named Cécile. She was a fine operative in more ways than one, he had come to find. She could always be counted on for two things: cutting-edge information whenever he needed it, and evenings that rivaled any he had spent in his life.
She had passed him an envelope of information he had been waiting for, something connected to the case his old friend Jackson was working on. Jackson had simply asked him to murder someone, no details, no further information. When they were kids growing up in Morocco, Jackson’s father had saved Mahmoud’s entire family from a series of suicide bombings in Casablanca. Ever since then, Mahmoud had given his unconditional service to Jackson, happy to do whatever was needed, whenever he was asked. That didn’t stop him from being curious, however. He had asked Cécile to investigate the man he had murdered and his known associates. When he opened the envelope, his breath caught in his throat. Mahmoud was hard to surprise. It happened rarely, if ever. He leaned back in his chair and looked through the information, wondering what to do next.
‡‡‡
THE BOSS LOOKED ON, pleased with what he saw. It was all coming together nicely, and it looked like they’d be able to wrap up the case by dinnertime, thereby allowing him to swing by the Chipotle on his way to the local video store to pick up a classic. He knew it was foolish, in the age of Netflix and online streaming, to continue to patronize a video store, but there was something old-fashioned about it that he loved, plus the fact that the two guys who owned it got movies you couldn’t find anywhere else. The Boss liked supporting local businesses and thought the guys who ran it were exceptionally sharp. He was just pondering what was next on his movie list when he heard the door behind him open.
‡‡‡
“NOT SO FAST,” said an accented voice from above, forcing Chas to freeze with his hand on the trigger. “Not without a fight.”
The lady who emerged down the stairs between the Boss and Jackson was stunning. Dark-haired, curvy, a body to kill, and a small gold grenade in her hand. “Anybody moves,” she said softly, “and I blow the whole place up.”
“G . . .” the Italian breathed. “Grazie a Dio!”
So this is the famous G, thought Chas. A perfect cherry to crown this strange sundae.
“Why don’t you come over here with that?” Tyka called from the other side of the room. “I think we have a score to settle.”
The two women met eyes and a deep silence passed between them. It was clear to every member of FTP that an old battle had resumed. “With pleasure,” G said dangerously, and continued down the stairs. “Cugino, hold this for me,” she said, gently pressing the grenade into the Italian’s hand and slithering across the room.
“Nobody touch her,” Tyka said. “She’s mine.” And then it began.
‡‡‡
THE TWO WOMEN were brilliantly matched. Spinning around the room, they fought with fists, karate, jujitsu, and a handful of other things with no name. For a brief time G was winning; then suddenly Tyka had the advantage. There was a moment when Susannah was sure she was inside some version of The Matrix and that both women had been uploaded with fighting skills neither could possibly have taken the time to learn. But they also fought dirty, like street fighters, or girls at summer camp. At one moment, Tyka was on top of G, pulling her hair like a teenager. Then G flipped Tyka over and hog-tied her using a fabulous Hermès scarf. Tyka slipped out of the tie, looking humiliated, and pinned G in a nasty-looking wrestling hold.
The assembled crowd roared and cheered as though they were at a sports game. The women continued to fight, now using found objects: a wood plank for G, a piece of chain for Tyka. Susannah felt like she was watching battle on a grand scale: “Wonder Woman Fights Hellcat for Title of Coolest Chick Ever.” She thought she had moves, but she was Jabba the Hutt compared to these tricked-out broads. Her attention snapped back to the fight as Tyka’s chain was wrested from her; G threw her plank down and gave Tyka a nasty right hook. The crowd gasped as one. As Tyka bent over to spit out blood (and what appeared to be a tooth or two), G ended the battle by pulling Tyka up by her hair, pushing her to the wall, and pinning her stiletto on top of Tyka’s slender throat. “I win,” she said smoothly. “And do you know what I win?”
“What?” Tyka barely got the word out.
“The privilege of doing what I have waited to do for twenty years. . . .” In a lighting flash, almost too quick to be seen, she spun back to the middle of the room and jammed her stiletto right through the Italian’s heart, catching the grenade before it hit the floor. There was a collective gasp of surprise in the room at the stark change of events; then the Italian’s eyes widened in shock. “That’s for my father,” she said as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Mio caro Papa.”
‡‡‡
THE ROOM WAS filled with dead silence for a few minutes. Then, turning the tables on everything the members of FTP had heretofore believed, Tyka walked up to G and put her arm around her shoulder. “Finally, old friend,” she said. “Now you can be at peace.”
“Thank you,” G replied, embracing Tyka. “Where’d you get the new moves, by the way? You almost beat me. And I like the work with the chain.”
“Yes,” Tyka replied, smiling, “at least the terrorist I was fucking in Cuba was good for something. That, and fabulous cigars.”
“Oh, I do hope you saved a box for me.” G sighed. “You know those are my favorite.”
“Okay, okay,” the Boss interjected. “Sorry to interrupt you, ladies. But what the fuck is going on?”
Tyka spoke first, turning to Chas. “Chas, this is the employer you asked about, Gabriella Marconi, a former member of the Marconi crime family. We’ve been working together on this case for years. Gabriella wanted to wait to kill Bruni until we had enough information to convict his whole cell. I did not agree. I wanted to kill him years ago, but—”
“But,” G continued, “as I have been cooperating with the CIA for the past ten years”—there was
another collective gasp from the crowd—“I had certain rules I needed to play by, and certain pieces of information I needed to collect. Which it seems you now have, am I right?”
“Yes,” said the Boss, “the invisible lady in our ears is the one who can get it all to you. I think she’s already uploaded it to our company’s server. She has eyes all over this place, too, by the way.”
“Yes, I’ve got all the stuff,” AJ said, now on a PA system, which was broadcasting through the basement. “And I dig the shoes, G.”
“Oh! It’s like the voice of Dio,” G said, turning about. “How incredible. And thank you. Sono Italiana, after all. At the very least I should have good shoes.”
“But hang on,” the Boss said, a perplexed look on his face. “If you’re working together, couldn’t you have helped us out more? And what about Susannah’s cover being broken? And why on earth were you just fighting? Not that I didn’t enjoy the display, but it seems a bit gratuitous—”
Tyka held up a hand. “We had to keep our cover, for safety. And everything I got from Gabriella I used to help us. We were able to keep Susannah’s cover from being really blown because Gabriella said she’d take care of it.”
“Yes,” Gabriella said. “I hope you appreciated that I leaked the wrong information to the American tabloids. I thought it might actually make a better cover in the future. A notorious former call girl can get in any doors, right?”
Susannah moved in to shake Gabriella’s hand. “Thank you for that. It was actually a brilliant move. I ought to have known a woman was behind it.” The two women shared a smile and a nod.
Tyka then continued on. “As for your other questions, John, I was able to keep an eye on Chas for years through Gabriella’s intel. And because of me, she was able to keep her cover, as I always had her back.”
“As to why we were fighting,” Gabriella jumped in, “it was actually how we met. Early on Tyka tried to assassinate Bruni, and I stopped her. The fight went on for hours. We realized at that time how well matched we were and have had a friendly rivalry ever since. So yes, I suppose it was gratuitous, but not for me. I’m always one for a dramatic entrance anyway. And I wanted to enjoy the anticipation of killing Bruni for as long as possible.”
Game On (The Bod Squad Series Book 1) Page 15