“So,” she yelled, straightening, her shirt only half-buttoned, “you’re saying it’s my fault!”
He stopped and stepped toward her. Reaching out slowly, his hand found her smooth shoulder. He squeezed it softly and then stroked it. “I didn’t say that. I’m just thinkin’ it over, like you. Everythin’ is in play here.”
She calmed and pulled her pants on. “Yes, it may have been the car.” Violet turned her attention back to her shirt but, instead, stopped and shouted in anger, kicking one of the dead gunmen twice. “Koji.”
“Who?” Roman asked, almost done changing. Damn, these fit good.
She looked up at him. “Jackie…from downstairs.”
Roman’s nostrils flared, and he almost ripped off one of the buttons of this new shirt. He was pissed, that was for sure, and he showed it by pounding his fist into his other palm. Next, he stomped over to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and removed his shoulder holster and dual handguns, tucking one behind his back. Then, he slipped the holster onto his shoulders and tucked the other gun into its place beneath his left armpit.
“If he’s the one that called the goon squad on us, then we’re gonna have to have a talk with him…” he smiled wide and looked at Violet, “don’t we, Ms. Liu?”
It took Violet a second to understand what Roman wanted of her high-class alias, but when she did, she returned his smile with a mischievous grin. She would stay undercover and talk to Koji and try to coax his contact out of him. Best case, he did nothing wrong, and they’d leave. Worst case, Violet would beat it out of him. They yanked their new jackets free from their hangers and headed for the door.
Shaking his head in amusement, Roman followed her out of the room, quickly shutting the door behind him
“Look out Jackie,” he mumbled to himself, “here comes a slightly-miffed Lucy Liu.”
18
They exited the elevator and headed for the lobby, immediately beginning their search for Koji. Violet had to refrain from pulling a gun and firing it into the air. The blast would serve two purposes, though. First, the crowd in front of her would freeze. Then, the stunned people would move their asses and allow them passage.
If Koji was the mole that sold them out upstairs, she was going to have more than just words with him. Fortunately for them, the man was still behind the front desk, almost finishing his night shift. She and Roman headed right for him, not doing anything to hide their true intentions. Whoever the Gilded Blade had as a hostage, Ms. Cho or Willy, wouldn’t survive the night if they took the time to tiptoe around.
Both Violet and Roman preferred stealth to open conflict, but with one of their friends in trouble, they knew they needed to act without worrying about the potential consequences. Koji was just one more obstacle that needed to be taken care of before more blood was spilled. He was just another domino that needed to fall.
His eyes met hers, and she watched as he stumbled through his next words, attempting to speak with a customer.
If he’s innocent, why is he acting so nervous? It was all the evidence she needed.
Stepping past the customer, she reached over the counter, grabbed the surprised hotel employee by the shirt collar and slugged him in the face with a white-knuckled fist.
She was livid.
Screams resonated through the lobby, Koji going down with the single punch. Violet immediately vaulted the desk and grabbed him by the shirt again. Pulling Koji to his feet, she pushed him against the counter, face-to-face with the much bigger Roman.
“Next time, he punches you.”
Roman lifted his right hand and squeezed so hard that he cracked his knuckles. The series of pops made Koji flinch and lean away. Roman got even closer, uncomfortably so now. “Tell us who you called and you get to clock out with all your fingers attached.” His eyes narrowed. “If you lie to us,” he tipped his chin to Violet, “she takes your nuts and mails them to your mama.”
Seconds later, Violet smelled urine. Koji peed his pants. The pitiful gesture further proved his guilt. He cried in fright when Roman pulled his army knife free and slammed its tip into the polished wood counter, barely missing the webbing between Koji’s index and middle fingers.
“Makkino Wu!” he shouted, tears streaming down his face.
“You called the head of the Gilded Blade?” Violet shouted not believing her ears. She pulled her gun and jammed it into the back of his head, earning more screams from the onlookers. She seethed with rage. “You. Called. Mako!”
“He—he’s my cousin!” Koji was full-on crying now—the ugly kind. “I owe him my life.”
She leaned in close to him. “And you should be thankful that I’m not taking yours.” She pushed the barrel in deeper. “Where is he!” Koji answered with a sob and shake of his head, refusing to help them. Angry, Violet pistol-whipped him, letting him fall to the marble floor, unconscious.
“Gotta go, Lucy,” Roman said, motioning for her to move while sheathing his knife.
Violet easily leapt the counter and together she and Roman headed for the front door before the authorities arrived. She knew it would take them a while to answer the silent alarm, but she nevertheless ran with him right by his side. The one good thing about Koji’s shady behavior is that he called the Gilded Blade instead of the police. They would’ve been in serious trouble if the cops arrived in their place.
Apparently not seeing what happened inside, the valet happily grabbed her keys as they exited, smiling like an idiot. Not wanting to wait for him to get it, Violet yanked the keys from the confused man’s hand, and in one motion, turned and sprinted off towards the valet parking lot.
“Sorry ’bout that, buddy,” Roman said, slapping him on the shoulder as he passed. “She’s in a bit of a rush. There’s a big sale on high heels and hand grenades.”
They found the Ferrari shortly after and slipped inside. Violet started the car and threw it into gear, backing out of the spot with gusto. The tires squealed in protest as they shot forward and exited the lot, power-sliding onto the main road. Horns all around them blared in protest, getting an uncomfortable reaction out of Roman.
“So,” he said, sounding nervous, “I don’t suppose you know where to find Mako?”
“You know him?”
He laughed. “CIA, remember? Everyone in my department knows Makkino Wu.” He sat back. “We’ve just never been able to find the prick… Never been able to pin anythin’ on him either. He has expensive friends.”
They drove for a couple of miles before Violet spoke up. “First things first,” she changed lanes, flicking the paddle shifter, “we need a new car. Can’t risk it.”
Roman laughed but then pointed and shouted. “Pull over!”
Complying, she almost laughed when she saw what the only other car parked at the corner gas station.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
Roman grinned. “Nope. Get out and give me the keys.”
She did and tossed him the keys over the low roof. He caught them and handed them to the high-schooler that had just finished pumping gas. He was about to get a major upgrade…and some trouble with the local police.
“Here, kid,” Roman said, snagging the confused boy’s keyring. “Go have some fun, get laid maybe.” He removed the car key and tossed the kid his house keys back. “Chicks dig sports cars.”
Violet nodded and blew the teen a kiss.
To her surprise, the boy smiled as she climbed into the passenger seat of the car. Roman silently started the car and pulled away without a single word from the vehicle’s owner. This particular make and model had one of the quietest electric engines on the planet.
“Seriously, though, a Prius?” she asked, shaking her head.
“Most common car in Japan. Plus, I doubt junior back there is going to call in the switch until he gets caught.” He pulled back onto the main road and headed south. “Gives us some time to get as far away from here as we need. It’s not like the cops will be able to ID us anyway.”
Vio
let smiled. “Unbelievable.”
“What is?” he asked, glancing at her.
“The way you think.”
He nodded, looking proud. “I’m a regular Albert-fuckin’-Einstein.”
She rolled her eyes and tried to think of the next move. She knew what they needed to do, but they needed help. “We can’t do this on our own.”
“I was thinkin’ the same. But I can’t get my team involved. They can’t know what we’re doin’. Only Willy ever went along with my less-than-legal activities.”
“That’s why you wanted her on your team when you were permanently stationed here…” It all made sense. It was more than just Willy being a non-flirtatious, stone-cold killing lesbian. Roman needed someone to get his/her hands dirty alongside him. A real partner in crime.
He shrugged. “It’s tough doin’ things on your own, and Willy was down for anythin’. The bosses don’t always want to do the right thing when international law is in the way. We will gladly break that barrier if it helps take out a baddie or two.”
“I know what you mean,” she said. “That’s what we lived for.”
“Must’ve been nice doin’ it your way all the time. A lot of the restrictions I had were a joke considerin’ hardly anyone knew what I was doin’ to begin with. It was the assholes back home just playin’ the role of top dog and showin’ off their tiny peckers and thinkin’ themselves well hung.”
She snorted out a laugh which caused Roman to snicker.
“Does this mean you’re joining me in a life of violence and deceit?” she asked playfully.
He grinned and scratched his chin, keeping his eyes on the road. “As long as I ain’t the one you’re lyin’ to, maybe…” He looked at her and then back to the road. “With all the red tape I’ve burned on this one, I doubt dipshit back home will go out of his way to keep me out of the clink. He’ll disavow my actions and leave me to rot.”
“Who?”
He laughed. “Right, you don’t know about Conrad.”
They spent the next thirty minutes talking about some of the funny things that happened in their pasts while on missions. Roman couldn’t believe how many hilarious things happened to Violet while she was undercover as a girl for hire. At the time, she thought they were embarrassing, but now she agreed they were pretty ridiculous.
“You were married?”
He shook his head. “No, but we lived together for six years while working with one another. Once she got promoted to Mission Operations, her boss—Conrad Hitchcock—suggested that she end our relationship due to conflict of interest. He thought she’d give me more manageable ops because we were a thing.” Roman shook his head. “He didn’t know us at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Natalie…my ex…believed in what I did, which was our work to protect people.” He made a right-hand turn. “Unfortunately, she believed in it a little too much and dumped me a week later. I approached Conrad at a company function and told Mr. Hitchcock to suck mine, and a couple of days later, they sent me here for good. Even dickless knew they couldn’t afford to let me walk, but neither did they want me around.”
Recognizing the area, Violet became uneasy. “Where are we going?”
“Information,” he replied, pulling them into a downtrodden looking parking lot. It belonged to someone Violet knew moved guns, though nothing was ever officially linked to him. He was good at what he did and never once had gotten busted.
“Freddy Nunez.”
He threw the car into park and turned toward her. “You know Freddy?”
She just gave him a look that said “duh” and climbed out.
“Oh, right,” he said, likewise climbing out of the small car, “crime world connections.”
“Where do you think we got our guns from?”
That stopped him in his tracks, but Violet didn’t pause her advance, stopping, instead, at the front door of the local “bar and grill.”
She turned and waited for him. “You coming?”
He did, but he gave her a couple of nervous looks before entering the fine establishment. The business was made up of eight pool tables and a bar that ran the entire length of the back wall. They calmly made their way down the center aisle, passing multiple games as they did. Each and every person in Freddy’s place gave them a look, and in Violet’s case, a few looks. One guy even licked his lips.
But a few of the bigger men paid most of their attention to Roman. When a well-dressed, well-built, white American walked into an all-locals watering hole, pretty much everyone noticed. Neither he nor she belonged here, especially him. It’s not that the local populace was racist either. Most of them didn’t trust outsiders regardless of their nationalities.
Particularly with the business going on in the back room.
Violet casually sat at the bar and ordered a beer. When she wasn’t served, she tried again. After a third failed attempt she said, “Maybe I should just talk to Freddy.” Then she drew her gun and aimed it at the barkeep, his eyes going wide. The mirror that lined the rear wall gave her the view she expected to see. Everyone else inside the bar likewise drew their guns.
“Well, shit,” Roman mumbled, putting his hands up.
“Freddy, or I kill you.”
The older man cautiously lifted a hand to one of the beer taps and pulled. But no liquid came out. It snapped back into place, and a voice yelled from another room behind the bar. She recognized Freddy’s voice and grinned, getting an odd look from the bartender in return.
“What do you—”
Freddy Nunez was of Cuban and Japanese descent, his mother being a local. He quickly set up shop as a simple smuggler of goods but eventually turned to more lucrative wares. Weapons. The market was too good not to deal in them. With a fistful of cash in his hand, he made it halfway to the bartender before he looked up and saw Violet staring at him with a killer look in her eyes.
His reaction caught everyone by surprise…except for Violet.
He threw his hands up and then put them on his hips. “Really?”
She shrugged and nodded to the bartender. “He wouldn’t serve me.”
Freddy cursed out the old man before telling everyone to put their guns away. “Come,” he said, motioning for them to follow him, “we should talk in private.”
Smiling ear to ear, Violet stood and holstered her gun, pulling Roman along behind her. The stunned look on his face was priceless.
Freddy opened the walk-in cooler and stepped in. Without acknowledging Roman, Violet did the same. Roman was next, and Freddy yelled at him to shut the door.
“You’ll let the cold out.” He faced Violet. “Why are you here?”
She stepped forward unaffected by the chilling temperature. “We’re in a bit of trouble with Mako.”
Freddy’s eyes went wide. “I don’t want anything to do with that psychopath.”
“He killed my sisters.”
Freddy shrank back. He was one of the few that knew Violet’s true identity—her employment, not her real name. Ten years ago, Freddy’s wife was kidnapped and tortured by Mako’s goons before Violet, Pearl, and Jet finally freed her. Regrettably, the trauma of the experience was too much for her, and she killed herself a few months later. Afterward, Freddy vowed to do what he could to help the Beautiful Dragons take down the Gilded Blade.
“My apologies,” he said, bowing in respect. “Which of them have perished so I may pray for them.”
“All of ’em, bud,” Roman answered. “Violet’s the only one left.”
Freddy lifted a hand to his mouth, stunned that six of the seven Dragons were dead. He bowed again. “Then I will pray for them all.” His eyes met Violet’s. “And for you.”
“Question?” Roman asked. “Why are we freezin’ our asses off in the beer cooler?”
“Steel lining,” Freddy said, smiling. “No ears can hear us.”
“Freddy,” Violet said, shaking out of the paralyzing anguish, “this is Roman. He’s a friend…” She let the la
st word hang in the air.
“Government agent, huh?” He looked over Roman for a second but turned back to Violet. “Your accent... Are you from the Carolinas?”
Roman looked at Violet and then back to Freddy. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
He grinned, proud of himself. “Great barbeque. I’ve had it several times.” He turned back to Violet. “What do you want from me?”
She balled her fists. “I want to kill Mako and Madame.”
Freddy grinned, looking excited. “You want to take down the Gilded Blade for good?” He clapped his hands together. “Very good.” He spun on a dime, walked to the rear wall and opened a panel. Next, he flicked a nondescript switch, and they watched as a secret door retracted. Stepping through, he opened his arms wide. “Step into my office.”
19
Roman was in spy heaven. Freddy had all kinds of gadgets and gizmos, but he also had the standard stock he’d expect from an arms dealer. The room was about thirty by thirty, and it was packed along the walls, floor to ceiling. The center of the room looked more like a small weapons museum than a store.
His collection, Roman thought, looking around.
The first thing he saw was a weapon he’d never seen in action but something he had always wanted to use.
Man, that was demented.
“Is that an injector knife?” he asked. It was displayed on a shelf by itself and looked like a modified version of one. He had seen pictures of them, and they looked a lot smaller, more the size of his tactical knife.
“Yes,” Freddy answered, “and before you ask, no, I’ve never sold one to anyone. That, my friends, would be an awful way to die.”
Roman smiled. “Can I have it?”
Rubbing his chin hard, Freddy shook his head. “No, it is one of a kind, specially made and—”
“What if I promise to use it on Mako?”
Freddy clapped his hands hard. “Deal!”
He gently took the knife from its resting spot and handed it to Roman, not letting go for a moment. Freddy looked hard into his eyes. “You only have one cartridge in the hilt so do not miss.” Roman gripped the handle, but Freddy still didn’t relinquish the weapon. “You do this for me—kill Mako—and I will be forever in your debt.”
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