Plain Sight

by Katherine Rhodes

  Felix: And me. He’s always known me.

  Q: Felix? Really?

  007: We stick with the theme.

  Felix: He knows we’re in the area. 007 tried to hit some of his men with a chandelier.

  Q: Oh, that *was* you.

  Felix: We’re open to suggestions on how to get in there.

  Q: So three to attack: Felix, 007, and Cut-n-Color.

  007: Roger.

  Q: Let me confer with Moneypenny and IT. There might be another way to get in without guns ablazing.

  007: Thank you.

  Q: KIT, 007.

  “So, do we have any ideas?” Bridget looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

  “I don’t,” I said. “I’m not good at this. But…Gail might have some.”

  “Gail…” Bridget’s nod was slow. “She needs a code name.”

  Our eyes connected, and we spoke at the same time

  “Octopussy.”

  The bar was beyond disgusting.

  Even with the lights low and the windows covered, there was no way this place would pass an inspection of any sort. It took all I had to not turn around and leave, or complete drench myself in sanitizer.

  “You’re twitching, stop,” Bridget said.

  “I can’t help it. I think I’m going to have fleas.”

  “So white bread,” she mumbled.

  “Whole grain,” I grumbled back.

  “Spoiled,” she said. “This isn’t even close to the worst place I’ve been in.”

  “Stop showing off,” I grumbled. “Jesus, I need a shower.”

  “We’ve been here five minutes, John,” Bridget snapped quietly, stressing my fake name. “You can handle five minutes.”

  “I’m going to have crabs.”

  Gail choked on her beer. “For fuck’s sake, stop it you two. This is serious.”

  “Coping mechanism,” we chorused.

  Gail laughed and had another sip of beer. “Unreal.” She pointed with her bottle. “Look. See? He’s here. I told you it wouldn’t be long.”

  The scummy looking guy was just inside the door and looking around. He probably thought he was dressed to the nines: black pants, button down shirt, good shoes, and a slick hairdo. Problem was, the black pants were faded and wrinkled, the shirt was checkered and buttoned wrong, the shoes were just ugly, and the hair wasn’t slicked back as much as greased.

  He looked, in short, like a drug dealer.

  After his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw Gail on the barstool and walked over. His hand trailed up her arm. “Hey pretty lady,” he cooed.

  She wanted to smack him. That was apparent by the twitch in her hand. But, the woman was proving to be a deep well of resources and restraint, and she was able to not smack the shit out of him.

  “Hey, Leonardo.”

  I saw Bridget choke on her laughter out of the corner of my eye. Biting my own lip, I threw her a dirty look, and she did what she could to get herself under control.

  “Who’s your friend?” He leered at Bridget, his eyes raking a path from her head to her toes, and lingering way longer than needed on her breasts.

  “Ginger,” Gail answered. “She’s…looking to get into the game.”

  “Ginger, eh?” He cocked his head. “Too bad you don’t have red hair. It would work better.”

  Bridget arrested her hand halfway up toward her head. She’d been going to scratch the wig again. I swallowed the chuckle.

  “I’m not opposed to dyeing it,” she grinned, scratching her nose instead. “If that gets me a few more bucks.”

  “Mmm. It would,” he said. “Who’s the dude.”

  “John, my baby daddy.”

  God fucking damn it, she wasn’t supposed to do that. I was supposed to be her cousin.

  “Where the baby?”

  “With his sister. I didn’t want to bring the brat and mess up our first impression.”

  “Good, I hate kids,” he said. “What makes you think you could possibly a good fit for this…industry? Aside from those juicy tits?”

  Bridget grabbed her purse on the chair next to me. From it, she pulled out a bunch of dime bags, some with meth and some with marijuana. Then, she pulled out the money.

  That was what he wanted to see. More than my girlfriend’s boobs. His face split in a grin and he reached for it. She slapped his hand away.

  “I made that, it’s mine.” She tucked it away, quickly. “But I got people looking for bigger and better. They want H and fentanyl. And I don’t have a way to get those. So I want in on the big man’s stash. It doesn’t really matter that I heard he takes half. I got enough people interested that it’s more than lucrative.”

  The scum’s eyes linger on the purse full of cash.

  After a long few moments, Bridget rapped on the table and his eyes shot to her face. “I got people who are going to be looking for their fix soon.”

  “You want in on the big man, it’s going to cost you to see him.”

  “Yeah? How much?”

  “What you got?”

  “My fucking rent, asshole, and baby formula. You can have what’s left.”

  She was so damn good at this.

  He motioned the purse back, but Bridget put it on the table near her. She opened it and pulled out the money. She carefully counted out ‘rent’ and ‘formula’ and then counted the remainder, sliding it over to him.

  “That this week’s take.”

  The scum’s eyes sparkled at the amount she had just slipped him. He grabbed and recounted it. Nearly five thousand dollars.

  “Peaches,” he breathed, looked up at Gail. “You are always welcome to bring anyone like this fine, fine piece of ass of here, to talk to me about expanding our business.”

  Gail smiled. “You know I ain’t steered you wrong yet, Len.”

  “That you haven’t.” He stared at the money and then rolled it up. “Lemme make a call. You got time to talk to the man now?”

  “If it means more rent and formula and maybe a nicer car, yeah,” Bridget answered.

  “I’ll buy you the car, babe,” I said, disagreeably.

  “Yeah, and when you leave, you’ll take it with you.”

  Len chuckled and walked away with wad of cash, and his phone in his hand. He was already dialing by the time he walked out the door.

  “God and baby Jesus, that guy is scum,” Gail breathed.

  “You don’t say.” I snickered.

  “Yeah, well. Let’s hope he can get us in with Bradshaw,” Bridget said. “I want this over with.”

  Looking around the room again, I sighed. This time, I was glad I had the gun on me. Anyone of these people would have been enough to make me wish I had one.

  TheMoney: We have a layout of the fortress.

  Felix: You do? How?

  TheMoney: He didn’t build it. He bought it. The prints were on file at the county, and they just finished upgrading and digitizing.

  Felix: God Bless the Cloud.

  I tipped the phone so Bridget could read it under the table, and she nodded. I cleared the screen and put it back in my pocket. We were just waiting for this guy to come back and find out if we could see Bradshaw.

  And all I wanted to do was put a bullet in his brain the way he did to Helen.

  Len walked back in. He was still on the phone, and nodding. He headed back to us, and put the phone on the table, sliding it toward us. He tapped the screen, and grinned. “Big man has something for you.”

  We looked at the screen and found a picture there.

  Dylan.

  Bound, gagged, and gun at his head.

  Len tapped the speaker phone.

  “Come and get him, Mister Willard. You have one hour to get to my house.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Q: I called in my men. They’ll be on the hills.

  007: Snipers?

  Q: Yes. Experts on all sorts of weapons.

  007: We’re walking into an almost inescapable trap.

  Q: That’s never stoppe
d you before.

  007: I know. There are only two people who have to get out of there, Q. Father and son.

  Q: Father and son won’t agree.

  007: Well the fact of the matter is they are the only ones that must come out.

  Q: You’re all coming out.

  007: You have a plan?

  Q: I told you, my men are experts on all kinds of weapons. Ones you wouldn’t think to use. You’re all getting out of there.

  007: I’d like that.

  Q: Let us work. We had a plan in the chute. This just sped it up.

  Q: When you hear the first explosion, make sure you’re clear of the house within ten minutes.

  007: Explosion?

  Q: KIT, 007. See you on the other side.

  Bridget

  We had our hands tied and on our head, and were shoved forward out of the car they had brought us in.

  I’d thought the bank was bad?

  Gail saw her sister right away, off to the side, with her children clinging to her leg. She ran toward them, but Bobbi-Jo held up her hand to stop her.

  She ignored the warning and plowed into her sister.

  “God, Bobbi, are you okay?”

  “Bring them all!” Bradshaw yelled from the front door. “Let’s make it a family reunion all around!” He cackled and disappeared into the house.

  The men standing around herded us into the front of the house and a select few pushed us further in and down the stairs into a basement.

  Lined with plastic tarps.

  Fuck. Shit.

  I let my wig drape over my face as much as possible, and tried not to attract attention—which was about as effective as telling shit not to smell. Vaughn was looking around, and just looked straight up lost.

  He had gone nearly hysterical at the picture of his son tied up. Gail and I had to drag him out of the bar and into the sunlight. I was just about ready to shove some Xanax down his throat to get him to calm down.

  Len, of course, was gone. With the nearly five thousand we had handed over. Little shit. I’d get him later.

  Once I got Nolan and Farida on a conference call, and we went over what the options were, it was easier to calm him down. Nolan had thought about bringing in Fari’s men, but apparently the plan worked better with his and they were on their way, or already there.

  I didn’t know if these were guys from the military, his days as ADA, or his prison buddies. I didn’t really want to know either.

  Our best bet, we decided, was to just surrender. There was no doubt that Dylan was in danger, and we were almost afraid to ask about the woman who had been watching him. Gail had vouched for her, but I could see the fear in her eyes.

  The plan wasn’t much of one, from our end. I had a hold-out gun strapped to the inside of my thigh, and a knife in an ankle holster. They didn’t do a very good search at all. I’d even been wondering if they would find the damn Beretta under my jacket.

  Sitting in the middle of a luxurious, but hideously, appointed living room was Childress Bradshaw himself. He had on his usual pinstripe suit, but his tie was missing, and his shirt was unbuttoned. He looked very much like the lord of his manor with the low-ball of scotch in his hand.

  He leaned back and grinned.

  This was a man Lucifer himself would walk away from.

  Motioning to someone behind us, I watched as Bobbi-Jo leaned down to her children and encouraged them to go their father. I was sure the response had been beaten into her.

  The kids walked over and stood in front of him, and he pulled the little boy’s shirt straight. “Okay, kiddies. This is it. Your mother finally bought your freedom. I want you two to go with her, get in the car, and never, ever, ever show your fucking faces here again.”

  Gail gasped and snapped her eyes over to Bobbi-Jo. “What the fuck did you do?”

  There were tears on the woman’s face. “I had to. I need to get them away from here.”

  “You stupid fucking child!” Gail lunged for her sister, but the man behind her grabbed her arm and held her back from attacking. “You goddamn idiot! We were coming for you. We were coming…”

  “I had to…”

  I stared right at her. “You took an honest message and twisted it. I got you out of that bank, and you turned around and told him about us.”

  “My children…”

  “Yep. Your children. You’ll do anything for them,” Bradshaw said. “Including getting the fuck out of my house, my life, and taking these two fucking brats with you. Go. Harold, get them out of here.”

  The two kids went running back to Bobbi-Jo and the lacky named Harold dragged her out of the room. I heard the door slam not a full minute later.

  “She’s outlived her usefulness to me,” he explained. “We’ll get someone else in another independent bank to make sure that the deposits go in.”

  “Why didn’t you just shoot her, too?” Vaughn asked, finally raising his head.

  “She’ll be running scared from me her whole life.” He grinned. “Just like you’ve been. Every time she thinks she and the brats are safe, I’ll make sure to tip the apple cart. I do so love a good, long-form torture session. I enjoy fucking with people’s brains.”

  “Where’s Dylan?” I asked.

  He motioned to someone behind us and a moment later they brought him. Gagged and blindfolded, his hands were tied in front of him and they dragged him. I could hear him whimpering and crying as they brought him in close.

  “If I take that gag off you, kid, are you going to keep screaming?”

  He nodded.

  Bradshaw looked at Vaughn. “You have quite the precocious brat, Mister Willard. I know of several of my…associates who will take great pleasure in breaking him.”

  Vaughn jerked forward, and Bradshaw laughed. “So damn predictable, Willard. So predictable. He’ll be sold to the highest bidder by one of my associates after he and I take so much pleasure in telling you that you’ll never see him again. I don’t know how much it will matter though, because you’ll be dead.”

  “He doesn’t know anything,” I said. “He just saw a pattern in the accounts and reported it.”

  Bradshaw’s eyes shot to mine. “What a good little drone he is, don’t you think? Happy in his safe little middle-class world, at his middle-class job with his middle-class clothes, cars, furniture, and tastes. Just all nice and neat and picket-fenced.” He stood and moved toward me. “You are a little enigma I can’t figure out. Where did he pick you up?”

  Was he kidding? He didn’t know who I was, after all this time?

  The wig. I was still wearing it. My signature red hair was hiding under it. I’d also put on a pair of glasses.

  Maybe he really didn’t have an idea of who I was.

  I didn’t answer him. If he didn’t know who I was, he’d have no idea what I could really do.

  “Don’t like to talk? Hmm. Maybe you’re just along for the ride. A piece of tail he keeps with him for those more stressful nights.”

  Vaughn averted his eyes. Yes. He was playing along!

  “Ah ha, I see! So you were the mistress? The backdoor woman while he played house with his wife.” Bradshaw chuckled. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Willard. But apparently you do, and you stuck it in her.” He laughed at his own stupid joke, and caught my chin in his hand, tossing a look back at Vaughn. “Well, very good. Would you like to watch this one die before we draw and quarter you?”

  He swallowed, audibly.

  “I’ll take that as no. So that’s where we’ll start.”

  Bradshaw’s gun was out of his holster at my forehead in the next moment. “You’re a pretty thing. I wonder if I should keep you for my amusement. Would like to be my little whore?”

  “Piss off, wanker,” I snapped.

  Tossing his head back, he let out a laugh. “Oh, I do like you. But, finding out what Willard knows before I kill him is more important than finding a new toy to fuck. So, with that. Goodbye.”

  There was flash and a bang,
but I didn’t feel a thing.

  The scream that followed the sound clued me in that I had not actually been shot. I popped my eyes open—when had I closed them?—and found Bradshaw weaponless…

  And hand-less.

  I whipped my head around to find Len standing in the doorway holding his still smoking weapon.

  The crack of glass and hiss of bullets from the outside of the building filled the room just seconds before I heard the roar of an explosion somewhere nearby.

  Showtime.

  Vaughn

  I swore she was dead when I heard the gun go off.

  Bradshaw’s scream was deafening, and I was really glad Dylan was blindfolded because no one needed to see the man’s hand disintegrate as the bullet tore through his wrist. The blood and bone scattered everywhere, spreading gore and gross through the room.

  In the next instant, the windows in the room started cracking, and bodies started to hit the floor.

  Snipers in the woods.

  Adding to the chaos as we were warned, somewhere in the distance I heard the bang and growl of an explosion.

  Holy Hell, this was overwhelming.

  “Dylan!” It was Bridget’s command over the din, and I didn’t hesitate.

  Diving out of the grip of the asshole who was holding me, I bowled Dylan over and behind the wall where they had brought him.

  “Hey, D-man. It’s Daddy. Just hang on and I’ll get you out of this,” I whispered in his ear. He nodded and I could see the tears on his face. The room behind him was a den and I saw a dagger mounted on the wall. I stood up as best as I could with my hands stuck together and ran for it.

  Partially dislodging it, I sawed my hands free. Once I could move, I ripped the dagger off the wall and turned back to find one of Bradshaw’s lackies lifting my son off the ground.

  Lurching forward, I stabbed the dagger into his leg and yanked his gun out of his holster. He went down and without a second thought, I shot him in the middle of his back.

  Dylan was hysterical, and I needed him calm. I pulled the blindfold off him and made sure that the first thing he saw was me.

  “I’m here, bud. We need to get out. Fast.”