Loser

by Valerie J. Long

  “I’ve opened the safe once. I can do it again,” I explained before he could object. I didn’t worry about the burning charge. I’d been good enough to not trigger it once. “Moreover, I know my way inside.”

  This time his gaze rested on the place where my breasts made bulges in the track suit. “I can’t,” he refused with a sigh. “Too dangerous.”

  “I’ve been inside before,” I reminded him. “I’ve been inside and survived.” As a reassurance, I placed one hand on his arm. “I can watch out for myself. What would you do if you’d meet me inside? Would you accept my help?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Fine,” I quickly interrupted. “Then you’ll meet me inside. You don’t have to report how I got in. Okay?”

  “The air will be full of lead.”

  “And I’ll nicely stay out of the way. That’s your job. I sneak in after you, and once the way is clear, I’ll open the safe for you.”

  He shook his head. “It sounds tempting, but it’s too dangerous. You’re already injured, and you’re tired. That’s no mission for a young woman without experience. There’s so much that could go wrong.”

  “That’s not the decisive question,” I corrected with a firm voice. He didn’t need to notice how frightened I truly was. Nor did he need to know how bad I indeed still felt—battered was exactly the right word it. “The question is whether you can afford to do without my help if you consider what’s at stake. This is war. You may have the last chance to turn the tables. If it goes well, you know the enemy’s plans. If it fails, the world is one little thief short. Ask yourself—is the potential gain worth the bet?”

  “Yes, of course,” he confirmed in a matter-of-fact voice. “I’ll bet my own life and that of my men without hesitation. But I can’t command an outsider as if she’d only be a useful tool.”

  “How noble,” I bitched. “Where the fact that I told you alone has signed my death warrant—not to mention that I shouldn’t have escaped them. Just look at it this way—for the records I’m already dead, unless we can rain on these guys’ parade. If you deny me participation, I remain dead. If you take me along, my odds will significantly improve. Can you deny me this opportunity?”

  Oh fuck. Yes, noble. How noble was my offer then? Did I really want to return to my torturers? Surely not! Did I want to interfere in a fight with the Cartel? Never! Did I want to play the hero? Me? Ridiculous!

  Why had I made that offer then? Because I had hoped that he’d refuse? Why did I insist?

  Because I was truly convinced that it was worthwhile to rain on the Cartel’s parade? Because I thought I’d owe them for having to give up my life, with all that was dear to me? Because I thought it would be worthwhile to support the people who bravely stood up against the Cartel?

  Dragon piss. Nothing of that.

  Because it was fun. Because I could.

  Chapter One-Hundred-And-Fifty-Five

  “You’re crazy,” my Mr. X truthfully noticed. Was that a No? Before I could express my disappointment, he laughed out loud. “Me too. Okay, you’re in. Partner.” He reached out a hand.

  “Partner,” I replied and took his hand. “I’m Jo.”

  He only briefly hesitated. “Alan.”

  I shook his hand. If my firm grip surprised him, he didn’t show. “We’ll kick their asses?”

  “Yes. Let’s kick their asses.”

  Alan conjured up a cell phone and pressed a few buttons. Nothing else. Then he moved forward to the driver’s seat. I didn’t wait for his invitation to sit in the second front seat.

  “Now that we’re one team, may I ask you a question?” he inquired while starting the electric engine.

  “Sure.”

  “You’re looking quite nice if you count out the scratches and wounds. Why does a woman with these looks pick such a delicate occupation? Does it pay?”

  “Thanks,” I confirmed his compliments. “Yes, I can earn a decent living from it. No tax number, no social security number, no data in public computers. I’m invisible.”

  “That’s important to you?”

  “Imagine we hadn’t met, and the landlord of that building starts an investigation. Nada, niente, nothing to find. That’s a good life insurance.”

  “Which you wouldn’t need if you wouldn’t do this kind of job.”

  “Touché. Okay. It’s fun. I’m doing it because I can.”

  “And you know a lot about the Cartel. More than would be healthy.”

  “Which they don’t know—unless you tell them.”

  “I won’t. Partner.” That sounded very sincere. He explained himself unprompted. “For us few people who still fight the Cartel, that’s important. We won’t betray each other. That glues us together.”

  “Even if they’d torture you?”

  “Even then.” He gave me a quick side glance. “No, we’re no superheroes who can easily put any pain aside. If it gets too bad, there’s still the option of a merciful suicide. Anyone who gets into the Cartel’s hands won’t have any hope of rescue anyway. If you want to stay with us, we can show you how it works.”

  “Suicide? Ugh, no thanks!” Two near-death experiences were enough for the rest of my life.

  “A pity—that you don’t want to stay with us,” he quickly added. “So, the gate’s ahead. Are you ready?”

  What—no planning round? Where was his team? Would he ring at the gate or run it in? Or was that a test? I checked the firm hold of my seatbelt and the position of its release.

  “Ready.”

  “Fine.” He pushed the accelerator all the way down.

  Chapter One-Hundred-And-Fifty-Six

  Crap. That gate had looked rather solid. I prepared myself for the hard impact mentally. The airbag had to suffice—or Alan had another ace up his sleeve.

  It had to be the latter. On both sides of the gate, I spotted a vertical row of blots of a sticky, amorphous substance, at the upper edge crowned by several blots aligned horizontally. Okay, if that’s the case.

  “There’s another pistol in the glove box for you,” Alan said. We had almost reached the gate. The charges exploded, the gate was about to fall into our direction—Alan’s minivan rammed against it and catapulted it into the courtyard. The impact tore at our seatbelts, but the van survived. The remaining speed carried our car into the courtyard, too. As soon as the van came to a halt, Alan let himself drop out to the side and opened fire on the main entrance from two pistols, where two guards—Bart and Knuckles—quickly searched for cover.

  Free run for me? I unlocked the belt, ignored the offered gun, which I couldn’t have operated anyway, and dashed out of the passenger door. At the edge of my vision I noticed several grapples at the wall crests left and right—but I also saw Rifle’s silhouette behind a window on the second floor, his namesake tool in hands. He was just reaching out to open the balcony door. Run and—jump!

  A grenade exploded under the van behind me, tearing the vehicle around. The detonation’s power shot gravel across the point where I just before had been standing. Alan was forced to retreat behind the landlord’s limousine, the way into the house was now blocked by machine pistol volleys. I was in the middle of a fucking war!

  Meanwhile, I was hanging from the balcony railing on the second floor, Rifle’s gun practically right above my nose. I couldn’t see him himself, and hopefully he didn’t see me either. He was busy aiming at one of the disguised figures who were just about to climb over the wall crest. No, you won’t! I beat his barrel up.

  The shot went skyward. The people from Alan’s team flinched, then one of them noticed my intervention and showed me a thumbs up, while he—she?—slid down another rope. I barely had time to watch. I made my way inside through the balcony door and grinned at Rifle.

  “You!” he uttered—then my foot met his face. What had I philosophized about using my martial arts abilities only for self defense? That applied to my own missions, but now I was part of a team—to prevent one of my temporary mates being shot down ver
y well matched my ethical standards, even if that meant I had to hurt one of my opponents. Oh, I felt so incredibly sorry for Rifle!

  Sorry enough to firmly kick his balls, before my hand crushed one cheekbone and his nose. He collapsed. I grabbed his rifle and tossed it out, then I hurried to the door and listened.

  Preferably, I should now search for a quiet place and wait for Alan’s team taking out the inhabitants. But an idea gnawed at the back of my mind. What would I do, if I was the boss and there was an attack? Exactly.

  As fast as I could I hurried to the office. The door stood open. Inside stood a nondescript guy in an expensive Brioni suit between the desk and a metal trashcan, from which flames were rising. In one hand he held papers, and with the other, he aimed a large-caliber pistol at me.

  Chapter One-Hundred-And-Fifty-Seven

  His smirk froze when I jumped at him without hesitation. Most people can hardly ignore the threat of a gun. I could, because I knew I’d survive almost any injury.

  No, of course I wasn’t eager to catch a bullet. After all, that hurt! But I was firmly convinced to reach him before he could aim and shoot, and my nanos supported this judgment. They also supported my assault, which ended in a Kung Fu strike on his right shoulder.

  His gun fell to the floor. The mastermind dropped with a pain-struck face, the paper sliding from his hand and slowly settling down next to the trashcan.

  With one foot, I kicked the gun into a corner, then I grabbed hold of the landlord’s injured right arm and twisted it into an armlock. He cried bloody murder—oh yes, I could imagine that this move didn’t do good to a partially broken shoulder. However, I briefly pondered the women who must have had the pleasure of being guest in his playroom, and forgot any idea of remorse. I had to make sure he wouldn’t do anything foolish, so that left no room for compromises.

  The machine pistol rattling drowned in a large bang—the rush of air could be felt even up to me. Bart and Knuckles probably hadn’t even had time to cry.

  Where were his personal guards then? Shots from the adjacent rooms told of their attempts to prevent intrusion of our team. Once they recognized their dwindling odds, they’d have to retreat, together with their employer, and that meant, any moment one of them would stand in the doorway—right there, open-mouthed, he marveled at the situation his protégé was in, contained by the very same short woman who had slipped through his fingers hours ago. Surprise!

  He had a gun, I didn’t. I had a paperweight, which hit his skull hard. The resulting head injury was dangerous—but he was unconscious, and I was alive. That matched my priorities.

  My victim collapsed. He had retreated to merciful faint as well. Fine, that provided me some more elbowroom.

  Chapter One-Hundred-And-Fifty-Eight

  The last shots had died away. I heard footsteps in the hallway. Then Alan appeared in the door, luckily unhurt, and followed by one of his team mates. No, that was the woman I had saved from Rifle. She briefly examined the guy whose head I had hit.

  Alan’ tense posture relaxed when he saw me leaning back in the chair with my feet on the desk.

  “You’re unhurt. Good. Any problems?”

  “No.”

  He glanced around the room and spotted the open safe door.

  “Help yourself,” I invited him. “It’s all there.”

  The other woman followed and approached me with an outstretched hand. “I should say thank you. Your jump to the balcony was Olympics-like. I’m Fiona.”

  “Jo,” I returned and shook her hand. “I don’t like to just watch someone aiming at a mate.”

  “The one outside and the boss here go to your account, too? You’re versed in martial arts, are you?”

  “Pure self defense,” I modestly replied. “What you need to survive.”

  “That’s pure dynamite,” Alan declared, just having scanned the first page of the Project Rattlesnake folder. “If we play that into the right hands, their plan is busted. That’s really been worth it!”

  Fiona glanced at him, then back at me. “That was good timing—the safe already open and the content not yet in the fire.”

  “No. Luckily the safe was still closed when I arrived. Otherwise, he’d surely have burned the folder first,” I objected.

  “Jo opened the safe,” Alan chimed in.

  Fiona regarded me with new respect. “You can open a Cartel safe?”

  I shrugged. “The second time it’s easy.”

  Fiona frowned. Alan helped out. “Jo’s already been in here yesterday. She knew the location. Pure luck that it coincided with our mission.”

  “You’ve been in here alone?” Fiona asked. “I believe you have to tell me that story another time. Chief, we should leave soon, shouldn’t we?”

  “Before the Cartel sends a cleanup team, yes. Let’s go. Jo, will you come with us?”

  I briefly pondered that. “No. I’ll go my own way now. I prefer to work alone. Nice to have met you.”

  “But—” Fiona began. Alan placed a hand on her arm. “She’s voluntarily faced the Cartel. Without her, we wouldn’t have done it today. That has to do for us.”

  Fiona gave in and reached out her hand again. “Well. In life you always meet twice, they say. So—au revoir.”

  “Au revoir.” I shook her hand first, then Alan’s, then I left. Through the hallway, down the stairs, through the entrance area’s blood-stained debris, across the yard, through the gate’s remainders, along the access road—without looking back.

  This mission was over, and after all even successful. The landlord’s briefcase had contained two-hundred-thousand dollars. In my opinion, that was appropriate.

  I’ve been Johanna Meier. A name for a loser.

  Now I’m Josephine Meyer. A Master of Dragon Technology, a master whore, a master gambler, a master thief.

  You will hear from me.

  About the Author

  I am Valerie J. Long, born in 1963. I live and work in Germany as an IT project manager. I like role playing games, and I like putting my ideas on paper. I like all kinds of Science Fiction and Fantasy, I like music, and I like making you bite your nails off.