Guns For Angels

by Viviana MacKade

  Snake didn’t need to hear more. The car peeled out on the road, spun around in the same lane and roared. Fully unconcerned about running in the wrong direction, Snake’s smile was pure bliss.

  “Noxell and Benson got away,” Mark explained in dry, calm words, his arms folded on his chest as the car bumped and jerked. “The Coast Guard stopped the Boat. The police have Benson’s flunkies.”

  “It’s just them two in that car?” Falcon asked, unwrapping a chewing gum.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, come on,” Snake snapped, punching the steering wheel. “Eight people in the house last night, now we’re after two? And one’s a chick? It’s offensive. Any of us could do the job alone, with a pirate patch on his right eye and a broken hand. Come on.”

  As considerations on the poor state of today’s criminality went on, Ann choked down the hysterical laugh bubbling up in her throat. They flashed against the traffic, dodging cars coming the right way like a pinball ball. Grasping at the car door handle when Snake veered right yet another time, Ann closed her eyes, trying to hide in the fantasy of being on a roller-coaster.

  “You okay?” Mark asked her.

  “Sure. We’re going the wrong way at 90 mph. Cool.”

  She couldn’t see his smile, but heard it in his voice. “Don’t worry. Driving’s Snake’s thing.”

  “I thought his thing was weapons, whatever that means.”

  “He likes noises and mess. Falcon, can you take them?”

  The lack of an answer tricked Ann into opening her eyes – she wished she hadn’t. The car leaped into the right lane as they reached the city, it crossed the junction in front of the Freedom Tower without slowing down one bit. A cacophony of horns and swearing hit them. The same sea of cars had forced the Mercedes to slow down.

  “Now I can,” Falcon murmured. A wave of hot, dirty air blew in when he lowered the window. He climbed over and out of it with a gun in his hand, sat on the door holding on the handle on the roof.

  Ann braced for the dry, booming sound of a shot that she’d come to know too well.

  Falcon shot; the Mercedes skidded and hit a street lamp. Around it, cars kept moving away, people ran. She saw Noxell and Benson leaving the car, running inside a building.

  “Aw, hell,” Mark growled. “A department store.”

  Snake stopped the car beside the dead Mercedes; both he and Falcon turned around to face Mark for his quiet orders.

  “Falcon, keep an eye on the doors. Snake with me, take the left side; I’ll take the right. Don’t engage if it endangers people and keep it quiet. We don’t want mass hysteria.”

  “Got it.”

  “What about me?” Ann asked.

  “You stay in the car.”

  “But–”

  He gripped her chin in his hand, strong and tight as a vise. Embers of adrenaline shone in his dark eyes. “You stay here. You understand?”

  He left before she could come up with another word, jogged with his men toward the building filled with neon lights. It seemed so ordinary, so mundane when they hesitated, waiting for the automatic doors to open.

  They disappeared, leaving Ann to watch bored passersby eyeing the squashed Mercedes. She shifted to get away from the sun beating on her arm through the window.

  There were three of them, she reasoned. They were trained, had seen worse situations than that. They were after two people and, as Snake pointed out, one was a woman. It didn’t necessarily mean a thing, but it was a fact that Benson was smaller.

  She should do what Mark had told her. The sensible thing. No reason to push her luck any more than what she’d done already.

  And yet.

  Nobody expected her to go in, as nobody had expected her to fight back. As Mark told her, surprise was a valuable asset in her 5 feet 2 case. What if her intervention made the difference between Mark’s safety and getting hurt? What if her clumsy attempt of help made things worse?

  The hell with everything. She’d fought all the way to this point, she would not back down at the end.

  She jumped out of the car.

  The store doors slid open to perfumes and soft music, bright lights and shiny floor. Batches of shade-like clothes and faceless mannequins populated the wide entrance. Not one scared heartbeat but hers.

  She ran past the stylish white guardians and reached the main aisle. She didn’t know what to expect. The tense silence of people threatened by the mean villain; flying bullets, maybe, with Noxell yelling insults at Mark.

  Slowly, reality steadied from the haze of fear and settled for the gleeful humming of people strolling around, picking up a shirt or a shoe, wasting a couple of words on it. Ella Fitzgerald floated in the air, carried by warm and happy notes. Nobody ran around scared as hell or showing the slightest sign of distress. Just a normal day in a small department store.

  The hand gripping her arm, and being pulled behind a wall of blue suits felt like happening in one, blurred instant. When her eyes inched up, she was face to face with Falcon

  “You look a lot like Lady Bear,” he stated. “Which isn’t possible ’cause she’s in the car.”

  “Let go of me, Falcon.”

  “You heard the orders.”

  She shrugged. “Well, maybe the orders were stupid.”

  “Regardless, you follow them. Go back to the car.”

  “Let me go, please, I have to help him.”

  The iron grip on her arm never relaxed. A faraway echo of tender surprise flashed in the steel-gun gray of his eyes. It didn’t last long enough to seep into his voice. “Unnecessary.”

  “You’re not going to let go of me, are you?”

  “Not a chance.”

  Like a second subconscious, Mark’s voice rang in her mind. Relax your adversary. You’re too small and too weak to overcome a man who’s expecting a reaction. Make him think he’s won. Then strike and run. It had worked on that man at Benson’s.

  She sighed, captured Falcon’s eyes. She even leaned a little into his chest. “All right,” she conceded. “I guess you’re right. It’s just that I’m worried.”

  “I know. It’s three to two,” he told her as a means of comfort. “We did six to one once, and got away with it.”

  She smiled, took a step back as he freed her from his hold. “Thank you, Falcon.”

  She hated what she was about to do, but she’d asked politely and he’d refused. Falcon belonged to Mark’s world, so she had to use Mark’s rules.

  “And I’m so very sorry,” she added before striking.

  Not expecting the blow, he had nothing to protect his face. The heel of her hand rapped against his nose. Not hard to knock him down–they needed everybody–but hard enough for him to double down, a hand firmly pressed on his face. She knew the drill. Pain and shock wouldn’t last long on a man like him, but enough for her to run past him and to the main hallway.

  The golden floor stretched to her right and left. She looked quickly around, trying to pick up some hint that would tell her where to go, an interference in the buzzing that would point her the way.

  Nothing. Without a hint, she went right, the way that would take her further away from Falcon; Mark’s orders bound him to keep his position so he couldn’t run after her, but still, Ann didn’t want to take the chance.

  All her senses were on high alert as she walked the aisle, past the clothing area and into the fragrance and cosmetics, weaving through flowery smells.

  Hoping to catch a glimpse of Mark she slowed down, scanning the shining stations from where elegant women armed with precious bottles waited. A blue-suit uniformed girl offered to let her smell the newest man’s perfume. “For your special someone?”

  Ann forced a tight smile and shook her head.

  A woman bumped against her; Ann turned her head at the same instant when a man at the end of the hallway did. Eyes clashed, she stopped. Snake.

  Clearly, he wasn’t happy to see her there. Why didn’t they get that she could be helpful?

  She turned a
round, frantically looking for another way. He didn’t have orders to stay still and he marched on to her within the time of a thought. If he caught her, he would try to force her into the car and time was ticking away; it was faster going in the other way.

  The noise came out from her right. It was a crash at first, then a woman’s scream, and then grunts and hits of men, fighting.

  Ann ran to it, fear rushing through her veins, wiping away any thought that wasn’t for Mark. Help him.

  Mark and Noxell were a tangle on the floor in the kitchen department; people trying to get away, pans, and scaffolding full of white plates and cups hemmed the fight in.

  Relief cut like the first ray of light after a storm. Mark couldn’t bounce off bullets, but if Noxell had a gun, he would have used it by then. It was fist on fist, a clash of physical strengths. No doubt who had more.

  Just as she was about to smile, Ann saw Benson. Ten feet ahead of her, Benson crouched behind a tall shelf, her hair a halo of dark, messy curls spilling from her hairdo.

  Benson had a gun. It was small like a toy, a toy she pointed at Mark just as, with a last blow, he knocked Noxell down.

  It felt like a bad dream in slow motion: Mark rising up, his back an easy target for a bullet. The barrel aiming. Mark turning around.

  The world jumped from slow motion to frenzied.

  Ann grabbed the first thing her hand could wrap around, got closer in one jump. The cast iron pan crashed on Benson’s back, and she fell down with a suffocated cry.

  The gun slid away. Face twisted with fury, she hurled against Ann with a sneer. They crashed on a shelf of plates; pain and noise exploded into Ann’s brain.

  Shards of ceramic and glass cut her naked arms and legs, long fingers whipped hard against her face, once, twice, then wrapped around her neck, squeezing air out her lungs, pushing her deeper into the sharp ocean of glass.

  And then, as quickly as it had started, it was over. The weight pulled off, the pounding stopped, and air flowed in.

  Kicking and biting and twisting like a dying fish, Benson was caged into Mark’s iron arms. When her screams didn’t quiet, he pressed a big hand over her mouth, warned her with a cold voice. “Shut up, or I’ll twist your skinny neck.”

  Behind him, Snake was on Noxell, a gun pointed at the nape of his blond, ruined ponytail. A few breaths later, Falcon came in and took a now quiet Benson.

  In that first moment of quiet, Ann realized Mark was staring at her. The surge of love washed through her just before the whiplash of a realization: he was staring, sure, but he was mad. Livid. Man, she was in so much trouble now.

  Because of the pain from her battered body and Mark’s very clear distress, she didn’t move until he helped her out of that sea of broken glass. She tried to take a step.

  “Don’t,” he ordered.

  “I’m all right, I just–”

  “Don’t talk to me now,” he said, a fury so powerful it made his low voice tremble.

  When he scooped her up, an arm under her knees and one behind her back, he had the same care of a fairy tale prince. He didn’t spare a second glance to Snake, Falcon, the people they held or the crowd that had formed around them.

  Mark laid her on the closest sofa, as soft as pure cotton wool. He kneeled in front of her, and tender hands started a thorough examination of the cuts mapping her skin.

  “Mark?”

  He didn’t show any reaction to her voice.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t follow the orders, but you had Falcon staying at the door, and said you and Snake would split.” Her words weren’t making a lot of sense, but it was getting more and more difficult to focus on what she wanted to say. She was tired and battered and wanted his warm skin on hers and sleep, not give explanations. “I thought that you would be alone, and I just wanted to help you. I was scared, and–” A sob stopped her.

  His eyes stayed on her cuts, but his voice rose like the far away rumble of a thunder. “If you’re scared you hide, you don’t run into danger.”

  “I didn’t do anything to save her,” she said, wiping away tears with her shoulder. “I didn’t kill Mary, but I did nothing to help her, either. I couldn’t stand not helping you. The thought of losing you–.”

  “Tell me, Ann,” he snapped. “Tell me how you felt, because I really don’t know. I almost lost my mind when I saw you crashing down with that nut job, but tell me how that felt.”

  “Is that why you’re angry?”

  “You think?”

  “I thought it was because I didn’t listen.”

  “To hell with that!” he shouted. “I saw you flying, and she might have another gun. Hell, she might have a knife! You might be d–”

  He squeezed his eyes tight, pressed his forehead against her hands in her lap breathing hard.

  She wriggled her fingers free, threaded them in his hair and pulled his head up.

  “It’s over,” she said, smiling.

  Epilog

  Thick as a pillow of dark wool, heavy clouds hovered over the beaches. A steel gray veil made of rain tumbled down to the powerless earth and laid on the rainbow of beach umbrellas, on people running for shelter. A good, old, summer downpour.

  Mark sank a little more in the cushions of the wicker couch, tucking Ann closer. Few people were in the small lounge of the restaurant; more than few cocktails were on their table.

  The sun shone just beyond the porch. The storm was far away.

  “Do you think we’re going to get some of that?” Ann asked, pointing a finger toward the rainstorm.

  “It’s two beaches down and going inland, we’ll be okay.”

  Snake and Falcon walked to the easy chairs in front of them with margaritas in their hands.

  “Do we have to wake him up?” Snake asked eyeing the Boss, asleep on a beach hammock close by.

  “It’s shady, he won’t get sunburn.”

  In the silence stroked by hot breeze, the margaritas were a shot of life. Snake stirred his with a straw. “Okay, Bear, now tell me the truth. Did you really propose and everything?”

  “I did.”

  Ann hid a smile. He wouldn’t like it, if she shared how she found their bed sprinkled with white rose petals, a small box in the middle of it. His promise to love her and protect her and their children until his last breath.

  “And you guys doing it? Like, for real?” Snake asked.

  Mark nodded.

  “Wow. A beach wedding, a normal job. Who would have thought? How long do we have to stick around to see it?”

  “I called my sister, she’ll be back in a couple of days. Few more to put it all together.”

  When Ann saw Falcon feeling his blackened nose and cringing, she repeated for the hundredth time, “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Not talking about it,” he said stern.

  “In my defense, I asked you to let me go.” She shot her thumb in Mark’s direction. “And he taught me.”

  Falcon’s voice drenched sarcasm. “Yes, he’s going to be very good.”

  “He will.” Ann’s voice picked up in enthusiasm. “Our health center will be fantastic. We’ll call it Mary and Mouse’s, and it’s going to replace Mary’s club. Mark will teach self-defense and I will do massages and relaxation techniques. We’ll have yoga classes, too, and a bar menu, very small and healthy – his idea, the healthy food.”

  “All settled down and happy, are you?” Snake said to Mark before turning his attention to the Margarita. “I guess there’s hope, after all. Even for us.”

  “You could keep the Team alive,” Mark tried.

  “Without you and Mouse? Nah.” Snake leaned back. “Besides, you look so fucking happy–pardon me ma’am–we want to see if there’s some for us, somewhere. Falcon here will hit west, I was thinking north.”

  Mark raised his glass. “To the Team.”

  The glass clicked, happy.

  “Hey, I still don’t know your names,” Ann said.

  Falcon and Snake looked at each other, realizing they
would have to get used to a lot of things from that day on.

  Snake shrugged. “Felix. I’m Felix.”

  “Howard,” Falcon said, tasting the sound of it on his lips like a long lost flavor.

  “Well, Felix and Howard, it’s very nice meeting both of you.”

  Fulfilled and peaceful, Ann stamped a kiss on Mark’s cheek and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  He brushed her hair, let his eyes fly over sand and waves. Blue stretched as far as the eye could see, spotted with the joyful cry of kids chasing crabs.

  Home.

  He could show her the old bait shop where his father taught him about hooks, fishes and honour. Or the garage-surf shop where he got his first board. Mark felt a smile pulling his lips. There was a time when he’d surfed. It’d seemed like a dream for so long, and now it was right there for him to grab, a reality full of peace and the simple pleasure of riding a wave.

  He looked at the woman sitting at his side, with her blond hair and big blue eyes, an angel made of steely sweetness and bright courage.

  She’d managed to give him a future he didn’t know he wanted, a future that would take him back where he’d started from: a job in Miami and weekends in a small town on the Treasure Coast, Florida.

  Only a wedding between him and that life, a wedding on a morning where the sky would be pink and clear. Orange flowers would be in her hands as a preacher asked for their vows. His sister at his side, his brothers behind him.

  Home.

  His angel took him home.

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Beach bum and country music addicted, Viviana lives in a small Floridian town with her husband and her son, her die-hard fans and personal cheer squad. She spends her days between typing on her beloved keyboard, playing in the pool with her boy, and eating whatever her husband puts on her plate (the guy is that good, and she really loves eating). Besides beaching, she enjoys long walks, horse-riding, hiking, and pretty much whatever she can do outside with her family.

  Find me:

  The best way to know me is through my website (and the books I host): http://www.viviana-mackade.blog/