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Message-ID: <47415asstr$1081753803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Imagineer <imagin8r47@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cruel Summer 35 {Imagineer} (nosex viol ScFi)
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Date: Mon, 12 Apr 2004 03:10:03 -0400
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Cruel Summer

copyright 2001-2004 by Imagineer.

comments to 
imagineer 47: yahoo green eggs com ham
but without the green eggs or ham

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Imagineer/www/


// 35: Isolated


  The zip ties chafed at the diner waitress' wrists and ankles. Gladys
Barrett had been sitting in this chair for hours; how many, she could
only guess. The walls of the room were raw sheetrock, nails and joints
still visible. She shifted as much as she could within her bonds, but
her muscles still ached from lack of motion.

  And she felt a private soreness she hadn't felt in a long time. As if
the drug-induced dreams had been more than dreams. She tried to put
such thoughts out of her head.

  In the next room sat at least three men. Hardened, mysterious men who
clearly hadn't been hired for their sharp wit. Or their fashion sense.

  And leading them was a good-looking -- no, gorgeous -- woman in her
mid-thirties with a chip on her shoulder the size of Gibraltar. And a
handgun to match.

  They were bad news. And they wanted something from her daughter.

  But despite her peril, Gladys Barrett swelled with pride. Her
daughter *had* found her calling. She could make a difference. She
*did* make a difference.

  That pride became a determination that Gladys Barrett would not be
the instrument of her daughter's undoing. 

  All I ever wanted for you was to make something of yourself, and
leave the world just a little bit better than you'd found it. Now that
you've found a way to do that, these people want to take it away.
They're going to ask you to give it all up for me. I can't let you do
that. I can't force you to make such a choice.

  Gladys might not be a superheroine, but she had a few tricks of her
own.

  "Hey, Cooper!"
  He was surprised she used his name.
  "What?" He popped his head into the doorway. "We're not supposed to
talk to you."
  "Listen, would you mind cutting off these zip ties? They really hurt."
  "And let you just walk around? No way."
  "Look, I gotta use the little girls' room."
  "No way."
  "Come on. You don't want me to stink up the place, do you?" Cooper's
nose curled. "Remember, you're gonna have to move me later anyway."
  "I don't trust you."
  "You don't have to. Just trade these zip ties for that rope."
  "What rope?"
  "That nylon rope up there." She motioned with her head toward the
refrigerator. "On top."

  Cooper nodded to Summer Suit, who fetched the off-white coil. "There
must be twenty feet here, at least."

  "Good," Gladys said, "so you can tie me up good and still have enough
slack to let me go to the bathroom. I need to check the produce." Huh?
"I have to pee," she translated.

  Cooper looked suspicious. "I don't think so."

  "What's the matter, you don't know how to tie a knot?"
  "Hey, fuck you lady, I was a boy scout; I know all the knots!"
  "So show me what a master of the rope you can be."
  "Boss wouldn't like it." Gladys noticed the word 'boss' was always
spoken with a special emphasis that underscored hatred and fear.

  "Boss wouldn't like coming back and finding me dead because these zip
ties were so tight they slit my wrists."

  Summer Suit kneeled behind her, checking her wrists. He saw a thin
red line where the zip tie had rubbed Ms. Barrett's skin raw. His
finger wedged between her wrist and the tie. Ouch. The plastic did have
a sharp edge to it. "She's got a point," he said ruefully. "Gimme the
rope, I'll do it."

  "Fuck you, Burnett, you don't even own a necktie."
  "Oh yeah? What was I wearing at the Mendoza funeral?"
  "That was a clip-on."
  Burnett became flustered. "How'd you know?"
  Cooper pointed to Burnett's feet. "Come on. Slip-ons?"


  The soft nylon rope almost felt good on her chafed wrists compared to
the cruel zip ties. But more importantly, it felt familiar. Now she was
getting somewhere.


  "No, no, silly, not like that, I can slip right out of that, see?
Loop it around the other way." Cooper was perplexed by her
quickly-shifting limbs -- he didn't expect such quick fluid movements
from a forty-year-old waitress. He didn't know why she was holding her
wrists that way, but as he wound the rope around it felt plenty secure.

  As Gladys felt Cooper work on renewing her bondage, she heard the
other two whispering in the other room.
  "Weren't you supposed to relieve Taggert on the roof?"
  "He's fine. He likes it up there. I'll go up there later."
  "Whatever. It's your ass."
  "Was Ginger serious about capping them both no matter what?"
  "Who the fuck knows. Ginger's got a thing for drama. I think she's
just fucking with her."
  "But think about it, dude. They can identify us."
  "You forget who you work for. We don't exist."
  "I dunno. I guess. I just got a bad feelin' about this."

  "Okay," Cooper announced. "Your hands aren't going anywhere." he gave
them a quick tug to reassure his partners. "Now let's get you over to
the can, then we can finish tying you back to the chair."

  Cooper guided Gladys in front of him, through the doorway and down
the hall to the bathroom. She noticed the way Burnett's hand twitched
as he held it in front of him, a gunfighter ready to draw at the
slightest provocation.

  Gladys stood in front of the bathroom door. Cooper looked at her:
What?
  "Um, a little help." She glanced quickly downward, then back up to
him. Huh? "Panties," she prompted.
  "Oh!" Cooper kneeled down, hands to the hem of her knee-length plain
brown skirt. His hands trembled with uncertainty at the strange
situation as they slid nervously up her thighs.
  "Be nice," Gladys cautioned. She felt his hands reach her hips,
feeling for the waistband, higher than he'd expected to go. Gladys may
have been coming up fast on forty, but she was no fuddy-duddy. Hands
found slender strings and began sliding them down as quick as his sense
of decency allowed.

  His hands finally reached her knees and the woman's underwear came
into view. Chocolate-brown satin thong. "Nice," Cooper slipped.

  It occurred to Gladys that she could have kneed Cooper right in the
nose, but she wouldn't get far with her hands tied behind her back and
her underwear around her ankles. She lifted one foot, shaking it a bit
to prompt him to remove the sexy satin garment. He pulled it free of
one foot, then the other. He stood up, the skimpy unmentionable
suspended between his thumbs. Cooper looked to his partners as if to
ask, What do I do with these?

  "I see where your daughter gets her taste for fashion," Burnett
smirked.

  "The bra matches," Gladys replied. "Be good and maybe I'll let you
see it." Anything to keep them off-balance...

  After an awkward moment Cooper folded them carefully and laid them on
the sink behind her.

  Cooper motioned her into the bathroom. "Okay, go ahead," Cooper
motioned her into the water closet.

  "How am I supposed to wipe?"
  "I thought you just had to pee."
  "You're single, aren't you?" Gladys chided.
  Burnett laughed. "Girls wipe, dumbass."
  Gladys thought she could see Cooper's cheeks flush. "Well, you'll
just have to shake it," he stammered.

  Gladys sighed an exaggerated sigh, shrugging her shoulders. "All
right, fine." She stepped into the bathroom. "Will you at least close
the door? The rope should fit under it." She began hitching up the back
of her skirt.

  "Yeah, okay. Don't try anything funny!" Cooper warned.

  She really did have to pee, but this was the only chance she was
going to get. She looked up; the ceiling vent was a large duct more
than a foot square.

  It wasn't much, but it was bigger than the hatch she'd had to wiggle
through back in the day. She hadn't gained *too* much weight since
those days on the road with The Amazing Hindini...


  It had been almost a minute and they hadn't heard any peeing yet.
"Hey, no foolin' around in there!" "What's takin' so long?"

  "I'm shy," was the answer. "Don't stand so close to the door; I can
feel you there and it's making me nervous." Cooper shrugged and backed
off as far as the rope would allow.

  They heard a familiar tinkling sound, then a flush. "All right, let's
go," Cooper called through the door. There was no answer. They waited
for the water to stop running. And waited. And waited.

  "The toilet's running. Figures," Burnett rolled his eyes.

  Cooper knocked on the door. "Come on, Mrs. Barrett. Don't make me
come in there." He gave the rope a tug; it was unyielding. He tugged a
bit harder. "Damn, she's strong." He tugged much harder. The rope
didn't budge.

  Uh-oh.

  The door flew open; Cooper barged in. The rope ran under the stall
door and up; he could see Mrs. Barrett's dropped skirt and shoes under
the door. He gave the rope another tug; it felt tied to a solid object.
He knocked angrily on the stall door. "Mrs. Barrett!" No answer. He
pounded his fist on the stall; it shuddered under the attack. "Mrs.
Barrett! Answer me or I'm coming in!" The still-running toilet was the
only response.

  Shoulder lowered and slammed; metal door popped free of its tiny
latch and rang out loudly against the side of the stall.

  Cooper's eyes followed the rope along the floor. Past Mrs. Barrett's
empty shoes. Past the discarded dress draped over the handle of a
plunger sticking out of the bowl. Up over the bowl, up the tank, whose
cover lay canted to one side, large rubber stopper set neatly atop it.
Up the exposed water pipe, tied off to the valve near the ceiling.

  Where the fuck did she go?

  "Fuck! She's gone!"
  "That's impossible-" Burnett cut himself off as he entered the
bathroom. He looked up.

  "She's in the airduct!" Burnett pushed Cooper aside, stepping up onto
the toilet seat, reaching up to push the vent cover out of the way.
"Give me a lift!" Cooper squeezed into the booth to one side of the
toilet, making a cradle with his hands. Burnett stepped up, popping his
head into the duct. His shoulders struck the sides of the opening; it
was too small for him.

  "See anything?" Cooper called up.
  Burnett lowered himself back down, his foot slipping into the bowl.
"Fuck!" he cursed. "No, it's pitch black up there."
  "Come on, we gotta cut her off!" Cooper dashed out of the bathroom
and down the hall.

  Burnett ignored the pain in his ankle and hustled off after his
partner. "Taggert! She's in the air ducts! Get up in the ceiling and
see where they lead!"


  Gladys heard angry shouts echo through the vent. She crawled slowly,
afraid both of giving away her location in the vent and of the flimsy
sheet metal giving out under considerably more weight than it was
designed to support. Her bare skin goosebumped when she brushed up
against the cold metal side. Maybe she shouldn't have left her dress
and shoes behind; but if it bought her even a few seconds, it could
make all the difference... Gladys flinched in pain as she felt
something sharp scrape along her thigh. Maybe she was better off
without her clothes anyway; they might get caught on something.

  "Hold the table steady! Watch out! Turn on the lights!"

  Gladys heard gunshots; she froze in place. "Don't shoot, you idiot!
We need her alive!" She resumed crawling, faster now, the sheet metal
groaning and swaying and deforming, popping down and back up with a
drumlike Plunk! with each hurried move. 

  The metallic complaint of yielding metal echoed through the narrow
crawlspace. Long streaks of light grew past her. "There she is!
Fifteen, maybe twenty feet ahead!" They'd broken into the vent behind
her.
  "Shit! That's on the other side of the wall!"
  "Go around!"

  Gladys turned a corner into darkness. The bottom of the duct ahead of
her suddenly felt sharp, like her hands were on a grid of razor blades.
A vent. She spread her arms and knees out to the edges of the duct and
crawled slowly forward.

  Suddenly she could see. The light was on in the office below...

  ...and she was staring straight ahead at a dead end.

  "Come on down, Mrs. Barrett. You're trapped." The voice came from
below. It was Burnett. Gladys began to back up when she heard a loud
Plunk! behind her. "Cooper's right behind you. There's nowhere to go.
Now why don't you come down from there before you get hurt?" She looked
down through the vent. Burnett stood directly below her, his dirty
blond hair expertly coiffed, his time-warp casual suit and unlaced
Sperry Topsiders looking comically debonair. He had a whimsical gleam
in his eye, as if he'd been caught looking up a woman's skirt.


  Of course, Gladys Barrett wasn't wearing a skirt. She wasn't wearing
much of anything, just her bra and the little apron from her uniform
tied around her waist. And she was still a beautiful woman. In a way,
Burnett thought all that time he'd been leering at her daughter he
might have been looking in the wrong bedroom window...


  The ceiling creaked and groaned. The ductwork made
progressively-louder protests. Gladys felt the duct shiver beneath her.
She felt a warm hand encircle her ankle.

  Then there came a ripping, snapping, tearing rumble. Gladys felt
herself pitched suddenly backwards as the world fell out from under her.

  The sound of sheet metal crashing to the floor rang like thunder in
her ears. She felt the grip on her ankle slacken. When the world had
stopped shaking her, she pulled herself forward, out of the hammered
duct into a sheetrock-clouded room.

  "She's getting away!" a weak voice coughed. Gladys staggered out of
the room, pausing in the hallway. Burnett and Cooper were buried in
debris, just beginning to kick free. She looked up and down the
hallway. Which way? To the left, the break room; bathroom to the right.
Past the bathroom, a dull orange glow. Sodium lamps. Outside. She ran
right.

  "Taggert! Up front!"

  Suddenly a burly silhouette loomed in front of the door. This man
wanted to stop her. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to hurt her
daughter.


  There she was, coming down the hall. Shit, with more than twenty feet
between them, if she turned around and ran for the back door she could
probably get out before he could catch her. Even if he wasn't carrying
an extra forty pounds.

  But curiously, she didn't stop. She broke into a run. And as she
approached him, she let out a blood-curdling scream of fury that froze
Taggert on his heels.


  Gladys launched herself at the stunned henchman, sending him toppling
to the ground. The woman barely broke stride, lunging for the bar latch
on the front door and slamming it open. But halfway out the door she
felt a bear-like grip around her ankle that sent her crashing to the
ground. Gladys kicked and dragged and clawed her way out the door, but
the grip on her foot was unrelenting; whatever it was was following her
outside.

  "Gimme a hand!" she heard Taggert call out, "I can't hold her
forever!"

  Despite her frantic struggles, Gladys felt herself dragged slowly
back toward the door. "Quit kicking!" Taggert barked.

  And then suddenly he let go. Gladys heard a loud Crack! And she heard
Taggert scream.

  "Aauugh! Fuck! I'm hit! I'm hit!"

  Gladys scrambled to her feet, but she froze in mid-stride at the
sight before her. A man, running toward her from the sidewalk, bright
flashes of yellow-white light coming from each hand, punctuated by a
violent Crack! Crack! Crack!

  "Run!" the man screamed at her. "Run!"

  Gladys didn't have to be told twice. She ran to the man's right, bare
feet feeling concrete and then grass. Bits of grass and dirt seemed to
leap up at her to her right; the man dove to his left. Someone was
shooting at him. But Gladys Barrett didn't care. She just ran while a
hail of gunfire erupted behind her.


  Eric dove to his left, rolling over onto his back as he slid into the
grass, twin Glocks pivoting skyward. There, on the roof. He fired two
rounds before his body came to rest on the lawn, forcing the rooftop
shooter to duck for cover. With one eye on the front doorway, Eric kept
both weapons trained on the roof. The rooftop shooter poked his weapon
over the side, angling for a shot; Eric squeezed off two more rounds,
spitting concrete inches from the shooter's position.

  Eric rolled to his feet, running for the door, still held open by the
writhing Taggert. Eric pounced like a cat, kicking Taggert's pistol
away with one foot, bringing the other foot down squarely on Taggert's
injured hand. One pistol swiveled down between Taggert's eyes. "Don't
move," Eric commanded. He punctuated his order by grinding his heel
into the palm of the prone man's hand. Taggert yelped weakly.

  A shot came from inside. Eric snapped off a round in response,
instinctively homing in on movement at the end of the hall. His other
pistol swung up to join its partner. Eric stepped forward into the
doorway. A muzzle flash identified a man and his weapon crouched in the
last doorway on the left. Eric pinned the man down with a half-dozen
rapid shots; his opponent withdrew. Eric fired two warning shots at the
next-to-last doorway on the right, the most likely position of a second
opponent.

  "Stop, or I'll shoot!" The voice came from behind him. Eric ducked to
one side of the hallway and looked down; it wasn't Taggert. Taggert was
rolling around, holding his bloodied hand and grimacing. No, it was the
rooftop shooter. And he wasn't talking to Eric.

  Oh, shit.

  Eric juked back out the front door, feeling the hot wind of shots
fired from behind him. Safely outside, he pivoted and trained his
weapons skyward, scanning the edge of the rooftop for the shooter,
backpedaling for a better angle.

  There, almost directly above him, a rifle barrel and a steadying hand
leaned over the building's edge. Pointed not down at Eric, but out
toward the street. Toward Gladys...

  Eric looked with horror over his left shoulder, toward the street.
Gladys Barrett, wearing nothing but a bra, had crossed the deserted
street and was sprinting down the sidewalk toward the main boulevard.

  The rifle report echoed off the street and neighboring buildings. A
puff of shattered concrete burst just ahead of the fleeing woman.
Eric's head snapped back up, drawing a bead on the rifleman's cradling
hand. The side of the left pistol's grip steadied the base of the
right. Vision narrowed, zooming in on the target. Trigger finger
squeezed. The Crack! of the shot coincided with a burst of blood from
the rifleman's hand. And with the louder report of the rifle. The rifle
barrel retreated back from the edge of the building, disappearing from
view.

  Eric Lockwell's legs never stopped pumping, backpedaling away from
the building, right pistol still aimed at the roof, left pistol
ratcheted down toward the front door, moving away from the warehouse
and toward the woman he'd come to save.

  But his ears no longer heard the panicked footsteps of a woman
running for her life.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Gladys Barrett sat/lay on the sidewalk,
legs splayed, both hands gripping a thigh. Even from this distance,
Eric recognized the disoriented look of someone who'd just been shot
for the first time.

  "Don't move! I'll come to you!" he yelled over his shoulder. Eric
backed up quickly, his eyes constantly scanning back and forth between
the rooftop, the front door, and the near side of the building.

  There were scuffling sounds, but no shooting. They were running.

  Eric knelt next to the injured Gladys. Her hands weakly tried to stem
the flow of blood coming from her thigh.

  In the distance, an engine roared to life and slammed into gear. They
were either coming to get them or beating a hasty retreat. The
assassin-turned-rescuer crouched over Gladys, shielding her as best he
could while drawing a bead on the near side driveway. There was nowhere
to hide on the empty street. But he wasn't going to just leave this
woman here. Not even if it meant dying here next to her.

  A white van bellowed out from behind the building, bouncing on its
wheels as it hammered into the street. Eric's trigger fingers begged
for permission, but Eric held them in check for an instant, letting the
panic-driven van make the first move. 

  The van yanked its front wheels to the left, kicking the rear end out
in a barely-controlled fishtail before hooking back up. The van took
off away from Eric and Gladys. Weapons lowered. The reformed killer
looked into Gladys Barrett's eyes for the first time.

  Gladys bore a look not of fear, but of resignation. Already Eric
could see the color draining from her face. His hand reached down
toward hers, brushing them to the side gently so that he could take a
look at her wound. Blood gushed from her inner thigh. The growing pool
of blood looked sickly black under the orange glow of sodium street
lamps.

  "Damn." Eric whipped off his belt, slipping it around the injured
woman's leg, sliding it up toward her hip, wrapping it a second time,
and drawing it taut. Gladys moaned and grimaced in pain.


  She felt dizzy. Cold.

  Tired. So tired. 

  This man had tried to save her. She wouldn't have escaped the fat
one's grasp at the door if this man hadn't come along. It wasn't his
fault that she'd been shot. But his face showed the immense weight of
responsibility unmet.

  "I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I'm so sorry." 


  How could he explain all this to her? The sapphires, her daughter,
Ginger's plan? How could he make her understand why she was laying in
the street bleeding to death? Why was everything so complicated, so
tragic, so stupid?

  But she looked neither confused nor afraid. She knew all she needed
to know.

  "You know my daughter."
  "Yes."
  "She sent you."
  "Shh. Save your strength." For what? There was so much blood...

  Gladys Barrett's eyes looked off into the distance. "I always knew
she would do good." She smiled.

  Eric Lockwell could only sit there helpless, a dying woman's head
cradled in his lap.

  "I love her so much."
  "I'm sure she knows you do," he stammered. Anything he said sounded
so worthless.


  Gladys suddenly regained focus. Her eyes locked onto his, entreating
him to deliver her final message.

  "Angela can't give up."

  She knew she was at the end.

  But Gladys had won.
  Angela was going to be all right.
  Nobody could hurt her baby now.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Club DeiGlo.

  This was it. The last stop before they headed to the airport. Ginger
practically trembled with anticipation.

  The car continued past the club entrance; Ginger was about to tap on
the glass to get the driver to pull over when the black DeVille turned
sharply into an alley. Must take "deliveries" in the rear, she mused.
Her suspicions were confirmed when the car eased to a stop next to a
flickering neon sign that marked the club's back door.


  The driver scanned the alley ahead. This was familiar -- and
uncomfortable -- territory. This was where the bodies of four of Bates'
most trusted fellas had been found, beaten to death. They'd gone after
the Black Widow, and they'd paid the ultimate price.

  The driver flicked on the radio to quell nerves.

  Now listen up
  She's razor sharp
  If she don't get her way
  She'll slice you apart
  Now she's cool cool black
  She moves like a cat
  If you don't get her game
  You might not make it back

  She's got the looks that kill
  that kill


  Ginger was about to rap on the window -- the sudden sound of
thrashing guitars wasn't what she needed right now -- when a sinewy
figure stepped out of the shadows, the sick green light of the Club
DeiGlo neon backlighting the figure with an eery halo. Was this the
Black Widow? The figure extended a hand holding a small envelope. No,
this was just Bates' tribute from the club. Ginger inched the window
down; the figure slipped the envelope into the car through the crack.
As Ginger grabbed it she couldn't help but feel dirty. Here she was,
collecting for a mobster. She was better than this. Ginger reminded
herself why she was here. Nabbing the Black Widow was worth a little
whoring.

  As she reached for the switch to raise the window, she heard the
figure offer salutations. "Have a safe journey," the figure bowed.

  Waitaminute, safe journey? Was Bates' security that shoddy, or was
that...?

  Ginger leaped out of the car. "Hey, you, get back here!" she called
after the figure, but he simply faded into the shadows. She took a step
to give chase, but her better judgement halted her. As far as Black
Widow knew, Ginger had the object of the killer's affection inside the
car. Best to stay close to it. After all, Ginger *was* in unfamiliar
territory. And unless she counted Bates' driver, backup was minutes
away.

  The car stereo leaked out of the open door, cutting through the
night, booming in the narrow alley...

  Now she's bullet proof
  She keeps her motor clean
  And believe me you
  She's a number thirteen
  The church strikes midnight
  She's lookin' louder and louder
  She's gonna turn on your juice, boy
  Then she'll turn on the power

  The stereo suddenly went silent.

  "I think you should get back in the car." The voice came from behind
her. Ginger spun around. From inside the car. She ducked her head to
look inside the dark interior. On the other side sat what could only be
the Black Widow. The brilliant sapphires around her neck sparkled under
the dim opera lights of the Cadillac's interior.

  This was it.

  Ginger got in and closed the door.

  Before the solid thwump! sound of the door had faded, Ginger found
herself pressed back into the seat by a well-polished stiletto blade
gently poking her neck. She swallowed hard.

  "I bet you're wondering where Gerald Bates is."

  "Not really." 

  The vigilante's answer surprised the agent. "How did you-" Her
question was cut short when something landed in her lap. Afraid to move
lest the blade puncture her skin, Ginger tried to identify the object
by feel. The driver's hat.

  Valerie Strain smiled. "Not bad for a girl who doesn't even have a
driver's license, if I do say so myself."

  Ginger strove to regain her composure. She reminded herself that it
didn't matter how Black Widow got here, only that she got here. She put
her hand on the vigilante's arm and gently pushed the knife blade away.
"If you wanted to kill me, I don't think you need the knife, do you,
Black Widow?"

  "Ugh, I hate that fucking name." Val threw herself back against the
front seats, visibly pouting.
  "Would you prefer I called you Val?"
  "I'd prefer you get to the point. You took a hell of a risk coming
here. I figured you wanted to meet me so bad, I should find out why."

  Ginger massaged her throat gently, the memory of the blade still
sharp. "I was hoping you might be more than the mindless killer the
press makes you out to be. Besides, I heard you only kill men."

  "I'm willing to expand my horizons if you don't get to the point."

  Ginger took a deep breath. "Look, your time is up. They're coming for
you. They know more about the stones than you ever could. They're
professional. They know what it takes to stop you."
  "So why are we talking? Go ahead and stop me."
  "Listen, it doesn't have to be that way. Give me the stones-"
  "What, lady, do I look retarded?"
  "Hear me out. Give me the stones, I'll make it look like you're dead
-- I've got a dead body that'll pass for you in the trunk -- everybody
wins."

  "Fuck you, 'everybody wins.' I don't win. Bates is still alive, and
I'm fucked. How do I know you don't just kill me? I think I like my
chances better on my own." Val leaned on the door, reaching for the
handle. Ginger boldly grabbed hold of her lapel.
  "Look, in another day or so your precious sapphires are going to run
out of gas," Ginger let Val brush the hand off her lapel, "and then
you'll just be plain Valerie Strain again, except that you'll have
everyone in the country looking for you."
  Val's eyes narrowed. "You're lying." But behind the bravado, there
was a hint of concern...

  "You don't believe me? Fine. You're the expert. Why do you think I'm
here? Why do you think Sapphire came after you? Why do you think she
failed?" Ginger paused for dramatic effect. "Who do you think Sapphire
works for?"

  Concern became doubt. But Val's face quickly hardened again. "Well if
I've only got a day or so I should be going; I've got a lot to do." Her
hand was on the door handle. Ginger leaned across the car to put her
hand over Val's. The contact started off rough but quickly softened,
almost to a caress. Val looked at Ginger quizzically.
  "Don't be naive," Ginger warned, "it's only a matter of time before
they find you."

  "As long as it's a matter of more time than it takes for me to kill
Bates, I'm okay with that."

  Christ, this girl was fatalistic. And focused. Ginger remembered a
time when she was younger when she was that fatalistic and that
focused. In fact, now that she considered her present situation...
Maybe she and the Black Widow weren't all that different.

  "Dammit, you'll never get close to Bates!"
  "Maybe, maybe not. But I'm close to you right now." The threat hung
in the air.

  Ginger shrugged, showing exasperation. "It won't matter; it's over."
Her expression said, 'go ahead.' "I'm offering you a way out; why won't
you take it?"
  "You wouldn't understand."

  "I do understand." Ginger's hands went to her collar. She quickly
undid the buttons on her blouse, reaching into her bra and ripping out
a small microphone.

  "What the fuck?" Val backed off as far as she could within the
confines of the back seat, pressing her backside against the passenger
B-pillar.

  "Listen to me, we don't have much time." Ginger's voice was hushed,
urgent. "I can give you Bates."

  "What?!" Val was incredulous.

  "I can give you Bates," Ginger repeated. "Tomorrow, after the Party,
after I return the sapphires, after everyone agrees you're dead and
packs up and heads home. I can tell you where he'll be and how to get
to him."

  "Why would you do that?" Val was a heartbeat from bolting.
Invulnerable or not, this chick was freaking her out.

  "Because I know why you want to kill him." Ginger leaned closer. "I
know what he did to you."
  "Congratulations, you've got a good research team." Val was
nonchalant but clearly affected.
  "They don't know anything about it. But I know." Ginger's look was
serious, intense, but compassionate. "I know because he did the same
thing to me, almost fifteen years ago." Ginger congratulated herself on
subtracting five years from her age.


  Val looked at this mysterious woman with mistrust. Funny, I figured
her for *late* thirties. "So *you* kill him," she finally replied.

  "I can't. They're watching me all the time." She pointed to the dead
wire. "I can't get close to him. But you can."
  "So tell me where he'll be and I'll be on my way."
  "You don't understand," Ginger pleaded, her desperation and anxiety
obviously growing with each passing second. "If they think you're still
at large he'll be gone, in an FBI safe house clenched tighter than
buttcheeks in men's prison. If I don't walk out of here with the
sapphires in hand, you'll never see Bates again, and you'll be in
custody or in a body bag by Labor Day." She glanced over her shoulder,
through the back window of the car; her eyes said Please, there isn't
much time... "And my only chance for revenge will be lost."


  Val's rage boiled; her fists clenched. Memories of that night all
those years ago. Of the safety Rubio had promised. Of the violation
she'd endured. Of the way Bates had looked at her, not with the eyes of
a man, but with the eyes of a beast. With the eyes of pure evil.

  For five years she'd fought to keep those memories buried. And two
days ago, she'd been shocked to the core by the news that Bates was
again free. Free to forget what he'd done to a frightened
fourteen-year-old girl. Free to hurt another.

  "Why should I trust you?"
  "Because in another sixty seconds it'll be too late."


  Indecision tortured the girl's face. There was clearly so much she
didn't know, about the sapphires, about Ginger, about Bates... if what
Ginger said was true, she probably could have killed Val already. Or at
worst, would soon be able to. Val's expression finally cracked.

  Making Gerald Bates pay was more important than anything. Even her
own life.
   
  "So tell me how this works."

  "There's a body in the trunk that'll pass for you. There's ten pounds
of C4 strapped to it. You give me the stones, you escape down the
manhole around the corner, I blow the C4 once I'm clear." Ginger looked
out the back of the car again. A pair of headlights bounced in the
distance.

  "They'll buy that?"
  "We don't have time for this; trust me, I've got it all worked out.
This is your only chance. Thirty seconds until the remote team
arrives." Ginger held out her hand hesitantly, almost afraid to take
what this girl had.
  "Okay," Val said with a 'what the hell' sigh. Her hands went behind
her neck, unclasping the sapphire choker. She dropped it into Ginger's
hand. An instant later she'd pushed the door open...
  "Wait, take this," Ginger beckoned, holding out a small vial in her
other hand.
  "What is it?"
  "You've inhaled a poison. This is the antidote."
  "You bitch!" Val jumped back into the car, the knife once again at
the older woman's neck, ready to slice it open. But Val hesitated,
rolling the vial back and forth in her slender fingers.

  "I had no choice; one way or another I had to end this." Ginger gave
Val a 'down-the-hatch' motion. "Quick, take it, you don't have much
time."

  Val leaned back against the B-pillar, popping the cap off the vial
and tossing the contents against the back of her throat.

  When she looked back down, she saw something large and hard and
gleaming aimed at her chest. "Sorry, honey; I really liked you."

  Val cringed instinctively. A blinding flash and crushing sound hit
her. She looked down at the borrowed driver's uniform; a dark red stain
grew over her chest. Her legs gave out underneath her; she slid down on
her haunches, one leg across the transmission tunnel, the other tucked
up against the base of the seatcushion.

  Something landed in her lap. Valerie Strain looked down dully. It was
a bracelet of large sapphires. Like hers, and yet not like them at all.
They felt cold to the touch. She felt cold.


  Ginger got out of the car on the other side, peeking back in. "Don't
call us; we'll call you."

  Impeccably-manicured nails clicked back and forth over the cut facets
of large blue crystals. A silhouette strutted away from the Cadillac,
toward a van halfway down the alley. 

  Ginger Hartwick pulled a small transmitter out of her jacket pocket,
holding it up over her shoulder, next to her ear. Bright red nail
depressed bright red button. Glossy black Cadillac exploded, sending a
blast of hot air through curled shoulder-length hair. She could feel
the admiring and awed looks of the van's occupants.

  "That's right, boys, I'm the alpha bitch."


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  i used to be so big and strong
  i used to know my right from wrong
  i used to never be afraid
  i used to be somebody
  i used to have something inside
  now just this hole that's open wide
  i used to want it all
  i used to be somebody

  Andrew's phone buzzed. He muted the stereo. This was where the shit
hit the fan...
  "Yeah, this'z Dean."
  "Where are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?" Ginger's voice pierced all
the way to his brain stem; he dropped the phone involuntarily. Fumbling
fingers brought it back up to his ear.
  "Back at the apartment; why?" he cringed.
  "Where the *fuck* are you?" 
  Andrew managed not to drop the phone this time.
  "I went out to get some beer. I'm on the way back now."
  "What'd you do, wait for them to brew it?"
  "What's with you? Did Miss Muffet's meeting with the spider not go
according to plan? I told you you should have let me drive."
  "Lockwell killed the hostage."
  Andrew momentarily lost his cool. "Shit."
  "Shit is right. How close are you?"
  "I'm pulling up now."
  "Pull the files and get out of there. I'll send Johnson & Johnson
over in... twenty minutes to clean up. Don't wait for them. Eric could
be coming back for you."
  "I can take care of Eric."
  "Don't kid yourself. Eric'll grind you into paste. Personally, after
this latest fuckup of yours-"
  "This isn't *my* fuckup!"
  "You should have been there."
  "If you wanted a babysitter, you should have left Johnson & Johnson.
I'd just be paste," Andrew shot back nastily.
  "I'd kill you myself if I didn't need you. Now shut up and get out of
there. I'll call you in two hours." Click.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  The restaurant.
  The police station.
  The cannery.
  The Barrett house. 
  Gerald Bates' Cadillac.

  The city was fast becoming a war zone.

  And just when you start to figure out the players, somebody new joins
the game.

  Noel pulled up in front of the diner. It wasn't really his kind of
food, but he used to come here for lunch anyway back when he was a
Uniform. Most of the guys on the force got together at the coffee shop
around the corner from the station, or at Happy Donuts if they were
assigned to Twisted Oaks. But that's why Noel had liked to come here,
to get away from the shop talk for a while.

  This was the first time that work had brought him here.

  Well, not work, exactly.

  "Hi, I'm looking for Angela Barrett."
  The man behind the counter grunted indignantly. "She left."
  "She left? I told her to wait here for me."
  "She left."
  "Do you know where she went?"
  "Took a cab. Dunno where she was goin'."

  Noel looked around. There were no customers.
  The man behind the counter -- his nametag said 'Mel' -- answered the
unasked question. "Holiday weekend. Place has been dead all day. I'm
the only one here -- waitress left early."
  "Angela's mother."
  "That's right."
  "Did anyone visit her here? Did she leave with anyone?"
  "What's it to you?"
  Noel flipped open his badge.
  Mel snorted. "Angela's in trouble, isn't she?"
  "Did anyone visit Mrs. Barrett today? Did she leave with anyone?"
  "We had a few customers this morning, but nobody askin' for her
specifically. An' I didn't see her leave. I went out back to check the
produce, when I came back she was gone."
  "How long were you out back?"
  "I dunno, ten minutes, maybe fifteen."
  "Did you hear or see anything suspicious?"
  "Not really."
  "Not really?"

  Mel stopped wiping down the counter. "Well, Angela came in here after
her mom left all freaked out and distracted, and what little she was
wearin' was all ripped up. I thought maybe she was on something. Really
pissed me off because her mom works hard to give her a good home, and
the girl doesn't seem to appreciate it. Oh, and Gladys left without her
purse."
  "May I see it?"
  "Angela took it. Figures. Probably off buying drugs somewhere.
Listen, when you find her, do me a favor and scare some sense into her.
If you're not gonna throw the book at her, at least let her spend the
night in jail. It's not right what she's doin'. It's disrespectful to
Gladys."

  Noel shook his head. Mel had no idea. "She's not on drugs." Well, not
exactly. Come to think of it, Noel didn't really know how Sapphire was
what she was. But it wasn't like Mel thought. "She's just mixed up with
some bad people. I'm trying to help her straighten it out."
  "She needs *somebody* to straighten her out."
  "Look, you don't know what she's going through. She's a good girl."
  "Good girls don't dress like that. Good girls don't worry their
mothers when they don't come home at night."
  "I know how it looks, but you don't know her."
  "I know she's been sneaking around doin' stuff behind her mom's back.
I know Gladys finally put her foot down this morning. I know if Angela
was such a good girl I wouldn't be talking to a cop trying to find her.
I know enough. I know Gladys deserves a better daughter."

  "Angela is a better person than you'll ever know. So just back off."
There was an intensity to his response that deflated the larger man.
Mel took a step back, hands up. "Okay, sorry."

  "The trouble she's in isn't her fault." Not exactly. "I can't tell
you any more than that."
  "Is Gladys involved? Is she okay?"
  Noel looked around. "Does Gladys have a locker? Where does she put
her things when she's working?"
  "In back." Mel motioned for Noel to follow.

  Noel studied the small room with a critical eye.
  "Could she have come back here while you were, um, checking the
produce?"
  "No; the bathrooms are right there." Noel raised an eyebrow.
"'Checking the produce' means I'm goin' to the can." Noel understood.
"Notice the floor right here squeaks. You can hear it even better in
the bathroom. If anyone comes back here while I'm in the john I know
about it. I did hear the front bell a couple of times though. She
woulda been up front the whole time, and left through the front door."
  "I see. Do you have surveillance cameras?"
  "Naw. I ain't never been robbed or had any kinda real trouble here.
Knock wood."
  Noel imagined a man of Mel's stature quelled most thoughts of trouble
before they started.

  Noel sighed and made his way back out to the dining room. Mel
followed, going back behind the counter.

  "So now what?"
  "I don't know. I need to think." Noel took a seat at the counter.
"Can I get a coffee?"
  "Yeah, sure."

  Mel stood watch over his only customer, worrying for Gladys. As
moments passed, he began to recognize the slender man deep in thought
before him.

  "Hey, aren't you the guy on the Black Widow case? What the hell
happened last night? I heard she and that Avenging Angel teamed up and
almost took out Gerald Bates. Is Angela mixed up with that somehow?"
  "This doesn't have anything to do with last night." Not exactly.

  "You'd tell me if there was anything I could do, right?"
  "Of course." Gladys had worked here for a long time; Mel was
understandably concerned about his employee.
  "I mean *anything*. Gladys is more than an employee. She's a...
friend."
  Noel noticed Mel's face soften. "I understand."

  The phone rang. "I'll be right back."
  "Take your time."
  "Mel's Diner. [pause] No, Angela's not here; who's calling?" Mel
waved Noel over. Noel reached for the handset. The voice on the other
end was unfamiliar.

  "Who's this?"
  "Who's this?" Noel replied.
  "I'm looking for Angela Barrett. It's urgent."
  "Who's asking?"
  Mel whispered anxiously, "Ask him what he knows about Gladys." Noel
shooed him quiet.
  "Who I am is unimportant. Do you know how to get in touch with
Angela?"
  "What's this about?"
  "It's about her mother. Something's happened."
  Noel didn't trust the mysterious caller. "Go on."
  "Listen. You've got to tell her not to give them the stones."
  The stones? The sapphires.
  "What happened to Gladys?"
  "Did you hear me? She can't give them the sapphires. She may be the
only one who can stop them."
  "What happened to Gladys?" Noel repeated, anxiety raising his voice.

  There was a long pause. Then:
  "Gladys Barrett is dead."

  Noel went pale.

  The voice on the other end prompted, "Are you still there?"
  "I... I don't understand."
  "She tried to escape." There was a reluctant silence.
  "What happened?"
  "They shot her."

  Noel felt the room spin. His stomach turned. This didn't make any
sense! Who kills their hostage?

  "How do you know this?"
  "I... I was there. I found out where they were keeping her."

  Loss and frustration boiled over to anger. "You tried to rescue her?
Why didn't you call the police? You got Gladys Barrett killed!"
Forgotten was the fact that this mysterious voice was at the moment his
only lead, his only link to Gladys. Or to Angela.


  "I didn't get there in time. She'd already escaped. It shouldn't have
happened. I could have saved her."

  Eric's heart left leaden in his chest. The image of Gladys Barrett
gripped him. Gladys Barrett, looking so much like her daughter, her
head cradled in Eric's lap, looking through him with that thousand-yard
stare of a person lost on the brink of death. And then suddenly
focused, fear vanquished, staring straight into his soul with tragic
understanding. Her final words. "Angela can't give up." Not a plea, not
a command, but a will, as if merely speaking would make it so.


  Noel had no words. The voice in the phone seemed far away...

  "You've got to tell Angela. You've got to find her and tell her she
can't give up. Gladys sacrificed herself to save her daughter."

  It was over. He felt hollow. Angela would be crushed. The poor girl
had been through so much, but it was nothing compared to this.

  "She didn't want Angela to lose the purpose she'd found. She wanted
to give Angela the freedom to do the right thing. She wanted what was
best for her daughter."

  Noel looked sadly up at Mel. The big man was shattered; tears
streamed down his face. He shook his head, "no, no," over and over.

  "Listen," the voice on the phone said, "I have to go. The people who
did this are still out there. I've got to try to stop them."
  "Wait-" Noel protested weakly.
  "Find Angela. Tell her what happened. Protect her."
  Protect her. It was an absurd request, considering what she could do,
but it made sense nonetheless.
  The voice continued. "Angela can't give up. That was the last thing
Gladys said. 'Angela can't give up.' You have to tell her. You have to
tell her her mom said she can't give up."


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Ginger sat fuming. "Fuck! I can't believe you idiots fucking killed
the hostage."
  No one dared comment.
  "And you just left them there? You just let Eric walk away? Didn't it
occur to any of you to kill him?"
  Burnett's answer was matter-of-fact. "It occurred to me that if we
tried, he'd kill us all."
  Ginger knew he was right. And that made her all the more furious. 

  "If Eric gets to his little girlfriend and tells her, we're fucked."

  "Why? You got the stones from the other girl. You should be a match
for her."

  Cooper gave Taggert a didn't-you-know? look. "Ginger already tried
them on; they don't do shit."
  "Shut up, Cooper." She shot him a look that could kill.
  Rosewood sprouted a goofy grin. "You mean the Black Widow pulled a
fast one on the mighty Miss Hartwick?"
  "No, she just didn't tell me how they worked. I'll figure them out, I
just need a little time." Subterfuge simply wasn't conceivable. Ginger
had stared Valerie square in the eye; only hate and fear had looked
back. The stones were real; Ginger just hadn't found their secret yet.

  "Besides," Cooper continued, "you saw what the geeks dug up on the
restaurant fight. Sapphire kicked Black Widow's ass. I doubt boss here
would fare better on such short notice."

  Ginger shot Cooper another death look. She agreed, but she still
didn't like hearing it.

  "We wouldn't be talking about this if you incompetent shit-for-brains
ass-monkeys had been able to follow my simple instructions. 'Don't do
anything.' How do you fuck up 'don't do anything?' How do you fuck that
up?"
  "By doing something," Rosewood offered.
  "It was a rhetorical question," Taggert chided.

  "What about the police? They've found her body by now."
  "They'll think it was gang related," Ginger dismissed. She had more
important things to be furious about. She got up and began pacing.

  Taggert wasn't buying it. "High-powered rifle shots from a rooftop
across the street? That's assassination, not collateral damage. Are the
police here *that* incompetent?"
  Cooper explained. "A pound of cocaine in the warehouse will be enough
to cloud the issue. Johnson & Johnson made a buy when they first got
here."
  "As a contingency or for their own personal use?" Taggert sneered.

  "Shut up!" Ginger's face glowed red with rage. "I can't fucking
believe you fucking idiots killed the fucking hostage!"

  "I just shot her in the leg," Rosewood whined.
  "You hit the artery. She bled out."
  "It wasn't on purpose." He held up his bandaged hand.

  Ginger's fists slammed down on the table. "Lesson One: Don't Kill The
Hostage!"

  Dan Burnett poked his nose over the top of the latest World News
Weekly. "Lesson Two: When in doubt, get more than one hostage." He
closed the paper and tossed it on the table, then turned around and
began surfing the web.

  Ginger bored through his back with her furious stare. So nice of you
to join our little chat. "No shit, Sherlock. But she has no other
family. Unless you've uncovered startling new evidence that she's
Bat-Boy's brother."

  "Better."
  "What?"

  Burnett spun around on his chair, keyboard in his lap. He gestured to
the tabloid on the table.

  "That dope-dealer kid killed in front of the QuickMart. The first
sighting of the shadow guy?"
  "You mean the Chinese agent."
  "Whatever. He sold his story to the World News Weekly-"
  "The agent?" Rosewood asked.
  Taggert kept his partner in line. "No, the dope-dealer kid, you
moron."
  "Right," Burnett continued, "but they smelled it for the crock of
shit it was from a mile away and didn't run it. Stiffed the kid, too,
not that it mattered. Then he and all his teammates get killed. World
News Weekly goes digging for shit, and-"
  Ginger tapped her foot impatiently. "Get to the fucking point."
  "This shadow guy's been following the two girls around, finishing off
anybody they, um, touched."
  "Is that the point? Get to the fucking point."
  "Turns out shadow guy missed three of Sapphire's leftovers. One's in
the prison hospital, FUBAR. The other two were kids that Dirk Hurley
and his buddies were always pickin' on-"
  "Dirk is who again?"
  "The kid who sold his bullshit story and then got killed. This is
what happens when you skip to the point."
  "Why do I care about these two kids?"
  "Remember the website? Sapphire Exposed. The story about Sapphire
bullying the bullies. The way it was written, it was obvious this kid's
ga-ga for her."
  "You'd be ga-ga too if your wet dream girl came to Earth and beat up
your bullies. So, The Point."
  "Well now thanks to the finest tabloid in the country we know who
that kid is."
  "The point? If I have to ask again I swear to God I'll ram that
keyboard so far up your ass you'll type with your tongue."
  "You wanted more leverage, now you got leverage. The kid's her
boyfriend."
  "I thought her boyfriend set up the original website. He's already
dead. Hardly leverage."
  "No, that's her ex. Her boyfriend is the kid who runs the website.
His dad is the first cop put in charge of her case. Noel Aquino. Kid's
name's Ricky. Dad won't let son see girl, so the kid pours his heart
out on his website."
  "How very Romeo and Juliet," Ginger sneered with dripping sarcasm.
"She probably doesn't even know this Ricky kid exists."
  "She walked right into a trap to save his friend."
  "So? Maybe she's sleeping with his friend."
  "His friend is gay."
  Ginger still wasn't sure about this boyfriend angle. "I think
hundreds of innocent lives would be better leverage. She is Miss Goody
Two Shoes."
  "Mass hostages makes a mess. This cleans one up -- both Ricky and his
dad must know who Sapphire is, and probably know about the stones too.
And come on, you said it yourself. Romeo and Juliet. Young love is the
most powerful and misguided force in the universe. She'll do anything
to save her first true love."
  "Fine. Kill the cop. Grab the kid."



   



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