Chemical Burn (36 page)
Authors: Quincy J. Allen
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Literature & Fiction, #Contemporary Fiction, #Dystopian
“How much range do you loose with the big one?” I asked.
“Conservatively, abut thirty percent. Will I be dealing with anything longer than 450 meters?”
“About half of that, max … most of it inside a hundred meters, and all of it down-angle.”
She turned to us with a wicked grin and deadly confidence. “Fish in a barrel.” She closed the case, set the case on the sofa, and looked around the remains of the cooking preparations. “Lasagna?” she said hungrily.
“That’s right,” Rachel replied with a nod.
“What’s the occasion?” Marsha asked.
***
Of Bait and Traps
“It’s show-time for you two,” I said, putting my hand on Rachel’s shoulder and winking at Marsha. “Everyone go get ready. We’re starting early tonight.”
We all left the kitchen and met downstairs with our gear on. We went through a lengthy stretching session—I wanted to reduce the likelihood of injury—and then the forms. All through the session I caught Rachel and Marsha eyeing each other. They were hungry to see which one came out on top.
“Go get headgear, ladies,” I called out at the end of the forms, “and mouth guards.” They went over to the cabinet, pulled out the padded headgear, and buckled them on. “Three rules, ladies. One, no bone or joint breakers. I need you both to be able to dance Sunday night. Two, the first one to three points wins. Three, if you make your opponent say
maté
, stop immediately and enjoy your victory. Am I understood?”
“Yes!” they shouted together, facing me. Xen stood off to the side, watching closely. The two women bowed to me then to each other. They quickly moved into their stances, legs wide, hands up, eyes focused. Marsha used closed fists while Rachel held her hands loosely. Both of their faces were stoic, chiseled out of stone.
“BEGIN!” I shouted.
Marsha came in fast and hard with a series of punches at Rachel’s face, driving Rachel back. Rachel slapped each blow to the side, shifting her head left and right out of the way, drawing Marsha in. On the fourth punch, Rachel quickly sidestepped and shot out a sweeping kick under Marsha. Marsha jumped … too late. Rachel clipped her heel, and Marsha went down on her side as Rachel lifted her other leg to bring it down on Marsha’s mid-section. Marsha rolled out of the way and up into a squat. She moved into a ready stance before Rachel could move in closer.
Rachel leapt forward with a front kick to Marsha’s chest, which Marsha stepped out of then came around with a back-fist at Rachel’s head. Rachel ducked out of the swing and came up right into Marsha’s other elbow. She managed to get a partial block up, but the elbow crashed into the side of her head and sent her sprawling.
“Point, Marsha!” I yelled.
Rachel rose slowly, shook her head to clear the stars, and moved back into her stance un-phased, the way she’d been taught.
They faced each other again. Marsha came at Rachel again with a flurry of punches. Rachel backed up exactly as before. On the third punch, she blocked hard with a punch at the incoming arm, knocking it wide. She moved in like a cobra, driving a series of blows into Marsha’s mid-section and coming up hard with an uppercut.
Marsha staggered back, stunned.
“Point, Rachel!” I yelled. “Get to the center of the mat!”
The women shifted and took up their stances.
“BEGIN!” I shouted.
Rachel came in low with a fast front kick, forcing Marsha to drop a hand to block. Marsha punched with the other hand, but Rachel ducked out, stepping to the side, blocking Marsha’s punch and pushing it away. She came in hard with an elbow aimed at Marsha’s head, but Marsha stepped away from it. As she moved back, Rachel stepped into her with a back fist that Marsha had to get both arms up to block. She blocked her own vision, and Rachel came in with a roundhouse kick that caught Marsha in the mid-section. It knocked the wind out of her and sent her backwards, but she didn’t lose her footing. She took her stance quickly, even as she struggled to recover her breath. I nodded, impressed with them both.
“Point, Rachel!” I shouted.
Rachel charged in, sensing weakness, but Marsha was ready for her. As Rachel kicked, Marsha caught it in both hands and twisted hard, forcing Rachel to drop to her side and yank her foot back out of Marsha’s grasp. The moment Rachel hit the ground, Marsha jumped and landed on Rachel’s back, driving a fist into the back of Rachel’s head and bouncing her forehead off the mat. Marsha automatically cocked her fist but stopped before I had to say anything.
“Point, Marsha!”
Marsha stood up and helped Rachel up off the mat. Rachel nodded to her, acknowledging the solid move.
“Back to the center ladies. This next one is for the money.”
The women took their positions at the center of the mat. Marsha went straight into her hard stance with fists raised. Rachel, her nose red with the impact with the floor, set up in a wide, horse stance, her open palms resting gently on her thighs.
I raised an eyebrow. I’d used the technique but never shown it to any of them. Essentially, I leave myself wide open, inviting my opponent into a trap. It requires lightning reflexes and quick thinking. I intended to show all of them how do to it, part of the reason I’d gotten them working on the pure defense technique on the first night.
Marsha sent in a low roundhouse at Rachel’s leg. Rachel lifted the leg easily, avoiding the kick, but did not move otherwise. Marsha came in with a front kick that Rachel blocked and stepped away from. A jumping front kick came in at Rachel’s face that she leaned out of, and then a flurry of punches that she blocked with open palms. She stepped back only when she had to and made no attempt to counter attack.
Marsha came in again, harder and faster this time, starting with a front snap kick and then a series of punches and elbows at Rachel’s head and chest. All of them encountered forearm and hand blocks or empty air.
Marsha edged in closer, an inch at a time with her feet, arms tense and fists clenched. She shifted her weight forward and sent a blazing front kick at Rachel’s hip, hoping to knock her off balance. Rachel saw the shift and twisted as the foot came. Before it had gone past her waist, she stepped into Marsha and brought up a fast inside back-fist that caught Marsha square in the face. Rachel brought her knee up into Marsha’s belly hard and raised her arms up beside her face to block any counter attack, but none came. Marsha flew back and went down on one knee, coughing.
“Point, Rachel! And match!”
Rachel rushed over to Marsha. “Baby, are you okay?” Marsha gasped for breath but nodded her head and smiled. She held up her hand as she regained her breath. Xen and I stepped up, and Rachel had her arm around Marsha’s shoulders.
“Nice knee,” Marsha finally said when she’d gotten her breath back. “I took the bait, didn’t I?”
Rachel nodded her head. “I’m sorry.…”
“Don’t ever apologize in here,” Marsha said finally. “This is about being the best … always. I’ll get you next time, now that I know about the baiting.”
“You’ll have to show me that, too, Rachel,” Xen said. “But not now, I’ve had about enough for this evening. I’m gonna go for a swim until we eat dinner. You kids have fun.” He gave me a funny sort of smile that I didn’t understand.
“Xen, can you pull the lasagna out of the oven? It should be ready.” Rachel asked as the ladies took their headgear off.
“You got it,” he said, halfway up the stairs. I heard him close the door at the top of the stairs. We normally left the door open during the training sessions.
Both women looked at each other the second the door closed. In a flash they grabbed me by my arms, each wrapping a leg behind one of mine, and pushed, holding on tight as I went down.
“Hey!” I hollered, but they were all over me. They used every grappling move I’d ever taught them to subdue me, and it quickly turned into a tangle of arms and legs, with both women on top and pinning me.
“What are you two doing?” I asked, struggling, but not really trying to get away.
They both kissed me on the mouth, everyone’s lips touching, and the women’s tongues sliding into my mouth. Nothing could have taken me more by surprise than that. The women pulled their faces back and looked down at me. My face froze in shock, my eyes wide, a bewildered smile on my face. I blinked a few times.
“Uhhh …” I said, not knowing what to do or say next. “Umm …”
Marsha and Rachel looked at each other and grinned wickedly. “Did we just make him speechless?” Rachel asked, clearly delighted.
“I think we did,” Marsha said with seductive hunger in her voice.
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Rachel beamed. She leaned over and kissed Marsha, pressing their lips together for long seconds.
“Oh my god!” I said, blushing as I looked at both of them, still not comprehending what the hell they had in mind.
“I’ve never seen him blush before,” Marsha said and laughed. Rachel joined in the laughter as they peeled my bodysuit off.
“Hey! Wha-what … what are you doing?” I asked as they helped me up and led me to the steam room.
Rachel turned the steam on, and both women peeled out of their clothes as I stood there in awe, a wide, idiot grin spreading across my face.
They grabbed me by the arms and pulled me into the steam room. Their giggles turned to something else, and for the next hour, I thanked the universe for all things female as Marsha and Rachel devoured me. I did my best to give as good as I got, but in the end, I’m pretty sure I lost the game, set, and match.
Lucky me.
***
The Last Duck
Friday afternoon I set Marsha and Rachel up with the door combo the same way I had Xen, and then I took everyone to the house in Costa Rica. I treated them to a magnificent dinner and fine wine at the hotel. Laughter and talking and friends being friends filled the evening. No one had a care in the world, which was the point of the exercise. As the waiter set down dessert and poured coffee, Rachel got a serious look on her face.
“Justin, I don’t mean to sound morbid, but this feels like a last meal.” Everyone got very quiet very quickly and stared at me with questioning looks.
I looked at each of them confidently and then nodded. “This is tradition. My father taught this to me, and now I’m passing it on to you. What we’re planning is loaded with risk. You never know what’s going to happen, no matter how much you plan. So, rule number one is to always do something like this before doing something like that.”
“You seem to have a lot of rule number ones,” Xen observed.
I smiled but carried on unperturbed. “It’s called being alive, and have any of you ever felt this alive?” Slowly, a smile appeared on the face of each of them, and as they looked at each other, the smiles grew, feeding off one another.
“No,” they said together.
“I wouldn’t go back for anything,” Rachel added, winking at me.
“Good. Now finish your dessert. I have one last surprise for you all.”
They finished dinner slowly, sharing laughs and pleasant conversation. I paid the considerable tab and then led them into the casino. I reached into a pocket and handed each of them two stacks of hundreds.
“Go enjoy yourselves, and don’t worry about losing. When you don’t care about the outcome, things usually go your way, right, Xen?”
“Absolutely,” Xen replied, quietly.
“I’ll be out on the patio till you’re done.”
They each headed off in a different direction. Xen made a beeline for the baccarat room, Marsha angled over to the crap tables, and Rachel went to try her hand at poker. I paid a visit to my friend Julio, bought a half-dozen Esplendido’s and ambled out to the patio where a Latin jazz band played. They’d just finished a set and were drinking beers and smoking cigarettes. I walked up to the guitarist and whispered a request in his ear, slipping a hundred in the guy’s shirt to accentuate the request. The guitarist smiled, nodded his head, and said it would be a few minutes.
I sat down at a corner table close to the jungle and away from the crowd. I clipped one of the cigars, lit it up, and leaned back, soaking in the beauty of a Costa Rican night. The band picked up their instruments, and the guitarist said something to the band. They smiled and nodded in my direction. The guitarist strummed his guitar and they went into a flawless rendition of “Blues for Salvador” by Santana.
I let the music wash over me and thought about my friends … about my life. I’d never been truly happy before. I mean sure, I’d been happy … like folks at a barbeque are happy, but not really, deeply, truly, soul-felt happy. Ultimately, the friends I’d had up until now, the times I’d enjoyed, it could all be categorized as merely contentment. I enjoyed my work, too, but the sensation of happiness was something I hadn’t expected to enjoy as much as I did. The band wrapped up the song and went back into the normal set for the tourists. They played a solid set, and I was lighting up a third cigar when Rachel peeked out onto the patio. She spotted me and walked over with a sullen look on her face.
“Lose all your money?” I asked, smiling.
She straightened and flashed a gigantic smile. “NO! I won! You and Xen were right. I didn’t worry about losing and played the way you taught me. I brought four guys down … cleaned them out!” She opened her purse at me, revealing several stacks of hundreds. “Forty-eight thousand,” she whispered. She reached in and pulled out one of the stacks to hand to me.
“Keep it, silly. It’s all yours. Consider it a bonus for putting up with me all this time.”
“It was worth it,” she said and kissed me. She sat down next to me, grabbed the last cigar, and accepted the clipper I offered. She cut it, and I lit it for her, watching her draw hard until the tip burned bright red. “We really could get killed Sunday night, couldn’t we?”
“Yes,” I replied seriously. “There are going to be lots of guys with guns, including DiMarco. And I’m pretty sure they won’t be happy to see us. Under those circumstances, there’s usually gunfire. But don’t worry. The three of you should be mostly out of harm’s way.”
“I know, but you’ll be neck deep in it.”
“It’s what I do,” I said flippantly. I sobered a bit. “The truth is, I enjoy it. It’s when I feel … I don’t even know … It’s like living my purpose, fulfilling it. And it’s
righteous
now. I don’t know if it’s me … or what they programmed into me, but god, how I love it.” I’m sure I had a strange look on my face, almost possessed, and I could see that at first it frightened her. But I think she quickly realized that this is who I am and probably always would be. She put her hand on mine, and we relaxed for a while as the music flowed over us.
Two hours later Xen and Marsha came back, both moderate winners, and we headed back to L.A. I put Rachel to bed and said I had to go take care of something. She looked as if she was about to ask something, but then I think she remembered Abby’s car.
O O O
“I thought I heard someone pull in last night,” Xen said to my backside.
I was waist deep under the open hood of a beat up ’73 Bronco, hunched over the fender and twisting on something with a wrench. “Yeah, I barely got it home. It’ll be right as rain in a few hours, though. Wanna help?”
“I don’t know a thing about cars,” Xen said sheepishly.
“Well, come learn. And bring me those spark plugs on the bench … in the packages, not the dirty ones.”
Three hours later, I got into the driver’s seat, turned the ignition, and grinned satisfactorily as the motor hummed to life. No cloud of smoke, no sputtering, just the smooth rumble of eight tuned cylinders working perfectly.
O O O
I closed the bedroom door and lay down on the bed next to Rachel. I pulled out my cell phone and smiled at her as I dialed Information and put the phone to my ear.
“Las Vegas, Nevada,” I said and paused.
She moved over and put her head in my lap.
“The Maltese Hotel and Casino,” then another pause.
Rachel looked at me with a questioning look.
“The business office, please.” I put my hand on her waist and waited.
“Yes, good morning. Could I please speak with Papa Balducci?” A pause later, “I know he doesn’t usually take calls. Please tell him that Sam Spade is calling … Yes, from the movie. He’ll know who it is … Thank you.” I listened to some forties big band music and heard switches clicking in the background.
“Justin, is that you?” an older man asked in a thick Brooklyn accent.
“Hey, Papa. How the hell are you?” I asked with genuine friendliness in my voice.
“Old, but not tired. My doctor says I gotta lose weight and stop smoking cigars. I told him to go fuck himself, that pansy, piece-of-shit-bastard. What does he know?”
I chuckled. “You haven’t changed a bit, Papa. It’s nice to know there is still order in the universe.”
“I told the family to bury me with a fucking cigar in my mouth. But enough bullshit, Justin. You didn’t call me after all this time just to trade how-do-ya-dos, did you?”
“Direct as always,” I said, “and no, I didn’t”
“So what’s up?”
“What are your feelings towards Gino DiMarco?”
“That MOTHERLESS NO GOOD PIECE OF SHIT!” I yanked the phone away from my ear as Balducci went on a rant. “If I could stab that son-of-a-bitch in the fucking throat with a pencil for lunch it wouldn’t be too soon. I swear to Christ, that arrogant bastard is
ruining
the L.A. operation … and giving the family a bad name on top of it all!” Balducci calmed down in a heartbeat. “Why do you ask?” he asked in a tea-cozy sort of way. I always suspected Papa was a bit bi-polar.
“So there’s no love lost between you two? I remember you weren’t fond of him back when … well, you know.” I didn’t want to bring up bad memories of Balducci’s niece.
“Love? I’m gonna piss on his grave when he finally goes. I’d help him along myself, but the Five Families won’t let me.”
“And what about the Five Families?”
“They pretty much hate his guts, too. He’s into some new shit and starting business with people he shouldn’t. But a made man is a made man.”
“The Russians, right?”
Balducci paused. “I see you still got it, kiddo. Always into shit you shouldn’t be and knowing things you shouldn’t know. So what’s this all about?”
“It’s about
permission
, Papa.”
“Are you asking me for permission?”
It was my turn to hesitate. Balducci and I shared a bond that went back seven years, and it ran deep. But unlike Yvgenny, Balducci was still neck-deep in the mob. He was as much a dangerous gangster as DiMarco. “Yes,” I finally said. If it wasn’t granted, I’d have two choices. Either give up the assault on the plant or have the Five Families after me, including Balducci.
“Is this business or personal?”
“A bit of both. Two friends killed, and he put a contract out on me. He’s getting in bed with Pyotr Nikolov to go international with T-Rex. I’ve already had to deal with a Russian hit squad he sent along with his love.” I didn’t let on that Xen was still alive. “If I don’t do something, he’s going to bury me out in the desert along with a few more of my friends.”
Balducci paused for few seconds. “Let me get back to you, okay? I’ll call you on this number in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be here.” We hung up.
“So, who’s Balducci?” Rachel asked as I put down the phone.
“Oh, he’s just a guy who owns a casino in Vegas.” I said innocently.
“Don’t you dare pull that tap dance crap on me! How the hell do you know so many gangsters?”
I smiled. “My business is what it is. However, I don’t know Balducci because he’s a gangster. I know him because he’s an uncle.”
“What does that mean?”
“Did you ever read about the Arroyo Grave Digger about seven years ago?”
“Yeah. I remember that. Something about serial murders in Vegas. They went on for a year or so. Then they just stopped. Nobody ever found the killer.”
“That’s not entirely true.” I looked at her sideways, not really wanting to go into any details but also not willing to keep secrets from her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Balducci’s niece was one of the first women killed, and Marsha was almost the last one killed. That’s where I met both Marsha and Balducci. And someone
did
find the killer.” I gave her an evil grin.
Rachel got an astonished look on her face.
“You? You’re the one who ended the killings?”
I smiled at her. “You should talk to Marsha about it one of these days. She’ll tell you the whole story.”
The phone rang, and I picked it up. “Hello?”
“You’ve got your permission,” Balducci said with a satisfied chill in his voice.
“Thank you, Papa. I really appreciate it.”
“I’ll be the one thanking you. You get this done, and you’ve got a penthouse in the hotel any time you want it … for life. Just tell the front desk that Sam Spade is there for his room, and they’ll hook you up.”
“Thanks again, Papa.” I smiled. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Cut that shit out, boy-o, or I’ll kick your ass. Now go take care of business. You’ll be doing me a favor. The last thing we want is to be in bed with those crazy fucking Russians. And stop in to see me the next time you’re in town.”
“You got it.” I put down the phone. “One more duck in the row,” I said to Rachel and kissed her. “Come on … let’s go out on the patio and go over everything again.”
O O O
At ten o’clock on Saturday night I went over the finishing touches of the plan with my team, and we
were
a team, now. Looking around, I was truly impressed with what these people were prepared to do and convinced they were more than capable of doing it. We all sat around the patio table, Mag lying under it looking up at us through the glass. I kept looking at my watch as I went over each step and what the alternate options were in situations where things didn’t go as planned.
“Hey, Justin,” Xen interrupted as I was talking about some of the firefight possibilities.
“What’s up?”
“Well, you keep talking about firefights in exactly the same way we talk about getting fast food.… None of
us
are bulletproof.” There was genuine concern in his voice.
I thought about what he was getting at. “Shit. You’re right. I got so wrapped up in this.…” I said, more than a little embarrassed.
“I understand, really I do. We all know you’ve got about a thousand things to figure out, but is there anything we can do?”
My phone rang.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Thanks, Xen. Good thinking.” I answered the phone. “O’Neil. We got our package?”
“Under wraps. They’re taking him downtown now. We won’t arraign him until Monday at the earliest, and since I was the arresting officer, I’m going to probably not show up until Tuesday. No one will hear from him before that. You’re still a go, right?”
“Yep. You?”
“It’s all staged. We’ll start dropping them at ten tomorrow night if that’s still the plan.”
“It is.”
“Whatever you’re doing, Justin. Good luck.”
“Not a factor, O’Neil. I’ll call you when I’m in the clear. You’ll probably already know where to go by then, though.”
“Will you tell me what you’re doing?”
“No. You need plausible deniability.”
“Good point,” he agreed. “What I don’t know now, I won’t have to arrest you for later.”
“See you on the other side, O’Neil.”
“Yep.”
“And O’Neil?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s be careful out there.” I hung up the phone and looked around the table. “Would you all excuse me for a bit? I have to go dangle the bait in front of DiMarco.”
I got up and went back to my bedroom. Facing the monitors, I slipped the circlet over my head and navigated to Ricky Petri’s workstation. However, rather than logging on as PETRIS, I logged in as SHAOJ. The desktop appeared, and I fired up the mail client. I spent a few minutes reviewing Shao’s email to see if anything interesting had come in and to also pick up the right style I would need to make the email sound genuine.
