To everyone who's been following my other story, 'The Rapist Job', don't panic. I haven't given up on it. Yet. It's just a little stuck. Okay, a lot stuck. And I wrote this in the meantime.
This is hopefully the first of a series of stories about Eleanor Spencer. Just to make things a little more interesting, all the other characters are still their canon gender. If you like it, please review. It makes my day.
This story is dedicated to Terry Pratchett, may he rest in peace. It is because of him that I started writing stories, and I know there are a lot of other people out there who can say the same. He will be sorely missed, but he lives on in the closest thing to immortality that exists in this world - written words.
"If you trust in yourself, and believe in your dreams, and follow your star, you'll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and weren't so lazy."
- Terry Pratchett, "Wee Free Men"
And that's just one example of millions. If you don't have time to read all 80 of his books, (and if you don't, you need to reexamine your priorities), you should at least read "The Wit and Wisdom of Discworld", a collection of some of his best quotes.
The Dagger Job
By: Tamara A. Ryder
Boston, 2005
"This is not how I planned to spend my day off," Eleanor growled.
The two goons didn't seem to care. The first one swung a punch at her, but she dodged it easily, ducked under his guard, and got him in a choke hold. That put him between her and Goon Number Two who circled, trying to get behind her. She let him, and then her foot shot out and caught him squarely in the stomach. He staggered backward into a tower of boxes. As the boxes fell, some of them ripped open, and an avalanche of small purple teddy bears in straw hats tumbled across the warehouse floor.
Kicking them out of her way, Eleanor turned her attention back to Goon Number One. A sharp twist of his arm yielded a satisfying pop. He yelled in pain. She grinned. Anyone could break a bone with enough force, but dislocating a joint took practice. Not that there was much difference in the result, but when she was fighting pathetic amateurs like these guys, she liked to set herself little challenges to keep things interesting.
In her peripheral vision, she saw Goon Number Two getting to his feet and pulling a knife from his boot. She spun to face him, dragging Goon Number One with her, just as the knife flew through the air. The blade buried itself in Goon Number One's shoulder. He yelled again. Eleanor took pity on him and knocked him out with a blow to the temple, but she didn't drop him until she was certain Goon Number Two didn't have any more knives. As Goon Number One slid to the ground, she pulled the knife from his shoulder and let it fly back to its owner. It hit him in the thigh. A little to the right of what she was aiming for, but there hadn't been time to line up the throw properly.
Goon Number Two automatically doubled over and clutched his leg. She tackled him while he was off balance and got him pinned up against the wall. "That's better," she said. She was hardly out of breath. "Now, how 'bout we talk this over like civilized people. Who do you work for?"
He stared back at her in terror but didn't say anything.
"Or we could do this the uncivilized way," she said. To demonstrate she reached down and twisted the knife in his leg.
He shrieked like a train whistle. "All right! All right! Jack Guttman. We were hired by Jack Guttman."
Guttman. Damn, Eleanor thought. She should have known he wouldn't let that business with the Sapphire Monkey go.
But something wasn't right. If Guttman wanted her dead, he would have sent someone capable of doing the job, not these clowns.
Just then, Goon Number Two's phone rang. "I'll get that for you," Eleanor said with a deadly smile. She dug the phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, the caller ID said J. Guttman. Before she answered it, she took a switchblade from her own pocket, flipped it open, and drove it through the top of the man's ear and in to the wall to make sure he wouldn't go anywhere. He gave another shriek, ending in a bubbling whimper.
"Don't be a baby," Eleanor snapped. "There are hardly any nerves there. I could have used your hand . . . Or your throat."
That shut him up.
She pressed the button to accept the call. "Your man's busy getting the crap beat out of him, Guttman," she said. "Can I take a message?"
"Eleanor, my dear," Guttman purred. "How lovely to hear your voice again. I was rather hoping you'd be the one to answer."
Eleanor snorted. "I'll tell him you said so."
"Oh, he knows I'm not too concerned for his safety. I sent him to kill Eleanor Spencer, after all."
"He must have screwed up pretty badly to deserve such a cruel punishment."
"Oh, it's not a punishment," Guttman said. "Call it . . . a chance at redemption."
"Trial by combat?" Eleanor said dryly. "How Romantic of you."
Guttman chuckled. "Yes, I've always been old fashioned that way. Another of my old fashioned notions is that when an employee of mine fails to complete a job I feel that he, or she as it may be, should return any advance payments that were made. I gave you five thousand dollars to bring me the Sapphire Monkey, Eleanor. I do not have the Monkey. Therefore, you owe me."
Eleanor gritted her teeth. "I earned that money fair and square, Guttman. When your faulty intel got me caught, I sat in a North Korean prison for four months. I don't recall you bending over backwards to protect your investments then."
"Oh, come now, Eleanor, be sensible," Guttman said. "I wanted to help you. I really did. But I had to think of my reputation. If I had mounted a rescue mission, everyone would have known I was the one who sent you after the Monkey in the first place."
"And I ain't saying you were wrong," Eleanor said. "I'm just saying I don't owe you anything. And if you think I do, you're gonna have to send someone more persuasive than these second rate thugs."
Despite his position, the thug in question managed to look offended.
Eleanor covered the mouth piece of the phone and said sternly, "If I'm not honest with you, you'll never improve."
"Oh, I can do better than this, believe me," Guttman said. "This time was just a warning. And even second rate thugs could take you down if I sent enough of them. I don't even have to send them all at once. They'll just keep coming one after the other, and eventually they'll wear you down. A concussion here, a broken bone there, too many sleepless nights. You'll start making mistakes. But it would break my heart to have to do that to you, Eleanor. The Sapphire Monkey failure not withstanding, you're the best I've ever seen. So I'm going to give you a chance to pay your debt in trade."
Eleanor gave a low growl of frustration. She'd always hated working for Guttman. His sugary manners and 'my dear's reminded her of one of her mom's boyfriends. He paid well enough that she was willing to endure it, but when he left her to rot in that prison she was almost glad. It gave her a good excuse to refuse to work for him anymore. Still, she didn't seem to have much choice. As long as he thought she was in his debt, he would make her life miserable. "What's the job?" she said grudgingly.
"A client of mine for whom I move rare merchandise has asked me to arrange a retrieval. Have you ever heard of the Dagger of Aqu-Abi?"
"No. It sounds valuable though."
"It is priceless," Guttman said. "And by a happy coincidence, it is currently on display in the Boston Museum of Art and Antiquities not ten miles away from you. The exhibit closes tonight at which time it will be shipped back to a private collection where it will be untouchable. Get me that dagger before then, and we're even."
"Security measures?"
"I think I'll let you do your own intelligence gathering this time. That way there'll be no confusion about who is at fault if things go wrong. Good luck, my dear."
He ended the call. She glared at the phone for a moment, and then looked appraisingly at the man pinned to the wall. She was tempted to leave him there, but that switchblade had been a gift from Vance. She pulled it out. The man slid down the wall, clutching his bleeding ear. "Oh, cowboy up," Eleanor said. She picked up a teddy bear and used it to wipe the blade clean.
She spent the rest of the afternoon at the museum. The Dagger of Aqu-Abi was quite beautiful, but Eleanor had never understood the point of pretty weapons. Those emeralds and rubies messed up the balance, and it would be impossible to clean the blood off that gold filigree. She was more interested in the museum's security, particularly around the loading dock. By the time the museum closed to allow the staff to set up for the donors' gala that night, she had a plan.
Around the corner, she found an upscale boutique that yielded all the supplies she needed. Knives and guns were useful things, but Eleanor had found that sometimes a low cut dress and heels were more effective weapons. As a bonus, very few people would easily recognize the stylish young woman who now looked back at her from the dressing room mirror as Eleanor Spencer, the retrieval specialist.
Now she just needed a date.