I wrote this a while back when inspired by "Before He Cheats" by Carrie Underwood. Totally an out of the blue thing since I heard the song in someone else's car, but it amuses me to no end. GinSherry implied as well as one-sided VermGin. The piece is enjoyable on its own, but I think to truly get the whole experience, one should listen to the song while or at least before listening. Also, I think there should be more about Gin and his car . . . afterall, that is the ultimate OTP. Enjoy!
The floor hummed with the sound of electricity. Dull lights shone down on the concrete floor of the third level of the hotel's parking garage. One light sputtered and flickered, threatening to give up the ghost. It faded abruptly before bursting to life again like it had done for the past three months. Thick steel and cement pillars supported that supported the floor's ceiling cast long shadows on the painted concrete. As the headlights glared against the back door from the entrance, the Cadillac's engine's hum echoed upon the walls and off the sparse population of the garage. She casually glanced from car to car as she leaned against the steering wheel, then leisurely put her weight to the left. Her pale blue-green eyes caught a glance of the license plate and pulled into space three-thirty-eight, three to the right of that license plate.
Pulling the key toward her and out of the ignition, the blonde folded the set of keys into her palm while pushing her car door open with the other hand. Her leather, high-heel boots clicked and echoed sharply against the smooth floor. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and walked towards the classic car. It's black paint shined even in the parking garage's dull lights, proving the care and love the automobile received on a daily basis. The chrome around the perfectly round headlights and that streaked across the side of the car glittered. Yes, someone took very good care of this classic piece. Such a collector's item as a Porsche 356a could bring in quite a bit of money should the owner ever tire of it, which was rather unlikely. Not many of the model remained, such a rare being one of the original Porsches and all. . . . A shame really.
Idly she tapped her long nails on the car's hood. A nice, crisp sound. Her painted lips curled into a smile that twisted into a smirk. Several of her fingers ran along the body of the car, past the windshield wipers, past the side mirror . . . One of her keys slipped from the grasp of her last three fingers and clinked against the car. Keeping her stride, the woman locked the keys position straight out and pushed it against the side of the car. The paint curled back as an unpleasant hissing, almost screeching, reached her ears, but she dragged the key further, taking pleasure from the ungodly torturous sound that would make anyone cringe. Her mischievous smirk widened and she glanced over her shoulder as she reached the back windshield, lifting the key from the now mangled paintjob. The silver, wavy line streaked from windshield to windshield and across the passenger door. She admired her handiwork for several moments before rounding the back of the car and walked to the front of the car, keying the driver's side as well. She stepped back for a moment and idly brushed the paint out of the grooves of her key before pocketing the set. Tapping her foot, she stopped to muse before pulling her keys out again and heading back to her own car.
She could have left then and there. Her eyes were already dancing and her step had lightened a little. Then again . . . If she went back now, she imagined she would go back to her makeshift dart board. Her smirk faded to a snarl as the redhead came to mind. The blonde purposefully walked back to her white Caddy and shoved the key into the hole in the trunk, she practically jerked it to the side and pushed the trunk and looked down into the spacious storage end of the vehicle. Her smirk returned momentarily as she picked up the bat. The light shined off the well-polished piece of wood. Walking back to the already damaged Porsche, she turned the bat over in her hands.
"Louisville Slugger," she read in perfect English as her eyes trailed over the letters burned into the bat. She let the weighted end of the bat slide out of her hands and carried it along in her right. The woman looked up to the headlights. Perhaps a half size bigger than a softball? She could easily pretend. Vermouth tapped the car's right headlight gently and delicately with the end of the bat. Experimentally she took a step back and choked up on the bat slightly. She measured the distance with her eyes. Before pulling her sporting equipment back to the proper position, she planted a kiss on the middle of the bat. Without second thought, in perfect form, she swung fiercely and connected with her target dead-on. The glass shattered everywhere and even the inner reflectors were forced out of their cavities. The bulb was crushed by the wood, which splintered slightly. Vermouth pulled it back once again and stepped forward as she swung. The bat cracked and splintered further as it destroyed the second headlight. Her boots crunched broken glass beneath them as she walked to the driver's side a bit. Turning around and pulling back the bat, she swung again and the frame of the headlight when flying, along with a quarter of the bat. For a moment, a mock-pout crossed her face, but she immediately went to retrieve the other end. She tossed them back into the trunk then pulled forward a black duffel back, unzipped it, and retrieved a jimmy and a switchblade. Vermouth smirked. Now the real fun began.
Lifting the bag over her shoulder while keeping the switchblade and jimmy in hand, she once again made the short trip back to Gin's precious Porsche. She set the back down carefully next to the driver's door, then began sliding the jimmy down between the window and car door. The metal bar easily went down and Vermouth wriggled it expertly till it caught on something. She tugged slightly and watched the lock's tab jiggle as she moved her tool. With a swift pull, the tab popped up all the way. The blonde reached down and pulled open the door before pushing forward the driver's seat. She was familiar with this backseat, perhaps not in every way she would have liked, but familiar enough to know that the leather was comfortable, and treated at least on a monthly basis. For her own amusement, she flipped open the switchblade dramatically and climbed in.
With a jab the sharp blade slid into the backseat with ease. Grabbing onto the blade with both hands, the blonde pulled the blade downwards and diagonally. She kept at this for some time, artistically carving English alphabet letters into the leather. To make sure they would see it clearly, she went back a second time and carved out slivers, tossing the pieces of foam to the floor as she went. She turned and dragged the knife down the back of both the driver's and passenger's seats and made sure to do the same in the front. She got out of the car for a bit and covered her four targets effectively before sinking back into the driver's seat a few minutes later. Vermouth felt the car noticeably sink down. Delicately she closed the switchblade and smirked to herself. She pulled the duffel back to her with her foot and leaned down, pulled out a pair of martini glasses and a mixer, as well as two bottles and set them down along the dashboard. She also retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Leaning back and lighting up, Vermouth found the sliced and diced seat to be oddly comfortable. She inhaled, then blew cancerous smoke out idly before reaching out to her items on the dashboard.
Gin picked up the bottle of champagne off the table and tilted the end of it over his dinner partner's glass. She watched him and nodded in thanks when he was done before picking it up to take a sip herself. The bubbly drink tickled her tongue and slid down her throat. Constantly she felt his eyes on her, but that it had never been any other way, not that she could recall. At least now he did not have his gun focused on her as intently as he did his olive-green eyes. With one hand, she pushed some of her cinnamon strands back behind her ear.
"Dinner was delicious," she commented after a moment. Gin nodded and drank as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Vodka shifting uncomfortably. He had been the whole as he'd moved in and out from the main room to the bedroom.
She looked in her compact mirror as she brushed her lips carefully with the lipstick's brush. Rubbing and smacking her lips together, her bit down on the napkin with her lips over her teeth. Before placing it back in its rightful place, Vermouth drew on the napkin and snapped closed her mirror. She made sure everything was perfect before stepping out of the car, satisfied.
Stepping out of the elevator, the stout man adjusted his sunglasses and hat. His face was no longer burning like it was, but Vodka suspected it was still red. Just because he was quite, did not mean he would sit back and watch, not matter what happened. Gin never seemed to care one way or another, but sometimes he felt Sherry got just as much enjoyment out of his embarrassment as someone else they knew. Either way, at the drop of a hat, or rather, from the moment of the first kiss, Vodka felt it best to retreat and take the time for an after dinner smoke. Which would have been easy enough on the balcony if he had not put his pack in the glove compartment and it seemed . . . . unwise to ask Gin for his.
He walked down the hall till he saw the glowing exit sign. Leaning against the door's push mechanism, Vodka entered the garage. It seemed just as empty as he left it. His dress shoes echoed as dully as the lights shined. He looked to where the painted numbers on the floor were beginning to wear away, but he remembered where Gin had parked the car anyway. Once he counted the third pillar along the far end of the garage, he felt his jaw drop.
His line of vision let to the back of the car, but the shattered glass around the front picked up the ceiling lights and the Porsche was definitely sitting lower than usual. It was more than enough to leave Vodka speechless. Of course, just as they had left the car, there were not other cars around it, but he could make out the silver line across the passenger's side and through the back windshield he spotted the opening door on the other side. As close as he could to achieving all lack of brain function while still breathing, Vodka went brain dead. He did not know what to do. Did he immediately start trying to clean it up before Gin came down? No, he was not even sure he wanted to go near the vehicle before Gin saw to it. But did he dare call Gin, or go get him? What would he say to him? He was not even sure what Gin would do, and that was far more petrifying than not knowing what to do himself. Slowly he pulled out his cell phone and numbly hit the speed dial and dragged the portable device to his ear.
Each ring went on for eternity, then the silence that came after went on even longer and threatened to blow out his eardrums. When he finally did hear a click followed by dead air, the agent's mouth went dry. His eyes were still fixed on the vandalized automobile.
"What is it?" Gin grunted. He sounded irritated. Bad start. Hang up! Vodka's brain screamed at him. After a moment, Gin talked again, "Vodka?"
". . . . Bro, I think you should come down here," Gin's partner finally answered, on the verge of sounding monotone. Gin frowned on the other end deeper than he already had been.
"What happened?" he demanded.
" . . . you just need to come down here, Bro," Vodka stammered as he closed his flip phone.
Up in the room, Gin pulled away from Sherry and got up from couch and grabbed his coat in frustration. Sherry watched him before starting to get up as well. Gin shoved his phone in his pocket and left the room before Sherry could even ask him what had happened. She lingered momentarily, knowing if there were other agents around, it'd be dangerous for them both if they were spotted together. Though Gin had carefully made sure of everything before arranging this, so she too picked up her coat and ran out to catch him before the elevator closed. Gin glanced to her, but did not say anything as he pushed the third floor button. Vodka's voice had echoed, so he must have been going down to the car. Instinctively, he felt for his gun and made sure it was loose in its holster.
As the numbers flashed with the passing of each floor, Gin reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. He ignored the multilingual "smoking prohibited" sign in the elevator as he put a coffin nail between his teeth and reached for his lighter. Lighting up, he inhaled deeply and ignored Sherry's put-out expression as she watched him ignore the sign, her, and attempt to set off the elevator's smoke detector. Before he could manage to do the third thing on Sherry's mental list, the elevator reached the third floor and the doors slid open. Gin immediately stepped out and determinedly headed toward the exit to the parking garage. He held one hand in his coat around his gun's handle while he pushed the door open quickly. He immediately found himself not under fire except from the tremendous silence. Gin quickly spotted Vodka, still standing dumfounded with the phone in hand.
Muttering about all this nonsense, Gin went to talk to Vodka, but when he finally did reach his partner's side, everything became perfectly clear, or rather, everything shut down. Gin's eyes shot wide and his cigarette tumbled from his lips.
Sherry watched from the doorway and could not see what they were staring at, but she could easily enough sense something had happened to the car. Slowly, she followed, but treaded cautiously. The car she could not care less any less about, Gin's reaction however . . . Even though Vodka's feet were not moving, the chemist could see his whole body instinctively leaning just a little away from his partner. Before she could reach either of the two men, Gin slowly began walking towards his car, and Sherry and Vodka slowly followed him.
Jumbled thoughts tumbled through Gin's mind as his eyes followed the key line up his precious car to the shattered headlight glass scattered across the concrete. It almost made Gin cringe even though he had not even seen the front yet. Who would have done this? Who would have dared to even touch such a classic, and even more so, who would have dared to have touch it knowing who it belonged to. His pace quickened and he raced around the front, glaring furiously at the bashed in headlights as their glass shells crunched beneath his feet. He saw the chrome frame of one was completely missing from the Porsche and his eyes trailed down to the ground where it sat a few inches from his foot. He bent down to pick it up and held it carefully in his hand, more carefully than he ever held Sherry for that matter.
Vodka felt perfectly fine with letting Sherry stay a step ahead of him as they got closer to the car, and Gin. He could see the rush of confused and enraged emotions cross Gin's face and felt his mind once again telling to avoid him if all possible.
"Was there anyone down here when you came?" Gin demanded. He still held the broken piece in his hand.
"No, Bro . . . not at all . . ." Vodka watched as Gin went to the driver's side, where for a moment Vodka was certain Gin's eyes literally went aflame. While he was not brave enough to go see what had enraged him even more, Sherry dared to get a closer look. Gin merely stood there, glaring at the dashboard as he gripped the car door with one hand and held onto his headlight frame in the other. As she came around to the side of the car, she could see through the window where the back seat had quite effectively been destroyed. Her eyes slowly widened as she began to identify the letters. V-E-R . . .
Gin, meanwhile, was too intent on glaring at the filled martini glass on his dashboard, and beneath it, an even clearer calling card than a certain agent's codename. The kissed napkin rested beneath the glass, with a large X drawn in the middle. Beside the napkin, a picture of Sherry, with her eyes burned out, sat under several cigarette butts. Even though he felt beyond control of any of his feelings at the moment, he was not sure what to do, other than the fact that he wanted to get his hands around that blonde's delicate neck. And the fact that he could not under any circumstances made him go through the roof, radiating with deadly, silent fury.
It took several moments before the prices to fix everything started add up, and a whole new set of emotions weighed down on Gin. The emotions only intensified as he thought of the likelihood of finding some of the things he would require to fix his beloved car. These new emotions left his two companions dumfounded and possibly more frightened than before.
The dart punctured another hole in the now tattered photograph, this time in the dead center of the forehead. Usually terribly bitter during this activity, Vermouth leaned back casually and listened to her music as she picked up another dart.