Dark'verse #4
…
It's time, Sharon thinks, having decided to do this after all. She checks the gun at her hip, the knife hidden in the little belt around her ankle; better to be prepared if they do not cooperate at all. She leaves her silver Hyundai parked on the curb outside the small suburban neighborhood. She quickly walks the three blocks to the house were her new team are holding their weekly meeting of secrecy.
Everything is ready, neatly filed into a folder in her handbag.
She is tired of being looked at as if she will disappear tomorrow; even if she knows they have decided to let her live for now. It is only a matter of time before one of them snaps.
She likes snapping first.
The front door is easily picked; she knows the layout from having installed the listening devices after all – she made sure there were no alarms then. It is rather amusing that they have done nothing at all to protect the place – she would have imagined Mike Tao would have put the place in top of the art security protection. But they are too complacent, she thinks, too caught up in their own invincibility.
She will surprise them.
She smiles to herself again, the gun steady in her hands as she silently creeps through the house, going for the living room and the dim of voices.
"Hello gentlemen," she greets the five men around the table, her voice slow and like silk; she knows it will bother them, the casual and calm way she saunters into their little meeting.
Five people stare back at her, dumbfounded, eyes in varies phases of widening.
She gives them a little wave with her gun, watching as they sit completely still.
"Nu-oh," she smiles at Sanchez, noticing the way his hand creeps under the table, "Hands on the table, both," she aims her gun at a point right between his eyes, "Remember I've been winning the annual LAPD shooting contest for the past twenty years in a row." The detective puts both hands on the table, a look of danger still in his dark eyes.
"Everyone," she orders them, watching as they comply albeit grudgingly.
She opens her bag, taking out the folder, eyes going around the little group – they seem to be relatively calm even in their surprise. She breathes a sigh of relief; if one of them twitches in a wrong way she'll have to shoot every last one of them. It'll be a bloody mess – it'll take an eternity to clean.
"I am pleased I was able to find you here," they give her blank stares and she tries not to smirk.
She starts with Tao; lays down a photo of a bald man on the round table, gun still pointing at Sanchez.
"Daniel Siegel, 32 when he disappeared. Half of his bones were found 5 years after his disappearance; they looked to have been cut," she lists off, enjoying the look of panic in Tao's eyes that he quickly tries to douse. She watches confusion in the others. This is going to be good.
Sanchez next; she lays down a photo of a young man, "Lil'fish – real name Dominque Santana, disappeared a year ago. Never found. I admire the way you made him disappear into thin air."
Sanchez pales and the others slowly begin to understand what she is doing.
She lays down a photo of an old man, looking Buzz in the eye, "Your uncle, a long time ago. You were extraordinarily lucky you were never a suspect in that death. Lucky they never found the death suspicious and looked for the bruises and pricks of syringes. I'm glad to find you've broadened your victim pool since then."
Buzz sits wide-eyed, afraid to look at her and his eyes are glued on the photo instead.
She puts another photo down, a smiling blonde; "This one of yours?" she asks Provenza mockingly, "Did you enjoy her?"
Provenza narrows his eyes, his eyes dark now and his annoyance more vivid than his fear. He is not easy to intimidate.
She looks to Andy Flynn last; his dark eyes obscure and that charming smile he thinks always helps him firmly in place, "C'mon, give it to me," he chuckles.
She smiles back, "I don't need photographic evidence; you like to beat the crap out of people. It's not that complex."
He sours; most likely angry she has not bothered to take a photo with her to make her case against him. She knew it would rattle him – even if they have already had this talk, in the morgue weeks ago. Obviously that talk had not done the deed.
"What do you want?" Tao asks, folding his arms, leaning back in his chair and trying to appear nonchalant.
Sharon smiles at every single one of them, her fingers on the pictures as she files them back into her folder.
"This is just the top of the iceberg, gentlemen."
They glare at her.
"Where's the police escort and backup, huh? The zip ties?" Flynn says, the voice hard; obviously the fool thinks she wants to arrest them.
"Shut up Flynn," Tao says out of the corner of his mouth, "Don't you see what she is doing?"
"Failsafe," Buzz comments, the tone low.
Sharon tilts her head, watching the others look at Tao and Buzz enquiringly. Of course those would figure it out quicker than the rest.
"I am laying down the rules, indeed," she tells them, her tone gentle. She knows it surprises them; she is too calm for their liking. She continues, "I thought you should know the layout of the land, so to speak, before you blunder ahead and try to - " she arches an eyebrow, "barbecue me?"
Narrow eyes that quickly go wide again.
She smiles.
"You can hate me with your heart's content. You can huff and puff," she looks at Provenza and Flynn, "But touch me in any way and I'll make sure you suffer a fate worse than you can imagine."
"You've got some nerve," Provenza snaps.
She shows her teeth in a smile, "I wanted to warn you. I know everything about you; every kill – every little misdemeanor. Everything."
"What are you gonna do about it?" Flynn asks, a half dare she thinks; as if the man actually wants her to call it in.
"I'm merely warning you. Work with me - or...," she let's the rest hang, unsaid.
She lets it sink in, watching Tao trying to discern her, already dissecting her behavior. He already knows what the others are only slowly grasping.
"I must confess I've known about your little group activities for a while now. It intrigues me."
They look caught between apprehension and a yearning to flee.
"What's your game?" Flynn says his anger just under the surface, curiosity and a half smile foremost though.
She smiles and does not reply; the small smile disappears on his lips and he only looks annoyed then.
She hopes they will invite her in; eventually.
For now, however, she exits, her gun still posed.
…