Clumsily I began to swim for the shore, dragging myself up onto the concrete and laying still, shivering. My eyes trailed down to the inky black water, a few bubbles still simmering to the surface where the car lay submerged.
"Lin…" I breathed out, barely able to form the word. The bubbles grew. They popped on the surface, turning red, and she slowly stepped up onto the banks, blood pouring from her gunshot wound, eyes rolling in her head. Then a gash started appearing across her neck, it grew, blood pouring from it, till finally her head fell off and toppled into the water, her body collapsing and following it.
I drew a sudden short breath as I woke up, shivering, and my throat tight. No. Don't give in to it. I shook my head and sat up on the sofa, glancing about the room, recognizing the peeling wallpaper. My 'office'. The hideout.
I glimpsed down at myself seeing the bandages around my thigh and gingerly touched the one on my shoulder. Those might need changing soon… I groaned, forcing myself up and glancing at the clock. It was still only midnight, so four hours would have to do for today.
I pushed myself to my feet, creeping up the hallway a little and glancing into the darkness of my room – Johnny was still lying in bed asleep, his chest slowly rising and falling. Still, he looked tense, his face caught in a permanent wince and now and then a small tremble would rattle over his skin. Dammit. Whatever that pain medication Nikki gave us, it wasn't enough.
The trip back from the hospital had been rough on him; getting out of a hospital full of Ronin shit kickers trying to make a name and a quick buck by taking us out was bad enough, then he had to put up with my shitty piloting when he worked out the only way out of that place was by helicopter. I'd learnt by necessity a few years ago how to fly one, but it's not exactly like riding a bike. But he'd had a two day's rest so far, and whenever he was awake he was complaining loudly about being bed ridden and would try to escape then I'd have to threaten to handcuff him to the bed.
I turned and started down the stairs to the foyer; more than a few Saints on the DL were still up (midnight was relatively early for my kind), so I moved and settled myself onto a sofa. One of the Saints, a short, pretty girl stopped by, frowning at my tired look and put a sassy hand on her hip. She had fluffy dark blond hair in an overgrown bob, and a pink crowbar hanging from her belt.
"Anything I can get you boss?" she asked. I paused before answering.
"Red?" I said quietly, already feeling the detrimental effects of insomnia. A good merlot would go down a treat right now. The Saint; Dice, was it? sauntered off towards the bar. I glanced after her. The Pocket Rocket, Dice, was tiny by most standards, but had a swelling reputation for unleashing hell on anyone who stepped on her or her friends. I smiled at her as she shoved a guy behind the bar – he must have been three times her mass – and hunted out a bottle of wine pouring a generous amount into a cheap wine glass and bringing it back over. I nodded a silent thanks to her and I made a mental note to keep an eye on that one – she had potential.
I sipped it, staring at the table, feeling bags growing over my eyes. Christ… could I ever go one night without screaming myself awake? Okay, exaggeration, but still… I was frustrated knowing it would be at least another sixteen hours at least before I got any decent rest. I sat there for an hour or so, not tired enough to sleep and not awake enough to actually do anything but call for a refill whenever my glass was empty. A few Saints wandered off to find places to crash. A clatter at the top of the stairs caught my attention, and a familiar figure appeared, joined by a few laughing Saints.
Carlos.
He had a little blood over his white tank, strutting down the stairs, chatting with his friends till he saw me. He paused, the cocky face fading, being replaced by an open smile.
"Hey Boss," he said, trotting down the stairs towards me. I raised a glass in reply. He frowned gently and opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it.
"What hell have you been raising?" I asked, indicating to his clothes and friends (who, a little to my surprise, were fast retreating to the courtyard out of the foyer). Carlos smiled broadly at me.
"Just got back from celebrating a little victory," he said with a modest shrug, his accent just a touch thicker indicating he'd had a few beers in him, "We got one of the Brotherhood's streets on our side; a protection racket. They pay us instead of the Brotherhood for protection, the only difference being that we don't rob them every other month," he said, "Winning the hearts and minds, y'know."
I raised an eyebrow approvingly. "Not bad," I consented. Carlos smiled and nodded.
"Hey, you gave me the idea. Back when the Saints ran the Row, I remember that no one was allowed to hurt the people who lived there, or rob the stores there," He said enthusiastically, "It got me thinking, you get the people on your side, they won't complain to the cops so easy."
I tilted my head and smiled. He was doing well.
He glanced around. "What uh… why you up so late?" he was clearly more concerned about how I looked rather than what time it was.
I shrugged. "I don't really sleep Carlos."
"…Can't sleep?"
I gave him a look that I hoped was threatening, but he just smiled at me with an idea.
"Hold up Boss," he said, quickly disappearing down a hall to what I guessed was one of the ruined hotel rooms he'd adopted.
I sipped on my wine… a while later he returned. With an acoustic fucking guitar. I rolled my eyes. "If you sing any goddamn koom-bay-ah shit I'll stab you," I grouched with fatigue. Carlos just raised an eyebrow at me.
"Easy Boss," He said, strumming fingertips over the strings, "This'll help. Just give it a sec."
And his fingers began plucking. I rolled my eyes at first, but the melody… infected me. I felt myself slowing, listening to the low, sweet sorrow of the latin…esque tune.
"It's an old family song," Carlos mentioned quietly, "My brother played it when I couldn't sleep, and he said my father played it to him when he was a baby."
I felt my brow knot a little.
"Since when could you play?"
Carlos shrugged. "Since my brother taught me."
"This song got a name?" I continued.
"Not that I know of."
I watched him, feeling the gentle plucking of the guitar strings soothe me, feeling comfort, peace wash over me. Ah, Carlos; he'd fought alongside me before, he'd shot and killed, but somehow, when he wasn't in a skirmish he didn't seem like he had. Was it just that he was following in his brother's footsteps? Had his brother been a cardiologist, would he have become a doctor too? The way he spoke about gaining that Brotherhood protection racket, he said it like… like it was a heroic move. He'd somehow made extortion valiant.
I watched him, sweet features peaceful as he plucked away the melody. He smiled up at me and instinctively I smiled back, a little surprised at myself when I did – I smiled very easily around him. For a while I'd forgotten how many years had passed and felt like I was nineteen again. We didn't really talk much, eventually my mind began to wander, and my eyelids got heavy.
I yawned a little later at the soft whispering of voices; a few Saints were there in the hideout, reverently quiet, but still making enough noise to wake me up. I turned, my foot hitting something hard and knocking it over. There was a loud tang, and it jolted me from my sleep. I sat up, a thin blanket sliding off my shoulders as I looked around for the source of the noise. A guitar was leaning against the worn coffee table; I felt a small wince tug at my lips when I realized I must've knocked it over.
I sat up, groggy, reaching out and wrapping my fingers around the neck of the guitar, pulling it up into my lap to inspect it; if I had damaged it I couldn't tell, I knew nothing of guitars. Or any instrument for that matter. With a sigh I placed it reverently on the sofa, peering around for a clock – nine thirty. I stood up and stretched, heading upstairs to check on Gat.
Once I rounded the corner into my room I growled; he was up and pulling on his purple silk shirt over his bandages, grey pinstripe slacks already on. I scowled and put my hands on my hips and he froze, looking at me like a deer in the spotlights.
"…Mornin'," He greeted. I raised an eyebrow and took a few steps into the room.
"Johnny, we've talked about this-"
"Uh uh. You talked," he said, straightening his shirt and getting a pistol from the dresser, checking to see it was loaded, "I can't be lyin' around in that bed anymore, I'm goin' crazy."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, "I get that Johnny, but I need you healthy. You start running around pulling shit now you're gonna end up doing more damage. You need rest-"
"I need to fuckin' kill something," he corrected darkly, taking a few quick steps towards me and waving the gun a little too carelessly for comfort, "I've been lyin' in that bed for… I don't even know how long. All it is, I fuckin' wakeup, go back to sleep, over and over and every time I do, I turn over and expect her to be there-" he stopped abruptly and we both went silent; I'd been looking intently at his face but my eyes involuntarily flickered away. He jammed the gun into his back pocket, getting his tone back under control, "And while I'm layin' there, the assholes responsible are still walkin' around free."
I stuck one hand into my back pocket and ran another through my hair. I could stop him if I wanted. I could probably knock him out or drug him or something. Then I felt my head shaking – anyone else and I probably would have, but with Gat it just wasn't right.
"…The least you could do it take a damn shower and get your bandages changed," I said with a little exasperation, "Cos if you're going to be going off causing havoc I'm gonna have to go along with you, and hell if I'm riding shotgun to that."
He seemed appeased, nodding then carefully brushing past me and out of the room. I frowned as I watched him go; he was hunched a little over his wound, tense. Johnny was good at hiding pain but the way he moved now had me worried. I shook my head gently and moved to straighten out the bed sheets, but I stopped when I finally noticed it, the pill bottle sitting up on the bedside table. I quickly picked it up, eyes scanning over the label even though I knew it was the pain medication.
The bottle was full, unopened. For nearly three days now he'd purposely not been taking them. The thought of him intentionally doing that to himself made my stomach twist.
"You… stupid fuck," I growled, jamming the bottle into my pocket.
An hour later and I had Johnny sitting up on the bar later, carefully cleaning then redressing his wounds, one to the front, one to the back. They were thick and bruised and much, much longer than I had expected; I realised the surgeons must have had to widen the incisions to fix up whatever was damaged on the inside. The bruises around his sides were turning multicoloured and I couldn't tell if it was infection or not – Gat didn't seem sick, so I figured he was still ok. It'd be at least another week till the stitches could come out.
"Arms up," I instructed and he dutifully lifted them so I could start wrapping his torso with new bandages. I was still angry with him and he knew it, even if he was unaware what specifically for. He was thankfully not doing anything he thought might antagonise me further. I tightly fastened the bandage on Johnny's waist – he flinched slightly when I did but that was all, hiding his cringe by taking a long drink from his beer. I felt my lips purse then finally reached into my pocket, drawing out the bottle of pills and wordlessly spilt two into the palm of my hand. He didn't say anything but he certainly tensed when he realized he'd been caught out.
I held the pills out to him and gave him a flat look. He frowned at them.
"I'm fine, I don't need them," he said, going to take another drink but I suddenly reached the end of my tether, ripping the bottle out of his hands and thrusting the pills at him.
"I'm not fucking around Johnny," I said lowly, "Being up out of bed is one thing, not taking your pain meds is another. Now stop being such a fucking child."
He glared at me, but only for a moment. I wasn't really angry with him, we both knew that. But I was worried, and I tended to snap at people I was worried about. Finally he plucked the two pills out of my hand and popped them into his mouth, snatching the beer back and taking a deep swig to wash them down. I watched him hawkishly as he set the bottle down with a heavy thud.
"Happy?" he said sharply.
"I'd be happier if you'd keep taking them," I said, reigning my temper back in. I could guess why he didn't want ot take them. Guilt maybe. Ego. Or in some cases, physical pain might have been easier to bear than whatever was happening inside him. Regardless, I pressed the bottle into his hand, "I told you. We need you strong."
He glared hatefully at the pills, thumb brushing over the label. He was about to say something to me, before our attention was caught by a sudden and unfamiliar voice.
"This is a helluva place you got here… I mean, it's a good thing I had my tetanus shot but beyond that it's uh, cozy."
I turned sharply to see the man sauntering down the stairs; he was wearing an expensive looking grey suit and had carefully styled blonde hair. A little on the scrawny side, but I might've thought he was good looking if he wasn't radiating slime ball vibes. Gat was fast to his feet behind me, yanking on his shirt.
"Do I know you?" I voice icily at the intruder, slowly stalking across the foyer towards him.
"The name's Dane Vogel," Gat said on the man's behalf, "He works for Ultor. I remember he swung by the church a while back and offered Dex a job."
I swung a look over my shoulder, incredulous. I knew Dex had gone straight but I didn't think he'd just up and leave for Ultor the second someone offered it. "You're shittin' me?" I said.
"Who's Dex?" Pierce piped up – he'd been dozing on one of the sofas and was groggily getting up.
"Dex was a man who had higher aspirations than being a thug," Vogel said with a swagger in his step as he reached the bottom of the stairs, giving me an appreciative gaze. "You can't blame him for 'movin on up'."
"He was a fuckin' sellout," Gat snapped behind me. Clearly a tender spot with him.
Vogel was unimpressed and shrugged. "You call him a sellout, I call him a millionaire."
By this point I really couldn't care less about Dex; there was a more obvious question staring me in the face. "What do you want?"
Dane turned all of his focus to me, offering a charming smile and said "I want to help you." I felt my shoulders give a small heave in a silent laugh.
"If I need any Ultor Unlimited sunglasses I'll steal'em," I said dryly. But in truth he'd gotten my curiosity. I'd trust him as far as an anvil could jump, but he had some gall to be wandering into this hideout and must've had a good reason. Vogel wasn't fazed by my comment at all, if anything he was amused.
"So you're familiar with our products?" he said lightly, the amiable smile stretching further across his face and he stepped a little closer to me. I heard Gat take a few heavy steps up till he was standing directly behind me, so suddenly close I could hear his growl and smell the fresh soap over his skin.
"Fuck off Vogel," He warned sharply – Vogel faltered and he glanced from Gat to me, the charming vanishing from his smile, and like that, he was all business.
"Do you want my help or not?" he asked coolly. I raised an eyebrow.
"Maybe," I said, just as Gat snapped a 'no' and Pierce voiced and enthusiastic 'yes'. I sighed and Vogel chuckled, walking past us.
"Well, this is a well oiled machine."
"What do you got?" I asked impatiently, stepping around Johnny to follow him. Vogel turned back to look at me levelly.
"We recently severed our ties with the Ronin," he said.
"Awe, you're breakin' my heart," Gat said, folding his arms and voice dripping with sarcasm and I had an urge to nudge him; this was interesting information.
"I know where the Akuji's lay their heads," Vogel continued undeterred, "I doubt any of your Lieutenants have that kind of information."
Gat shrugged, "I dunno. Shaundi's fucked a lotta guys."
"Gat's talking sense," Pierce added, but I was curious – we knew Ultor had ties to the Ronin from the start, if he was coming to us so quickly it must have been an unpleasant split. Still…
"How do we know it's not a trap?"
"That part's easy. I'll wait for you here," Vogel said lightly, picking out the newest of the sofas, dusting it off and sitting down. "If you don't make it back, one of your boys can take me out," He finished with a shrug. I was starting to find this confidence nauseating and evidently so was Gat – though he was a little more vocal about it, pulling the gun from his back pocket and striding up to Vogel.
"Yo why don't we just cut the waitin' part?" he said darkly, pointing the gun at Vogel's head. I tensed and took a step forward – I know Johnny was looking to pick a fight but he was starting to act stupid.
"I think the waiting part is very important," Vogel had said quickly, a hand up and the first flash of fear appearing in his eyes.
I spoke up quickly, "Where can we find them?" Johnny still wouldn't lower his aim.
"The Sakura Gardens Hotel downtown," Vogel replied as rapidly, "They own the business and the top half of the tower is the main residence for most of the high profile Ronin."
"Anything else on layout?" I added coolly. He blinked.
"It's a hotel," He said dryly. I narrowed my eyes and he sighed and shrugged, "It's cylindrical? There's a skylight on the top, looks straight down to the ground floor."
"I know what cylindrical means. Gat, you're with me," I said nodding sharply, wanting to get him out of there quickly. Blowing up a building should sate him for a while. "Pierce, you're baby sitting Vogel."
Both of them turned and looked at me with frustration, Pierce throwing his hands up.
"You sure you don't want me taking this asshole out now?" Johnny said. I gave him a piercing look and started for the stairs.
"Save the bullet for Akuji," I called out over my shoulder. Behind me I heard Gat said something lowly to Vogel before following me up the stairs.
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel impatiently as we cruised over the bridge. "Something's buggin' me…" I thought aloud. Gat, who was busy next to me checking and rechecking his guns, spared me a glance.
"Hmn?"
"Vogel knew where to find us," I continued, "I mean, he just walked right on in to the hideout… those goons who tried to take me out a few weeks ago were pros, and they'd managed to track me down I'm guessing out of nowhere. Carlos and the boys haven't been able to find anything on them so far."
Gat stopped fiddling with the gun and shifted a little. "You think Ultor was behind it?"
"… Sounds crazy?"
"It'd probably sound less crazy if they had a motive," He replied with a shrug. I nodded.
"I know. I mean I've made enemies in my time but I don't really see what they have to gain by…"
"…What?"
I frowned, and then started rambling my thoughts aloud. "Ultor was the company that leveled the Row, but that was Hughes' plan originally. And Hughes was going to kill me over it because he knew I would try and stop it from happening but that wouldn't be their motivation now cos the Row is already fucked. And then this just strolling on over and giving Dex a job is…"
"Fucked," Johnny interjected sharply, "More so seein' as he actually took the job without as much as a backward fuckin' glance," He finished bitterly. I nodded in agreement and felt my hands tighten on the steering wheel a little more – he'd dumped the crew, abandoned his friends when they needed him. I loosened my grip when I saw my knuckles going white.
"Ugh, I donno," I said shaking my head, "It's like I've got all the pieces there, I'm just too fuckin' stupid to put them together."
"You ain't stupid," Gat said quietly, going back to checking his guns. He continued after a beat, "Well, you know, sometimes I gotta wonder if you weren't dropped when you was a baby-"
"Lead paint in the nursery?" I added with a laugh.
"Your mom smoked pot when she was pregnant? Wait, no that was mine…" He said dryly, giving me the first indication of a smile I'd seen in days. I slapped a hand on his shoulder.
"We're fine, we are," I breathed in the city air and we pulled up across the road from the Sakura Gardens. I looked to the back seat which held a few home made satchel charges with timers and a grey parachute bag. "Now let's go blow up a hotel."
The character 'Dice' is an OC from another fic, 'Being A Saint' by MDGeistMD02 which is told fom the viewpoint of the foot soldiers. I thought the OCs in that were great so you may see them making an occasional Cameo here and there.
