VICES AND VICE PRESIDENTS
The former VP and the current front-runner for the presidency, Gordon Thomas, was on top of the world. His chances for securing his party's nomination were better than seventy percent. It seemed as if the general public remembered the job he had done when he was still the VP. It was all so beautiful. Oh yeah. However, in his dainty reflections of his run as VP, he had conveniently forgotten the CIA op who murdered his son in cold blood. It mattered little that he had had Rodney sent in to kill whomever he encountered. All he knew was that he had lost a child, a link to immortality. The smug cold-blooded bastard had dared to threaten him with some piddly files he and his she-bitch partner had dredged up. Of course, the VP was too smug to realize that his misdeeds were far worse than what Donovan had done to survive. However, Thomas didn't care. He wasn't a man who cared about much unless it affected Gordon Thomas. If something touched him or his family, he was ready to kick butt. Frank Donovan had overstepped the bounds when he dared to touch Rodney. Perhaps Rodney's death was more responsible for his decision to seek out Weizmulder than the dirt. Not exactly. He had gotten into some very seriously bad smelling doodoo. He hadn't realized that the charges for those misdeeds would even touch treason. Yet, had he really cared? The VP had enough pull to make up his own files, to screw with a man's life. It had been relatively easy and quite fun. He didn't think it would take much to convince the CIA that their top man had gone to the other side. After all, he had just lost his partner to the Angels, his hometown girlfriend had dumped him unexpectedly, and he thought someone in his family may have died or moved. Whatever the case, it wasn't hard to show how Donovan had become despondent enough to commit several treasonous acts. In fact, it was relatively easy. Who was more believable, the second in command of the US or some stoic pissant little CIA puke? Donovan had gone down swiftly, of course, Thomas made sure of that. He was to face the death penalty without reprieve. It was amazingly wonderful. He didn't have much time to celebrate, though. Thomas was never sure, but something had happened. Some little piece of evidence had come in and Donovan was freed from federal prison after no more than a month. They had set him up, set him up as well as that she-bitch partner of his. It made him nervous, but the funny thing was, no one had ever come knocking on his door. When he decided to seek the presidency, his world was flowing smoothly until he thought of Donovan. What if the puke decided to spill his guts? What if he finally spoke the truth? The thought worried him tremendously. After all, it was going to affect Gordon Thomas.
Before him on some high-tech videophone, Bobby Weizmulder was awaiting instructions. Thomas didn't say much to the man; he wanted to first collect his thoughts. The "Donovan File" was more conjecture than truth. There were dozens of little goodies inside that alluded to his prison time and the fact that he had 'bribed' his way out. Thomas had creatively made up everything but the treason charge. That had been real enough. Weiz didn't know that Donovan was an innocent man. All he knew was what he had been told by his superiors. Basically, Weiz was taking his orders directly from the former VP, and why not? He was going to be the President soon enough. By the time the primary elections were held, Donovan would be six feet under. Weiz was speaking constantly, droning on and on and on. Thomas' hearing was going in and out. He'd hear a word here and there, but ignore most of them. He didn't want to know the specifics, he just wanted the job done and done right. Blah. Blah. Blah. Wah. Wah. Wah. Would he ever shut up? Stop talking and start shooting, you moron! The only thing he heard was a name: Jonella Paxton. Thomas looked up abruptly, as if he wanted to ensure that he had heard the name. Wasn't she the ex-partner she-bitch of Donovan's? Wasn't she the one who screwed up a cleaning job under Weiz's tutelage? Wasn't she the one that Weiz said had gotten into a safe house?
"What did you say about Jonella Paxton," Thomas asked.
He cleared his throat. "She's back. She somehow got out of the safe house. I saw her with Donovan today. I don't think she's with him for a class reunion. I'm certain someone gave her the lowdown on the hit."
"Take her, too."
* * *
Pax stood quietly in the corner while Frankie went over the details [or as many details he wanted to share] with the UC agents. For a moment, they had forgotten she existed, and that was okay. She was a bit lost in thought. For once in her miserable life, she was absolutely rendered speechless. She couldn't stop thinking [damn, she hated thinking] about Frankie's confession. She had had no clue as to what he had suffered. Prison? Treason? Execution? The words crawled into her brain and hooked its claws in deeply. All this had happened not long after she left on her selfish little mission of self-destruction. Basically, she had chosen a twisted career objective and left Frankie hanging out in the cold. She had told him earlier that he had saved her ass more times than she could count, and it was true. Had she returned the favor? Oh hell no, she had not. She had gone off on her AOP kick, even after he tried to fix it where she wouldn't have to go. You're selfish, Pax, damn selfish. She sighed deeply and wrapped her arms around herself. She wanted out of here, wanted to go, wanted to escape to Miami and forget this shit. She couldn't stand the thoughts swirling in her head. Pax didn't like to think, didn't like to mull over anything. She wanted everything handed to her in a hard and fast manner. That way, she didn't have to feel. She didn't like feeling, either. She wanted no part of it. Yet, it was inside her, all over her, and she couldn't run from it, couldn't hide. She was in her own little world. It was almost like the feeling that swept over her right before she scored another unit. She was a part of things, but not a part of them at the same time. She was lost in a weird daze and daydreaming. Pax saw and heard very little. The agents seated around the conference table stood and dispersed, and she was completely oblivious to it all.
When the team had walked away, Donovan's attention was drawn to Pax standing in the corner. She didn't seem as if she was attached to the same reality as he. Her eyes were focused on the floor and her arms crossed tightly against her chest. He wondered if she had heard a word they'd said. Had she heard the plan, what they were setting up, what their roles would be? From the look on her face, she hadn't. He had seen Pax many ways, but not like this. For a moment, he couldn't move. He sat back and watched this fascinating new aspect of her character. She seemed…vulnerable almost, hesitant. He backed away from the conference table and slowly approached her. She didn't move, blink, or flinch. Did she even realize he was walking toward her? What the hell was going through her mind? She didn't 'see' him until he was nearly right up against her. The moment she felt his body heat, she looked up, her face red from embarrassment. She wanted to back away, but there was nowhere to go. His body had her blocked in. Pax felt a string of obscenities boiling from the pit of her stomach, threatening to bubble up out of her throat, but she couldn't speak. How often did that happen?
"Jonella?"
He was gazing at her intently, trying to read what was going on inside her head. She had encased her mind in a steel trap and she hoped that he could not penetrate it. The one thing she feared was having Frankie inside her head. It wasn't a nice place to be. There was too much going on inside it, too many things she didn't understand. Today, his confession made it much worse. She wished a thousand times that she hadn't pried, hadn't forced him to tell her. Yet, she hadn't exactly forced him, did she? He was reluctant, but he told her anyway. Why would he tell her? Why didn't he tell someone else? She didn't want it, didn't want it eating away at her. She didn't want him probing her mind. It hurt. Oh how it hurt. Nothing had ever hurt so badly, not even those pointed bullets as they pierced her flesh. His voice calling her name, her Christian [ha…Christian…funny] name stabbed her, bringing even more pain. Ugh. I don't want this. I don't want to carry this with me. Please don't make me do this. She sighed heavily and finally raised her head a bit. A look of sheer, utter amazement crawled across his face. Were those tears he saw in her eyes? Was she crying? He had never seen her cry. Hell, he wasn't even sure she had tear ducts, for Christ's sake. It was a completely perplexing situation and he didn't know what to do or say, except utter her name again.
Pax was trying to find an escape route around Frankie's body, but there were none. He wasn't going to let her go, that was obvious. He would push her mercilessly until she told him what was going on inside her head. Do you want to know? Do you really want to know? "Get back, okay," she asked. "I can't breathe." She had meant the words to come out harsh and forceful, but they were no more than weak little whispers. God how she hated feeling like a wimp.
Donovan honored her request and stepped back, which gave her enough room to slip past the wall of his body. However, he was quick and he reached out to grab her arm before she got totally away. He pulled her back toward him, but didn't let go of her. "Jonella, what is it? I've never seen you like this."
"And you never will again," she whispered. "Let me go." She tried to wrench her arm out of his grip, but he held fast. "Frank, please."
He pinned her body against the wall, keeping one hand clamped to her arm while the other rested on the wall near her head. He had no intention of letting her escape until she told him what the hell was going on. "You've bulldozed me, pushed my buttons, stuck your nose into places where it never belonged, but I've talked to you, I've told you things I have never told any other person in my life. And yes, you are part of my life; regardless of how distasteful you find that thought. What is it, Jonella? If you won't tell me, can I guess?" He stared down at her and waited patiently for her to respond. When she said nothing, he continued, "You didn't abandon me. You took off and made some shitty choices, but you didn't just leave me hanging. How many times do I have to tell you that if you were there, you would have gone down? You couldn't have stopped any of this, even if you had nine million copies of those disks. What I did for you, I did freely because God help me, I can't stay away from you. I try and try and try, but you don't ever go away. You can't stay away from me, either, you know? If you could, if I could, why would we keep doing this? Why couldn't we just go on?"
"I don't want to hear this," she said quietly.
"I know you don't," he said, "but you will. You will hear it and listen to every damn word coming out of my mouth, because I'm sick of the avoidance, sick of the hiding, sick of the lies." He sighed. "Aren't you?"
Pax slid her body downward and managed to escape the solid wall of his body. "What good will it do to say I am? I'm not? Look at me, Frank. Take a long hard fucking look. Look at me. Tell me what good any of this is going to do? I know you can see it. I know you can feel it, but are you going to admit it? Hmm? Are you? So when you're chastising me for avoiding, hiding, and lying, think about why it is that I do it. No shit, Frank, I don't want to talk about this again. I can't take it. As soon as we get this crazy hit stopped, I'm out of here for good. That thought, Frank, is why I'm avoiding this conversation, because we both know what will eventually happen."
* * *
Pax and Donovan rode silently to his apartment. This was the first time the silence was deafening between them. Normally, they were angry and shouting back and forth, but not today. There was a new emotion that had come into play. Hurt. He had been pissed at her, enraged with her, ready to murder her, but he had never shared hurt with her, not like this. Her guilt was eating her alive, it was obvious, but there was so much they had yet to say to each other, so much they needed to say, but they never would. God. He hated the tense fog hanging in the air, hated it immensely. He had barely gotten the car parked in the garage when Pax jumped out of the car. He was certain that she was going to make a run for it, but she didn't. She stood by the car, her arms wrapped around her body, and she waited for him. Keys in hand, he got out of the car and slammed the door. Without a glance her way, he took off toward the elevator. If she wanted to follow, she could. If not, she could. It didn't matter to him. Her heels clicked hollowly behind him, but she wasn't rushing to catch up. If she didn't make it to the elevator when he got there, he wasn't going to hold the car for her. He stepped inside the elevator and stood patiently waiting for it to close. Just before it did, Pax slipped her scrawny body between the decreasing space and stepped in beside him. They rode the elevator up to his apartment in silence. They left the elevator and moved toward his front door, again, in silence. Pax stood back and waited for Donovan to unlock the door, in silence. Donovan opened the door and slipped inside. Pax followed him inside, in silence. He closed the door behind him, in silence. When Donovan turned to look at Pax, she was almost right up against him. What was this? What was she thinking? What was going on inside her? She stepped up to him, even closer, and cupped his face into her hands. Her lips met his softly, gently, but he pressed forward, deepening the kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth.
The urgency, the brutality was gone. There were times they literally ripped each other out of their clothes. Actually, they did that all the time. Yet, it didn't seem right tonight. Neither of them could explain the difference, neither of them had the desire to. There were other matters needing attention. She broke the kiss first, but he wasn't done. He claimed her lips again, thrusting his hand into her wild mane of hair. When he broke the kiss, his mouth moved to her throat, his teeth biting and nipping. She was pretty much glued to the floor and didn't know what was going on until she felt his hands opening her blouse, not ripping it, and not tearing. Her blouse was gone before she even realized it was happening. Her bra went down the same numbing, confusing avenue. Before she knew it, she had not one stitch of clothing on her body. Somehow, someway, Donovan had gotten undressed in much the same fashion. It was alarming how neither of them could exactly recall who undressed whom.
He took her lips again, slowly backing her toward the bedroom, not pushing, not shoving. He didn't understand what was going on here. He didn't understand why it was so different this time. She broke the kiss and backed away a few steps, but he wanted more, he wanted to explore this strange change in their lovemaking [lovemaking…when did it become that]. She took his hand and led him toward the bedroom. He went down first and she came after. She tossed all her hair over one shoulder and leaned down to take his lips again. Had they ever kissed this much before? Had they ever touched each other before? Wasn't it more like releasing just enough clothes to accommodate their need? She pulled back, sat up, and straddled his waist. Her hands ran down from his face to his chest and back up again. He wanted to speak, to ask what was happening to them, but he couldn't. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth again, the moment would be shattered forever. What was he feeling? What was going through his mind? For God's sake, did this actually feel right or was he kidding himself? For a moment, Pax couldn't move. She couldn't stop running her hands over his face and chest, couldn't stop kissing him. Jesus. What were they doing? Just what in the hell were they doing? Why was she subjecting herself to this? Oh God. Oh no. Did she? Did she actually feel it? Did she… No, no, no. I won't go there, I simply won't go there. He rose up a little and covered her mouth with his. Before long, he had lowered her to the bed, his body hovering over hers. He touched her face, allowing his hand to drift down to her throat. Why was it that tonight, there wasn't a desire to strangle her when every other night it was all he could think about, all he could feel? They had barely touched each other beyond kissing but he was more than ready to be inside her. It was strange and more than unsettling. When his hand settled on the side of her leg, she parted her thighs for him, basically begging for him to come inside her without uttering a syllable. He slipped into her, slipped into a spiraling abyss of confusion, need, and desire.
* * *
How utterly fricking touching, Weiz thought as he peered through his super spy binoculars. So, Pax wasn't just back to help out her old friend. They were really and truly getting it on. Wow. He wondered how serious it was getting. They were distracted enough that he could have easily taken a shot and eliminated them both at once, but that was never one of his things to do. He enjoyed the element of surprise, but what the hell. He was a sentimental type of guy. Let them enjoy their last few days on earth. He couldn't believe what he was seeing or hearing. Jonella Paxton was in love. Incredible. He had never thought the bitch had the heart for it.
* * *
Pax was wide-awake. Something was picking at her, needling her, and it wasn't just the weird ass sex she had just had with Frankie. She dragged her body out of bed and got down on her hands and knees. She ran her hand along the edge of the bed and felt nothing. She went over to Frankie's side and repeated it. Nothing. Figuring her hunch was wrong, Pax walked over to the window. In a genuine "Pax Moment," she noticed that there was a dab of bird shit on the outside of the windowpane. At first, she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. However, her paranoia wouldn't let her rest. She raised the window, feeling the ice-cold air blowing in and she snaked her hand around to the blob. It came off easily in her hand. She laughed a little as she imagined the picture she painted holding bird shit in her hand. Pax brought her hand back inside and she closed the window. She carried the blob over to the bathroom and slipped inside. She popped on the light and peered down at the dab of bird shit.
"Son-of-a-bitch," she spat. The 'bird shit' was a super sensitive bug.