The Long Way Home
By
E. S. YoungChapter Eleven: Lynné's Superior Bargaining Tactics
Actually, the title of this chapter is taken from one of my own quotes. - If you check the list of quotes on my FanFiction profile, I'm pretty sure I have it listed there. (tries to think of something more to say, but can't) Grr. Don't know why I continue to write these author's notes at the beginnings and endings of each chapter. (shrugs) Guess I'm just so used to doing it for my IZ FanFiction, that I'm doing it here as well.
Sands: When instead you could be filling up this vacant space with more of my story. 9.9 Typical.
Lynn: -.o YOUR story? I was under the impression that I had as big a role as you did in this.
Sands: (slowly) Yeeesss . . .that may be true . . . But unlike me, you don't have any fan-girls. u.u
Lynn: ò.o I wouldn't WANT any fan-girls.
Liam: (shuffles feet nervously) What about fan-boys?
Lynn: (thoughtfully) Do they even exist . . . ?
Liam: 6.6
Sidney: Firmez le bouche, all of you. .o;
Lynn: (waving her off) Oh, go firmez yourself!
Sidney: 'Go CLOSE myself. . . . ?' XD
Lynn: (glare)
- - -
The small, silver car came into view at the top of a rocky, clay-red cliff. Spectators may have wondered what a car was doing on top of a cliff, especially a cliff that was right above a seemingly bottomless lake. But since said spectators were nowhere to be found, their curiosity wasn't a problem.
Suddenly, the car started to move. Gradually, the vehicle edged its way towards the end of the drop. Then it was flying down the other side butte, gathering speed all the way.
WHOOSH
Straight off the edge of the cliff, the car sailed through the air for a fraction of a second before plummeting to the lake below. It hit the water with a resounding splash that sent mountainous ripples of water through the lake. And then, it was gone. The miniature Corvette had sunk to the depths below, hidden from view by tons of deep blue water. High above, a dark figure could be seen peering over the edge of the drop-off.
"Okay," the figure said quietly into a cell phone, "that's done. Oh, and I wanna thank you for helping me haul those bodies out to the car."
A voice sighed on the other end, somewhat tinted because of the phone. "I tried as best I could with my shoulder the way it is," it explained.
"Well," mused Lynné, "I suppose I could give you some credit for swiping their guns and wallets from them. How's brother dearest, by the way?"
"Uh, fine," Liam replied uncertainly. "I mean, not fine, of course not fine, he's anything BUT fine in his condition, but y'know—"
"Has he held you at gunpoint yet?" Lynné cut in.
"No."
"Has he said anything yet?"
"No."
". . . . . .has he even woken up since I left?"
She heard Liam inhale deeply over the phone.
"No."
Lynné allowed herself an exasperated sigh before continuing.
"Well, if and when he gets up, tell him everything's been taken care of, wink, wink."
Liam rolled his eyes at obvious meaning in his partner's words. He had to hand it to her, though. You never knew if the CIA bugged the phones they gave you, but Lynné always said she wouldn't put it past them. Whenever they had to use phones, they always tried to make it sound like they were doing exactly what the Company wanted then to do, and if anything ever seemed suspicious, they'd make it sound like a joke. Hence Lynné's sarcasm.
"Okay," Liam said finally. "I take it you're done."
"Not quite," Lynné told him. "I've still got a few arraignments to make."
"Oh," he said. "Okay, then. You sure you don't want a ride?"
"You can't leave the house, you know that."
"Oh, right, sorry," murmured Liam, embarrassed at his mistake. If course he couldn't leave, not when Sands would be left at the house alone. He heard Lynné's heavy exhale over the phone.
"Okay, I'll talk to ya later. Over and out."
A distinct beep told him that Lynné had hung up. Liam blinked down at the phone he was holding, somewhat bewildered.
Lynné leaned over the edge of the craggy cliff and saw that the waters of the lake were finally dying down. Soon, no one would be able to tell that a car had just disrupted the peaceful scene when it fell into the lake. With any luck, the CIA would never know that the corpses of four of their former agents were now sleeping with the fishes, as was Lynné's Corvette, something she wasn't happy about. The car was easy to detect, however, so she had to get rid of it, and what better way than to push it off a cliff?
'I'm going to miss that car,' she thought mournfully.
Oh for the love of God. You really are pathetic, d'you know that?
'What? I LIKED that car,' Lynné responded, slightly defensive.
Yeah, and it was just that: a CAR. Is a car worth a lifetime in jail? Cuz you know that's what'll happen if anyone finds out you killed those agent.
'Plus how many other people?' thought Lynné with a grim smile.
Well, I'm just glad you're not going to chuck ALL of the cars in the same place, the voice said huffily.
'You think I'm that stupid? Cars can be found, you know, especially if they're all in the same location. I'm gonna hafta find more places to get rid of the other two.'
What about a nice cave? suggested the voice. Or you could drive around 'til you find more cliffs that hang over lakes . . . It faded away as Lynné became lost in thought.
'Yes, That'll work,' she decided finally. 'But first I've gotta find a ride.'
Didn't think of that, didja? the voice cackled gleefully.
'No shit, Sherlock,' shot Lynné. 'Meh. There's a convenience store not too far from here. It's right out by the main road.'
Do you know how far the main road is from here!? the voice demanded, clearly outraged.
'I wore sneakers,' Lynné thought with a roll of her eyes.
Ugh. . .
- - -
In the end, Lynné didn't walk all the way to the dingy little convenience store. Instead, she had headed out to the main road and called a cab. The sight of a loan but attractive woman standing on the side of a dusty road in Mexico called for questions, and Lynné knew this when she ordered a taxi. Luckily, she already had a believable lie formed when the cab driver came to her – for lack of better word -- rescue.
Lynné's nose filled with the mixed odor of stale cigarettes, sweat, and old men. Sitting down in the lumpy seats of the taxi, she tried to hide how revolted she was. Overcoming the urge to retch, Lynné began to gaze out the window, her arms crossed over he chest and her message clear: 'I don't wanna talk, so fuck off.' Perhaps the driver didn't know body language any better than he knew English.
"So," the hairy driver said, his accent heavy, "what's a pretty thing like you doin' out here, eh?"
Okay . . . so he DID know English, maybe he was just stupid.
"Señorita?" asked the driver, looking at his passenger in the rear-view mirror.
"No reason," replied Lynné with a shrug and a Boston accent.
"Oh, it's all right, niña," coaxed the driver, "you can tell me."
'Oh, fuck you, ya sleaze-bag.'
"Well, if ya must know," she sighed, "I'm here on vacation with my boyfriend and my best friend. Or, I was, anyway. Las' night, we were in our hotel, rigjt? An' I went out to get drinks. Came back, an' there they were . . . doin' the Horizontal Cha-Cha.
"So, I'm pissed, naturally, an' I'm not gonna let this go, no way. I mean, after I caught them doin' this the third time, ya'd think they woulda had enough, but no."
Lynné saw the driver's eyes widen in the rear-view mirror and she bit back a smirk.
"So, anyway, t'day my boyfriend an' I go for a drive. 'We need to talk,' he says. So I say, 'yeah,' an' so we get in the car an' we're drivin' down this road in the middle of no-goddamn-where. The next thing I know, he's stoppin' the car, tellin' me to get out, an' drivin' away! The lousy fucker . . . so, here I am."
The driver stared at her for a long moment. The road they were on wasn't busy with traffic, but there were still a few cars traveling on it, and this guy needed to keep his eyes on the road.
'Must be a guy thing,' Lynné mused, thinking of Liam and how distracted he could get. But, then again, he was always like that. In any case . . .
"Hey, eyes on the road, mister," she pointed out.
The cab driver let out small gasp, startled that he hadn't been paying attention, and turned his eyes back to the highway.
"So, eh, what are you going to do about your boyfriend?" he asked in a false-casual tone, as he slowed the car to a halt outside of a pristine, upper-class hotel.
"Wellll," Lynné began, sliding out of the car gracefully, "I was thinking of getting, y'know, revenge."
"Like what, chiquita?" he inquired, giving her a sleazy grin.
"Oh, somethin' very unique, y'know? Only problem is, I may have a bit of trouble carryin' it out."
"Really?" the driver asked, interested. "Well, if you need any help" – his hand went for her behind – "feel free to ask. I'm always ready to . . . lend a hand."
In an instant, Lynné's hand shot out and grabbed the driver's wrist in a vice grip. Her eyes narrowed, but her smile stayed in place as she breathed quietly in his ear:
"There's not doubt in my mind that you are," she said, dropping her Boston voice, "but I think you'd like to know what I intend on doing to my former boyfriend before you decided you really want to assist me, savvy?"
The driver nodded vigorously, his eyes wide with fear as Lynné continued to glare at him, her voice still deadly calm.
"Good. Now, as for my boyfriend, my original plan was to give him the same punishment I always give guys who have cheated on me, taken advantage of me, or even attempted to grab my rear . . . and that is a simple shot in the head."
The driver swallowed nervously.
"But that seems a little boring, don't ya think? Yeah, I think. I mean, yes this guy cheated on me, but I want him to suffer. . . . . so what would you say to total and complete castration?" She grinned. "Can ya dig it?"
The driver gaped at her, looking nowhere near as comfortable as when he was attempting to woo her. He looked like he wanted to do nothing more than bolt to his car and drive as fast and as far away from Lynné as he could. A terrified noise escaped his open mouth, but other than that, the driver said nothing.
"Didn't think so," Lynné said softly and she dropped his sweaty wrist. Immediately, the driver scrambled to get into his taxi. He fumbled with the key as he tried to get them in the ignition without breaking the end off. When he finally managed to, the driver sped away without a second look at the beautiful woman with the dark shades and the wry smile.
- - -
"Señor Martinez, you have a visitor waiting for you in the café."
Andréez Martinez turned around to face his secretary. She smiled back at him pleasantly. He wasn't an unattractive man, though he wasn't incredibly hansom either, AND he was rich. But he was also married. Too bad.
"Who?" he asked, interested.
"A Señorita Bones to see you," his secretary replied, glancing down at a slip of paper that had undoubtedly been left by Señorita Bones. The only thing was, Andréez had never heard of a 'Señorita Bones' and he made a point in telling his secretary this. She gave his a strange look that was mingled with concern.
"She's a gringo, señor, and she said she was in need of some assistance and that you could help her, that's all I can tell you."
"Thank you, Maria," Andréez muttered vaguely, striding out of the lobby and stroking his full moustache – a persistent habit he had been trying to restrain from doing.
The first thing he noticed when he entered the café was that it was full of chatting people, which made sense. It was around noontime, after all, a time when most people liked to have lunch. The second thing he saw was the back of a loan woman with brown, shoulder blade-length hair sitting in a far corner of the room, sipping on a strawberry daiquiri. Andréez closed his eyes slowly, praying that when he opened them the woman would be gone. It was a useless hope, because the woman was still sitting at her table and still sipping on her drink when he had opened them.
Maybe he could back out of this right now. Yes, she hadn't seen him yet. He could just walk out of the room and she would never – she waved. She waved at him, the crazy gringo. And she had smiled, too. Obviously she wanted something from him. Well, there was no turning around now, she had seen him, and he had no intentions of getting on THIS woman's bad side.
Andréez Martinez took his seat across the table from Agent Lynné Sands (as far as he knew, she still worked for the CIA). She smiled, he frowned. If he didn't loath her as much as he did, Andréez would have thought her very pretty. Her hair was dark and long and she had light skin that seemed flawless. She had high cheekbones that surprisingly didn't make her look as though she had one too many facelifts, and lips that were set in a permanent pout. But her eyes were intense and almond-shaped, and they always contained a strange sparkle to them that he didn't like. And her humorless smile (it was more of a smirk, really, he didn't think he had ever seen her actually smile) automatically made him distrust her.
"Andy," she greeted cheerfully.
"You can stop with the act, señorita," Andréez responded shortly, "just cut to the chase."
"I'm getting the feeling you aren't happy to see me," she said, pretending to look hurt, though he knew the agent could really care less even if he were madly in love with her.
"Ah, you would be right then, señorita," he replied. "What do you want?"
"Boy, you really get down to business, don't you?" Lynné asked sarcastically. "What if I were to tell you I just wanted to talk, then what would you say?"
"I'd say you were a liar and ask you to kindly get out of this hotel at once, but only because you're a woman. If you were a man, I'd throw you out myself."
"I am eternally grateful, señor," she sneered coolly. "But if you insist, I'll be straight with you. I AM here to ask you something, nothing big, just something I think you can help me with."
She took another sip of her daiquiri.
"And that would be . . . ?" He glared at her impatiently from the other side of the table.
"A plane. Private, if you can manage."
Andréez didn't respond, he simply gawked at her.
"Don't give me that look, I know you have at least four planes to spare. And since I did help you out of that rather sticky situation two years ago –"
"You blackmailed me," he accused, "That wasn't helping."
"Weeelll if you caught a rich hotel owner sleeping with, not one, not two . . . but THREE lovely young ladies when he is a happily married man. . . . what would you do? Be honest, now."
Andréez hesitated. Should he tell her the truth? She would know if he was lying anyway. . .
"I would use it to my advantage," he answered flatly.
"Thatta boy," Lynné congratulated happily. "See? Don't you feel better telling the truth?"
"No."
"Well, neither do I. Especially now. But I have to, so I will. I'll be perfectly honest with you: I need you to lend me one of your private planes and no one can know about this, all right? This has to be completely confidential or else the CIA will be on my ass as well as yours faster than you can go out and jump your new secretary."
His dark eyes shot daggers at her from across the table, but Lynné was completely unmoved by his look of hatred. Lynné smiled again.
"So, can you get me my plane or not?"
- - -
"You can't tell me he's still –"
"He's asleep, yes," Liam informed her.
Lynné sighed and closed her eyes in exasperation. Sands needed sleep, she knew that, but for some reason the fact that he had been sleeping soundly for nearly seven hours worried her. She didn't like being worried anymore than she liked waking up her brother, but it was something she would have to deal with.
Placing a hand on the banister, Lynné ascended the stairs. When she entered Sands' room, her brother was, predictably, asleep. Lynné shook her head as she walked over to the chair next to the bed and sat down.
Sands was asleep on his back, his chest rising and falling gently, his breathing deep and rhythmic. Lynné sighed as she looked down at her brother. As icy as she was, she tried to think of a million reasons why she shouldn't wake Sands up. She couldn't, not when he looked so peaceful.
'That and the fact that he's a real jackass whenever he first wakes up.'
But you HAVE to get him up. You can't just wait to wake him up 'til we're ready to LEAVE. Although, you will try to.
She cursed when she knew the voice was right. Filled with agitation, Lynné admitted it, albeit, silently.
'You bet your ass I will.'
So Lynné did everything she could to give Sands more time to sleep: Gathered together all of the things that she hadn't managed to pack already, made sure Liam had everything HE needed, got rid of one of the cars the CIA agents had shown up in (the remaining car would have to wait until tomorrow). Time seemed to evaporate so quickly Lynné could have sworn she had only been procrastinating for a few minutes. When she looked at her watch, however, she saw that she had been at it for over two hours.
Sighing for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Lynné sat down in the chair beside Sands' bed once more and looked over at her brother.
"Sands. . . ." she said quietly.
He didn't respond.
"Sands," she said again, a bit louder.
This time, he turned over so he was facing away from her. So he was awake, the bastard. Lynné narrowed her eyes at her brother's back and said again, this time more sternly than before:
"Sands."
He waved her off with a few short flicks of his hand. Lynné rolled her eyes. Okay, that's how he wanted to be, then fine. She could cope with that, she just had to make sure he wasn't armed before she did anything else.
After checking to see if there was anything Sands could use as a weapon, Lynné sat back down in her chair. Then, with another quick glance around, she leaned forward towards Sands.
". . . . Sheldon . ."
The reaction was immediate. Sands shot straight up in bed, his hands grabbing for his sister. At the same moment, Lynné flew back in her chair, narrowly missing a collision with Sands. Laughing quietly (and completely giving her location away), Lynné crossed her arms over her chest.
"Why . . . did you do that?" her brother growled menacingly, wearing an expression that would have sent chills down anyone's spine except hers.
"I had to get you up somehow," she explained, still laughing a little. "It worked."
"Obviously," Sands said, thinking that he would have rolled his eyes—
-- if they were still in your head, the voice pointed out gleefully.
'Oh, blow it out your ass,' he replied angrily.
"Why did you HAVE to get me up, Beatrice?" Sands sneered, using his sister's hated first name.
Lynné rolled her eyes, unimpressed.
"Cuz we're gonna leave this godforsaken country in about ten minutes."
- - -
Huh. Didn't think I'd have this chapter up this week. How 'bout it. To all who have been reading and to those who have just read, thanks a bunch! RSVP! Or, répondez si vous plaît. But if you don't speak the supposed language of love that means, 'respond, if you please.' Thank you -