2
".At approximately 1:15 this afternoon," the anchorman on the big screen read from his blue papers of whatnot, "flight 707 leaving for St. Croix has exploded at the Middleton Airport, throwing local police and security in a frenzy. Currently EMS and HAZMAT teams are on the scene, treating the injured and decontaminating the people in the event that a dirty bomb has been detonated. Fortunately, there have been no reported deaths thus far.
"Incidentally, this tragedy happened just days after the bizarre murder of multibillionaire Philippe Bullion, found strangled as he relaxed in his Jacuzzi. When confronted with this brutal murder, fellow multibillionaire Senor Senior Senior had no comment. The police still have no suspects in the case--"
The anchorman shrank; the huge image compacted into a tiny dot on the screen as Kim thumbed the power button. The long piece of plastic was engulfed by the cushy fabric of the couch as she let it arc in the air. She had heard enough. Was anything safe anymore in the world? Even that drop-dead model of a scientist, Vivian, had her new "Tank Man" robot stolen from the Robot Rumble a few hours prior to the blast.
"Kim." Her mother said gently. She turned to the purple woman on the sofa sitting attentively, the slender fingers of one arm questing for the remote blindly. "I know you're sad about what happened this afternoon, but you couldn't have done anything."
"Yeah Mom." She kicked her legs out from under her. There was a small *poof* when her rump crashed into the firm pillow below. Her arms folded across her chest. "I know. But Monique was supposed to be on that flight. Ugh--I hope she's okay."
"I bet she's fine, Kimmie." Her mother said reassuringly. "You heard the man. There haven't been any deaths reported."
"Yeah." her lips pressed into a thin line. "But I can't shake the feeling that there's something more to this 'accident'. What if that Family bunch is up to their old tricks?"
"You're just being paranoid." The mother said. "Last I called, you put the old man in his place. though it's six feet deep in Arlington."
"I hope so." She rocked her body gently back and forth, letting her mother's words sink into her unnerved skin. "But we just have to pray that their next leader isn't a bigger threat than the geezer was."
"That group probably is unraveling as we speak, Kim." Her mother said. "Most likely, it'll tear itself apart under its own weight and the troops will round them up. So don't worry about it."
"Okay Mom."
"How was that course in Virginia?" the woman asked. "Was it worth the money spent and the strings pulled?"
"Yeah." she smiled weakly. "I can actually use a gun the way a military man should. Give me anything, I can disassemble and reassemble it without much of a problem. I can even drive like a Secret Service agent too."
The woman nodded. "Really?"
"Yep!" she smiled. "Throw any wheelman at me, and I can drive circles around them."
"Impressive." The mother said; her face twisted in an apprehensive look. "I think. That reminds me, I'd better talk to your father again about that pistol we're getting."
"You guys are getting a gun?" she blinked. "But you hate guns. Why change now?"
"Well. after that incident back on Escutcheon, and how we found our house in shambles when we came home," the woman began, "your father and I would feel a little safer if had some form of protection. We have the second amendment, and we're invoking it."
"Aren't you afraid that the tweebs will find it?" she inquired. "You wouldn't want to find one of them dead."
"Yeah that's always a possibility." The mother said quietly. "But we're keeping it under lock and key 24/7. Plus we're putting it in a safe place, one we're pretty sure they're not going to look."
"Oh. I guess it's better than just having a phone for defense." She nodded halfheartedly. As long as she didn't find it in the vegetable drawer, she was fine with it.
"My thoughts exactly." The woman stood up, walking for the kitchen. "I'd better check on the stew. Oh--and Kimmie?"
"Yeah?" on the carpet she laid on her stomach, chin resting on her palms with her feet dangling in the air.
"When it comes to talking with your brothers," the mother stated, "we don't have a gun okay?"
"Right."
"Good--" From the kitchen door, strange sounds erupted from the inside the room. She wasn't sure, but it sounded like a horde of popping bubbles, tiny splashes being quelled by loud steaming sizzles. The orange- capped woman spun on her heels, shooting through the portal with the hurried clacks of her shoes following her. "Aw crap! The broth!"
Kim let out a quick laugh, the hilariousness quickly stifled by the chirping of her PDA. Her fingers wiggled themselves into the cramped Capri pocket, wrapping around the oddly shaped object the second they touched smooth plastic. With a huff, the device was free of her pants, and her other forefinger punched in the button snuggled in between the encircling, pentagonal ones. The PDA let out a soft crackle of static, the LCD stuck in a brief snowstorm before the Webmaster's mug managed to filter in, the sight of his room crawling across the blizzard till it filled the whole screen.
"Hi Wade." She said flatly. "Pardon the tone. I kind of had a pessimistic day."
"I hear that." The boy said, taking a sip from the cup in his pudgy hand. "I think I know why you're bummed."
"Humor me," she yawned, "I could use a laugh."
"Hmm." he put a piggy finger to his fatty chin, "let me guess. Her last name is Gibson, and her first name starts with an M. How close am I?"
"Dead on, super genius."
"Hey--I know you're bummed about Monique." He said. "But don't be. She's fine."
"How'd you know that?" she cocked an eyebrow.
"I. called her." He grinned boyishly. "Duh!"
"Oh--thank God!" she breathed in deeply, seemingly feeling an unknown burden lift straight off her shoulders. "I thought she was toast."
"No." he said. "She got a little hanged up at security. Apparently, they mistook her hairdryer for a firearm. She just got past the security checkpoint right before the plane blew sky high."
"She's not hurt?" she inquired.
"She said she's having a slight ringing in the ears, but otherwise fine and disappointed." He explained. "It's a shame too. I heard St. Croix was nice this time of year."
"Better than a British summer?" she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Much." He chuckled. "But this isn't the reason I called."
"It's not?" she said sardonically. "Aw I'm hurt. I thought I had a crushing aficionado. I--I don't know if I can go on..."
"Please Kim," he shook his head, "like a girl like you would go for a guy like me. You're better off with Ron."
"But you'd like a date with Monique, wouldn't you?" she grinned giddily. "Wade, you dog."
"My personal tastes aside," he dismissed, "I've come to tell you that the police have found something at the airport, next to the destroyed plane."
"So what's the sitch?" she asked. "A bomb fragment?"
"No," he said, "it looks like some kind of calling card. It's not a calling card per se, but near the plane was a typed note. It says, 'Time to pay you back for last month, cowards!! See you in hell! A.D."
"AD?" she blinked. Confused at first, but then a sudden realization dawned on her like a new day. AD: Alexander Drazen. It was a shot in the dark, but not even a shot in the dark seemed ridiculous when it came to old man Drazen and his sick family. "That's impossible, he's dead!"
"I know what your thinking, Kim." The boy continued. "But a handwriting analysis at the FBI branch office confirms its Father Drazen's from samples on file. They've also managed to confirm a partial fingerprint on the note: a 16-point match!"
"What are you saying, Wade?" her heart quickened, the Kimmunicator trembling in her strangling grip. She could feel the vital organ thump its way up her throat. "He's alive??"
"You were the one who was there when he bought the farm, right?" he asked.
"I--I don't know!" she said loudly. "I passed out at the sound of gunfire. I only came to about an hour later, off the Escutcheon. Maybe it's a hoax."
"I don't know, Kim." He looked down, shaking his head gently. "We have a piece of valid evidence that connects him or some of his cronies to the scene."
"But.." her mind raced for a possible explanation, running through all the scenarios her brain could come up with. One by one, all of them didn't seem possible. "I saw his grave in the Arlington Cemetery, next to his recovered sons. I mean, how does a dead man plant a bomb?"
"I don't know, Kim." He yawned. "It's getting late and Mom's yelling at me to go to bed. But I'll keep you posted. Count on it."
"Right." She nodded. "Good night, Wade."
She thumbed the red button, and the boy's cubby mug disappeared behind a veil of static snow. The jelly-like plastic of the buttons scratched through the denim as she wrenched it back into her pocket. The crown of her head touched down gently upon her forearms just as her neck gave out. It had been a long day already, and she just wanted to get some sleep.
--"Kimmie!" the voice of her mother rang out from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"
"Ugh." she moaned, pushing herself back onto her feet. Her shoes took turns shuffling in front of each other, slowly guiding her towards the kitchen. "Okay. dinner first, then sleep!"
***
"Okay Tara," eased the accented voice of her instructor, Yune, "just give the accelerator a tad more pressure just after the gear begins to engage."
"Right." She nodded gently, easing a little pressure onto the gas. The profile of the thin pedal pressed into her bare sole as the piece gave way to the flex. Yune was helping her refine her mastery of the standard in his sports car, a relatively new Mustang. So far, his tutelage was paying off. She could easily guide the stick without hearing that nerve- racking grinding.
"See, you're doing good." He said genuinely.
"Really?" she grinned.
"Yeah, though you do have problems with speed negotiation." She saw the black capped head nod out of the corner of her eye. "Unless of course, you're trying to give me a heart attack."
"A heart attack? For what?" she grinned playfully as she negotiated the gas to the firewall. An olive smear became what was the midday greenery outside the car. The almond eyes of the Korean widened as his head crashed back into the headrest. On the armrest on the middle of the console, the tan digits tightened around the cushy edge.
She lifted her foot and angled it onto the brake, depressing it while her left worked the clutch down. The roar of the American engine quieted, gradually easing to the gentle thrum while the surrounding smear cleared in the glass.
"For that?" she giggled.
"Next time. we come out for practice," he breathed, "we're taking your pick-up."
"I hate that rust bucket." She said. "I like to practice in a car that actually works and doesn't grind at me."
"The beauty of synchronizers.." He nodded slowly, like he was still trying to get a grip on things. "But I'd like it if you didn't kill me in the learning process."
"Then why'd you get a sports car then?" she asked honestly, eyes darting between the tachometer and the open road, fingers tense on the shifter. "If you don't like speed, then why get American muscle? Well-- weak muscle anyway."
"It wasn't mine to begin with." He explained. "It's my Dad's car. Rather. it was my Dad's car."
"What happened to him?" she glanced over briefly. The Asian had his arms crossed, and she could just barely see his t-shirt move back and forth, up and down at an angle.
"He. died." He closed his eyes. "A few months ago due to cancer."
"Oh.." She inadvertently groaned, shifting into the next gear. The car was nice and fast, but the clutch was stubborn. "So whom do you live with then?"
"I live by myself, since I'm 18." He explained. "In a house as big as Kimberly's. Dad was pretty well off, since he was a general in the American military as well with the South Koreans."
"Wait!" she blinked. "I thought he was North Korean."
"There's no difference when it comes to the people of the countries." He explained. "Same people, same traditions. Just the peninsula was carved in two. Anyway, we defected to an American embassy in South Korea for some reason that I still don't understand. Given the potential intelligence the government could receive, the Marines accepted him into the ranks. Guess where we were posted right of the bat."
".I don't know."
"Back in South Korea." He continued. "Under Col. Drazen's command at the time. Let me tell you, the North Koreans were surprised when they found a former general south of the 38th."
"Drazen.?" she thought aloud. "Wait a minute--you mean that geezer back on the Escutcheon?"
"The very same." He nodded. "Dad and him were friends, and when he heard about Drazen's set-up, it only hardened his resolve about the west."
"So you two joined up with that cutthroat?" she said.
"Yeah," he said, "but cancer quickly overwhelmed my Dad and he sent me to take his place. But I wanted out as soon as I got in. And the Escutcheon was a perfect place to defect. And then I met you."
She smiled warmly, feeling the warm blood rushing up her face.
"Have you heard about what happened yesterday?" he asked, switching subjects. Just as well, she thought. Escutcheon, that was a time she'd like to forget.
"Yeah." the corners of her mouth dropped into a line. "I think a friend of mine was supposed to be on that flight. I think she's alive; at least that's what Kim said. Do you think those cutthroats did it?"
"I wouldn't know." He said. "I don't keep up with mercenaries anymore. The only thing I know is that geezer Drazen is dead. Oh--pull over really quick."
".Okay." She worked the clutch and brake gently, easing the transmission into first at the tachometer's signal. Her hands worked the wheel, veering the car into the turn lane. Gravel crunched and shifted underneath the wheels as she turned off the road, the country flora ceasing its encroachment in the presence of a lone gas station. Momentum pushed them forward, but the restraints kept them still as the car crunched to a stop. "Pit stop?"
"No." the seat belt whipped across his body, the door clunking open and he placed a foot outside the cabin. "Time to switch seats. You've had your fun."
"Oh right." Just as his rump left the passenger seat, she inched herself over the center console like a spider. Gravity took over, her butt bouncing on the warm leather as she lifted her other leg over the console. The Korean shuffled into the driver's seat, working his lean torso underneath the steering column momentarily. He slid out, his back pressing into the seat with her sneakers in hand.
"Do you have to take off your shoes every time?" he cocked an eyebrow as she relinquished the shoes from his grasp. "You'll catch a parasite if you keep that up."
"I can't help it if the soles are too thick." She noted, easily sliding her feet inside since the backs had been flattened. "You don't want the engine to blow up, right?"
"True." He shut the door, drawing the seat belt across his body. There was a hollow click as he slid that metal piece into the buckle. "But are you getting hungry?"
"Yeah, I could go for some burgers or something." She pressed her palm to her midriff. Beneath the cool skin, she could feel the trembling of her innards. The acids and juices eagerly waiting do dissolve something- anything. "You're the driver now, you pick."
"Ever had Korean?" her heart jumped when she caught sight of that warm gaze. "I haven't had it in a while."
"I never had it before." She smiled. "But I'm willing to try."
"Good." His legs moved predictably in the seat, and his hand worked the shifter with practiced ease. "I think you might like *pibimbap*, but I'm not sure you'll like *kimchi*."
"Hmm." he hummed. She didn't know what the boy was talking about, but it definitely sounded delicious. "Sounds good."
"Good." The car crunched its way back onto the paved road, rolling across the double yellow and into the southbound lane. "There's a nice little place I found in downtown Middleton."
"Um. Yune?" she said quietly, yet loud enough over the thrum of the engine. Her blood quickened as the thought circulated in her mind, a thought she wanted to ask since the boy was released from the brig. "Yune?"
"Yeah?" he said.
"Um. I want to learn how to shoot." She said, blood rushing to her face again.
"Why?" he asked honestly.
"I don't know really." She dropped her gaze to the floor, looking absently at her makeshift clogs. "I just have this feeling. you know?"
"A premonition?" he briefly looked over.
"You could say that." She continued. "I really wanted to ask you this after you were released, but I never got around to it. But now. I just have this feeling that something really bad is about to happen. I don't want to be totally defenseless."
"You know, you do have that little bit of Hapkido I taught you." He said.
"True," she nodded, "but that's not going to do me any good with a bullet in my head. So could you teach me how to use a gun?"
"." She felt a chill run down her spine as the droning hum hit her ears. Most likely he'll chuckle at it, despite the seriousness of her resolve.
".. Okay." the boy nodded. "If that's the way you feel about it, then I'll be happy to teach you a few things. The only thing I ask is you don't shoot me by accident."
"He--okay." She giggled. He might have been everything she could ask for in a guy, but he sure was paranoid.
"Look inside the glove box." He said.
"All right." She bent at the waist and her fingers curved underneath the angled handle. The little piece of plastic flexed with the guidance of her digits, and the box opened with a click. Within the dark, barren confine of the box was something that glinted with the dim light. "Yune," her fingers wrapped around the object, "why do keep that Daewoo in your glove box?"
"It's kind of a lucky charm." He chuckled sheepishly. "Anyway, let's begin."
***
Kim gazed intently at the papers that littered her worktable, schematics and current, detailed intelligence of the island fortress the Senor Seniors called their island paradise. Scenarios ran threw her mind, effortlessly picking out the pros and the cons of each one and synthesizing them into her main course of action. Word from Wade suggested that the thugs responsible for the bombing were attending a meeting with the Billionaires over a transaction. or whatever people like that talked about.
"Hmm." she thought aloud, "seems I can get in through the roof or the back door. Can't run-and-gun, or we'll be history for sure. Maybe I can disguise myself as a maid or something."
"KP?" Ron's voice flowed into her ears, her train of thought screeching to an easy halt. Her arm moved behind the back of her chair, the palm pressing against the edge of it as she moved her torso around. The blond stood nonchalantly, his shoes hidden by the lattice of the top step.
"Hey Ron." She smiled. "Care to take a seat?"
"Sure." He took the last step, already walking for her bed just as his other foot cleared the step. Her smooth bedspread wrinkled when his back dove into the mattress. He folded his arms behind his head like a pillow. "What's up? Your Mom says you've been cooped up here all morning."
"It's nothing really." Her glance moved to her table again. On the note pad nearby by, she scratched a final note before her fingers loosed the pen. "Just going over our infiltration of the Senor Senior fort."
"Kim," he moaned, "why are we going to tweak the old rich guy? It's pointless to harass a person with so little time left."
"Ron." she rolled her eyes. "That's where our suspects are going to be."
"They're going to tweak the old rich guy?" from the angle, she could see his eyes blink. "Man, why can't they leave our elders in peace?"
"Don't know." she threw it back. "But that's what we're going to find out. They have a meeting two days from now, and we're going to eavesdrop. Might provide answers to yesterday's attack."
"'Might' is the key word in that sentence, Kim." He noted. "Maybe they just want a loan."
"All signs point to: probably, Ron." She said. "But the question is why."
"A house?" he tossed it out, playing it like word association.
"Oh--yeah!" she replied sardonically. "Like you'd go to one of the world's richest villains and ask for a home loan."
"I would."
She let out a sigh, burring her face into her palms. Planning with Ron was like talking to a brick wall. Why she bothered, she'll never know.
"We're leaving for Madrid tomorrow morning." She stated firmly. "Just be ready by then."
"Oh--" he sat up quickly, his butt sinking deeper into her mattress, "Madrid! I love the Swedish."
"Spanish, Ron." she corrected.
"Oh." a blond eyebrow lifted. "But what are you going to do?"
"I'm already packed." She said. "I suggest you do the same quickly. Our jet leaves at 9AM."
"What do you mean 'jet'?" he asked. "All the planes at Middleton are grounded for a whole week."
"I'll phone a friend." She explained, tucking a loose piece of hair behind an ear. "He'll clear it through the FAA and others."
"How long are we staying for?" he said.
"Long enough to prepare." She said, twisting to the boy at the waist. "You'd better be going Ron. I'm going to be up here all day."
"You'd rather contract cabin fever than have the rest of the day at Bueno Nacho with me?" he angled his wrist, pressing his palm to his chest. "I'm hurt."
"Get out, Nacho-head." She giggled. "Have a little fun for me. Just don't have an all-nighter."
"Right." he hopped off the wrinkled bedspread. Thrusting his hands into his pockets he walked to the steps, disappearing inch-by-inch below the top step. Before his head vanished below the lattice, the blond mat turned around. "I'm going now. But should I bring Rufus for this reconnaissance?"
"Why bother asking?" she said. "Of course."
"Okay Kim." The blond mat dropped below the step. The soft plodding of his shoes was a diminuendo, gradually fading into the recesses of her house. From the steep flight of steps, she could hear the front door creak open and click shut a second latter.
*Now that he's gone, I can finish up. *
So far everything scribbled on the yellow notepad looked up to par, the specifics and whatnot. The plan was simple: infiltrate the fortress villa; enter the ventilation system and eavesdrop on the meeting; and escape. They didn't expect her, and if she kept everything clean and quiet they'll never know what hit them.
"Planning's one thing," she told herself, "but execution is another ballgame."
***
Kim eyes darted frantically across the barren "courtyard" of the fortress villa. She and Ron has successfully climbed over the sea wall, keeping out of the sunshine beams of the shifting spotlights while carefully avoiding the patrolling sentries. The guards couldn't have been employed by the father-son duo. They were privacy freaks, divulging the existence of his uncharted island to the unseen privy.
"Must be the suspects' entourage." She thought quietly aloud, kneeling behind small boulder.
"Along with that fold-out, flying whirligig thing." Ron chimed in. The whirligig that sat in the middle of the courtyard was actually an Osprey, military issue, its blades and wings folded in to save space. Emblazoned in red were painted a few characters of some sort on the black hull, a language she didn't recognize.
"Israelis?" the boy said.
"He--yeah!" the little rat in his pocket squeaked out.
"You sure?" She asked.
"Believe me, Kim." he blinked. "No foreigner could write Hebrew that proficiently."
"Forget about it." She said. "Just get to the servant quarters."
The servant quarters were a few yards away, close but still so far away. It was a straight shot to the open window, but they had to cross through open space. A sentry stood attentively nearby and from the look of it, there was no sneaky way past him.
"Ron." She whispered. "Distraction!"
"Gotcha." He scooped up a rock in his hand, the gloved digits closing tightly around the rough surface. He shifted his body out quietly, carefully, keeping the grinding of pebbles underfoot in check. The arm swung out like a pitcher tossing a curve ball, and she could hear the rock sipping on the ground like it was water. A noisy clang rang out from where the Osprey sat.
"What was that?" the nearby sentry said, voice thick with a familiar accent. Russian maybe? Gravel shifted as he strolled toward the craft, she could see the barrel of his bullpup rifle wobble away.
"Ron, move!" she took off for the window, arms pumping for extra speed. The open portal grew with every hurried step, and she found herself flying through it like she was Superman. Her arms buckled, the heels of her hands met the floor and she rolled forward, back onto her feet. She turned her head over her shoulder, and the blond climbed through the window, almost stumbling through it.
"Shut the blinds, hurry!" she said quietly, yet loudly that her voice went hoarse briefly.
The roller whirred as the thick flap of cloth unrolled from above the window. The flap wobbled and bounced, dark waves flowing up the tarp as Ron tried to get it to catch.
"Almost. there!" he quickly relinquished his fingers from the cloth, watching it wave gently by momentum. "That should do it."
"Got the Chloroform?" she sneaked over to the door, taking a knee by the door hinges.
"Yeah." The boy fished a hand into his cargo pants, the pocket with the noticeable bulge. A moment after the glove snaked its way inside, it came out with a tiny plastic bottle no bigger than an eyedropper in a pinch. "Straight from the taxidermist."
"Give it here." She whispered. Her hand touched upon her utility belt, fingers curving underneath a flap and popping open a pocket. Her fingers dove in, pinching onto the soft piece of cloth she packed before they left. She thumbed the bottle open and she traced circles onto the cloth with the strong liquid, watching the capsized circles deepen in color as they soaked in.
"Now what are you going to do with that?" he asked.
--She jerked her head back up, her eyes wide as a soft, gentle plodding grew louder with every split-second. There was a soft click with every sound that seemed to cause the hard wood floor to creak.
*Footsteps.*
"Someone's coming!" she whispered. "Get in the closet, hurry!"
The boy zoomed clumsily for the door, nearly tripping over his large sneakers as he tumbled through the open sliding door. Hard rattles came through the crevice, the many dark clothes swaying briefly, being slowed by the combined masses of textile. The door creaked open; stopping right in front of her as a pair of smooth, tan legs clicked into the room, stopping beside the bed.
"Ugh." the woman groaned with some Mediterranean accent. She approached the bed tiredly. Her hands disappeared into the bed, the bedspread wrinkling as her feet tried to peel off her flats. "What a day. Glad my drudgery of a shift's over. I guess it's better than working the streets. Senor Senior is a pretty decent guy, but a little too kind to be a serious world power though. His womanizing son. gets on my nerves though."
The tall woman shrank about a foot as she stood up slowly-yet- quickly, letting her knees lock when her legs straightened out. She let the pungent cloth drape over her right hand like the appendage was a towel rack. Her boots touched down quietly as they led her to the maid, starting at the heel, slowly letting the whole edge touch the floor with the instep following last--
--And in that brief moment, time stood still as she went to work on the woman. Her hands did their own thing. The left circled around the woman, the crook of her arm pressing against the trachea while the right smashed the cloth to her face. The maid floundered like a piranha out of water, fighting violently against her grasp until the chemical took effect. Her body started to get heavier and heavier until the figure fell out of her hold, belly flopping onto the mattress.
"Hi there!" she thumbed the cap back onto the bottle, jamming the cloth and anesthetic back into a nameless pocket on her utility belt. "I'm Kim, and I need to borrow this."
From the closet, the blonde head poked out though the dresses, his face wearing a sniggered jubilance of some sort.
"All right, KP." He grinned. "Been playing Hitman, have we?"
"Ron, stay in the closet for a sec." She pointed. "I need to change. Now let's see." Cloth burned gently over her skin as she slid off both her gloves, stuffing them into a pocket in her cargos. Her palms touched upon the drugged maid's back, fingertips curling underneath the hem of her collar and twisting it back, the white tag flopping into view. "Size 6. Perfect."
***
Ron watched eagerly though the narrow slats of the closet doors, pushing all traces of guilt out of his thoughts. His tongue poked out of his lips, sliding across them and darting back in as the auburn flopped the downed brunette on her back, nonchalantly unbuttoning the navy blue blouse and sliding the clothing off her petite body. And then she went for the skirt.
*Of all the days to forget my camera--*
"Uh-uh-uh!" he felt his clothes tug down erratically, starting at the pants and working up his shirt. His pet mole rat trotted into view on his shoulder, standing on his hind legs and jumping hysterically. "No-no!"
"Rufus!" he glared gently. "I don't spoil your fun, so don't spoil mine!"
"Hmm.!" the little buddy growled, narrowing his little beady eyes.
"All right, all right!" he rolled his eyes, his head following suit gently. "Don't get your peach-fuzz in a tangle."
"Ron." The auburn whispered. "You can come out now."
"Okay." He nodded, feeling the many textures whip across his skin on his way out of the cramped, crowded space. He felt his mouth go ajar as he laid eyes on the French maid that sat before him, her auburn locks pulled into a sloppy bun while her hands tried to jam her feet into the flats.
"Ugh." the shoes clattered onto the floor, sliding into the closet with a sweep of her foot. "Of all the maids in this dump, I had to drug the one with feet smaller than Bonnie's!"
The maid in question sat on the bed, half naked and hog tied like Kim did with the hairy kid on Escutcheon. Her wrists and ankles were bound together with a hair band, a really strong hair band.
"Are you sure that'll hold, KP?" he asked. "It'd look really bad if the guards caught her running around like that."
"Wade made it, Ron." She said reassuringly, bare feet slapping upon the hard wood floor as she walked to the closet. "Don't worry. It's made of the same stuff found in that elastic-constriction agent. If it can hold a Great White's jaws closed, it can hold a typical person."
"Oh." he said. "But where are your clothes at?"
"Under the bed." The rollers clicked and cracked on the rails as she slid the doors open, taking a knee by the shoe rack nearby. "Damn! Nothing but pumps and sneakers in here."
"Can you walk in them okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," she hooked her fingers into a pair of black pumps and pulled them off the wire, "but I wobble here and there occasionally. I just hope no one notices."
"I think your feet are the last thing they'll be looking at." He said. "Just don't look at anyone in the eyes, and you should do fine."
"True." She nodded, slipping her feet into the pair easily. "Ah-- perfect fit. Ron, I'm going to need Rufus for this."
"Not to rain on your planned parade, Kim." His fingers wrapped around the piece of warm flesh on his shoulder carefully, almost caressing it as he brought it down lower. "But wont they notice the mole rat on your shoulder?"
"Not when he's in the vent shaft, recording the conversation." She bent at the knees and her arm slid underneath the bed for a moment. The Kimmunicator came out in her hand when she withdrew the limb, standing up the second the arm was free of the bed frame. "I want you to stay here and watch the maid till I get back. If she wakes up, drug her again. Okay?"
"Gotcha KP." He nodded, bouncing gently as his butt met the bed. His clothes ruffled and tugged crazily as the little guy scampered off of his shoulder. His blood quickened when the rat carefully scaled up the auburn's bare legs as she giggled, disappearing under the hem of the borrowed skirt. "Just watch out for Rufus, okay?"
"As long as the runt doesn't get any bright ideas under here." She smirked devilishly as she stuffed the PDA in the blouse, turning for the door while a bulge wormed its way up to her chest. Her head dropped down. "Rufus, be careful around those! They're sensitive!"
"He-huh. okay!" the little, nasal voice squeaked.
".At approximately 1:15 this afternoon," the anchorman on the big screen read from his blue papers of whatnot, "flight 707 leaving for St. Croix has exploded at the Middleton Airport, throwing local police and security in a frenzy. Currently EMS and HAZMAT teams are on the scene, treating the injured and decontaminating the people in the event that a dirty bomb has been detonated. Fortunately, there have been no reported deaths thus far.
"Incidentally, this tragedy happened just days after the bizarre murder of multibillionaire Philippe Bullion, found strangled as he relaxed in his Jacuzzi. When confronted with this brutal murder, fellow multibillionaire Senor Senior Senior had no comment. The police still have no suspects in the case--"
The anchorman shrank; the huge image compacted into a tiny dot on the screen as Kim thumbed the power button. The long piece of plastic was engulfed by the cushy fabric of the couch as she let it arc in the air. She had heard enough. Was anything safe anymore in the world? Even that drop-dead model of a scientist, Vivian, had her new "Tank Man" robot stolen from the Robot Rumble a few hours prior to the blast.
"Kim." Her mother said gently. She turned to the purple woman on the sofa sitting attentively, the slender fingers of one arm questing for the remote blindly. "I know you're sad about what happened this afternoon, but you couldn't have done anything."
"Yeah Mom." She kicked her legs out from under her. There was a small *poof* when her rump crashed into the firm pillow below. Her arms folded across her chest. "I know. But Monique was supposed to be on that flight. Ugh--I hope she's okay."
"I bet she's fine, Kimmie." Her mother said reassuringly. "You heard the man. There haven't been any deaths reported."
"Yeah." her lips pressed into a thin line. "But I can't shake the feeling that there's something more to this 'accident'. What if that Family bunch is up to their old tricks?"
"You're just being paranoid." The mother said. "Last I called, you put the old man in his place. though it's six feet deep in Arlington."
"I hope so." She rocked her body gently back and forth, letting her mother's words sink into her unnerved skin. "But we just have to pray that their next leader isn't a bigger threat than the geezer was."
"That group probably is unraveling as we speak, Kim." Her mother said. "Most likely, it'll tear itself apart under its own weight and the troops will round them up. So don't worry about it."
"Okay Mom."
"How was that course in Virginia?" the woman asked. "Was it worth the money spent and the strings pulled?"
"Yeah." she smiled weakly. "I can actually use a gun the way a military man should. Give me anything, I can disassemble and reassemble it without much of a problem. I can even drive like a Secret Service agent too."
The woman nodded. "Really?"
"Yep!" she smiled. "Throw any wheelman at me, and I can drive circles around them."
"Impressive." The mother said; her face twisted in an apprehensive look. "I think. That reminds me, I'd better talk to your father again about that pistol we're getting."
"You guys are getting a gun?" she blinked. "But you hate guns. Why change now?"
"Well. after that incident back on Escutcheon, and how we found our house in shambles when we came home," the woman began, "your father and I would feel a little safer if had some form of protection. We have the second amendment, and we're invoking it."
"Aren't you afraid that the tweebs will find it?" she inquired. "You wouldn't want to find one of them dead."
"Yeah that's always a possibility." The mother said quietly. "But we're keeping it under lock and key 24/7. Plus we're putting it in a safe place, one we're pretty sure they're not going to look."
"Oh. I guess it's better than just having a phone for defense." She nodded halfheartedly. As long as she didn't find it in the vegetable drawer, she was fine with it.
"My thoughts exactly." The woman stood up, walking for the kitchen. "I'd better check on the stew. Oh--and Kimmie?"
"Yeah?" on the carpet she laid on her stomach, chin resting on her palms with her feet dangling in the air.
"When it comes to talking with your brothers," the mother stated, "we don't have a gun okay?"
"Right."
"Good--" From the kitchen door, strange sounds erupted from the inside the room. She wasn't sure, but it sounded like a horde of popping bubbles, tiny splashes being quelled by loud steaming sizzles. The orange- capped woman spun on her heels, shooting through the portal with the hurried clacks of her shoes following her. "Aw crap! The broth!"
Kim let out a quick laugh, the hilariousness quickly stifled by the chirping of her PDA. Her fingers wiggled themselves into the cramped Capri pocket, wrapping around the oddly shaped object the second they touched smooth plastic. With a huff, the device was free of her pants, and her other forefinger punched in the button snuggled in between the encircling, pentagonal ones. The PDA let out a soft crackle of static, the LCD stuck in a brief snowstorm before the Webmaster's mug managed to filter in, the sight of his room crawling across the blizzard till it filled the whole screen.
"Hi Wade." She said flatly. "Pardon the tone. I kind of had a pessimistic day."
"I hear that." The boy said, taking a sip from the cup in his pudgy hand. "I think I know why you're bummed."
"Humor me," she yawned, "I could use a laugh."
"Hmm." he put a piggy finger to his fatty chin, "let me guess. Her last name is Gibson, and her first name starts with an M. How close am I?"
"Dead on, super genius."
"Hey--I know you're bummed about Monique." He said. "But don't be. She's fine."
"How'd you know that?" she cocked an eyebrow.
"I. called her." He grinned boyishly. "Duh!"
"Oh--thank God!" she breathed in deeply, seemingly feeling an unknown burden lift straight off her shoulders. "I thought she was toast."
"No." he said. "She got a little hanged up at security. Apparently, they mistook her hairdryer for a firearm. She just got past the security checkpoint right before the plane blew sky high."
"She's not hurt?" she inquired.
"She said she's having a slight ringing in the ears, but otherwise fine and disappointed." He explained. "It's a shame too. I heard St. Croix was nice this time of year."
"Better than a British summer?" she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Much." He chuckled. "But this isn't the reason I called."
"It's not?" she said sardonically. "Aw I'm hurt. I thought I had a crushing aficionado. I--I don't know if I can go on..."
"Please Kim," he shook his head, "like a girl like you would go for a guy like me. You're better off with Ron."
"But you'd like a date with Monique, wouldn't you?" she grinned giddily. "Wade, you dog."
"My personal tastes aside," he dismissed, "I've come to tell you that the police have found something at the airport, next to the destroyed plane."
"So what's the sitch?" she asked. "A bomb fragment?"
"No," he said, "it looks like some kind of calling card. It's not a calling card per se, but near the plane was a typed note. It says, 'Time to pay you back for last month, cowards!! See you in hell! A.D."
"AD?" she blinked. Confused at first, but then a sudden realization dawned on her like a new day. AD: Alexander Drazen. It was a shot in the dark, but not even a shot in the dark seemed ridiculous when it came to old man Drazen and his sick family. "That's impossible, he's dead!"
"I know what your thinking, Kim." The boy continued. "But a handwriting analysis at the FBI branch office confirms its Father Drazen's from samples on file. They've also managed to confirm a partial fingerprint on the note: a 16-point match!"
"What are you saying, Wade?" her heart quickened, the Kimmunicator trembling in her strangling grip. She could feel the vital organ thump its way up her throat. "He's alive??"
"You were the one who was there when he bought the farm, right?" he asked.
"I--I don't know!" she said loudly. "I passed out at the sound of gunfire. I only came to about an hour later, off the Escutcheon. Maybe it's a hoax."
"I don't know, Kim." He looked down, shaking his head gently. "We have a piece of valid evidence that connects him or some of his cronies to the scene."
"But.." her mind raced for a possible explanation, running through all the scenarios her brain could come up with. One by one, all of them didn't seem possible. "I saw his grave in the Arlington Cemetery, next to his recovered sons. I mean, how does a dead man plant a bomb?"
"I don't know, Kim." He yawned. "It's getting late and Mom's yelling at me to go to bed. But I'll keep you posted. Count on it."
"Right." She nodded. "Good night, Wade."
She thumbed the red button, and the boy's cubby mug disappeared behind a veil of static snow. The jelly-like plastic of the buttons scratched through the denim as she wrenched it back into her pocket. The crown of her head touched down gently upon her forearms just as her neck gave out. It had been a long day already, and she just wanted to get some sleep.
--"Kimmie!" the voice of her mother rang out from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"
"Ugh." she moaned, pushing herself back onto her feet. Her shoes took turns shuffling in front of each other, slowly guiding her towards the kitchen. "Okay. dinner first, then sleep!"
***
"Okay Tara," eased the accented voice of her instructor, Yune, "just give the accelerator a tad more pressure just after the gear begins to engage."
"Right." She nodded gently, easing a little pressure onto the gas. The profile of the thin pedal pressed into her bare sole as the piece gave way to the flex. Yune was helping her refine her mastery of the standard in his sports car, a relatively new Mustang. So far, his tutelage was paying off. She could easily guide the stick without hearing that nerve- racking grinding.
"See, you're doing good." He said genuinely.
"Really?" she grinned.
"Yeah, though you do have problems with speed negotiation." She saw the black capped head nod out of the corner of her eye. "Unless of course, you're trying to give me a heart attack."
"A heart attack? For what?" she grinned playfully as she negotiated the gas to the firewall. An olive smear became what was the midday greenery outside the car. The almond eyes of the Korean widened as his head crashed back into the headrest. On the armrest on the middle of the console, the tan digits tightened around the cushy edge.
She lifted her foot and angled it onto the brake, depressing it while her left worked the clutch down. The roar of the American engine quieted, gradually easing to the gentle thrum while the surrounding smear cleared in the glass.
"For that?" she giggled.
"Next time. we come out for practice," he breathed, "we're taking your pick-up."
"I hate that rust bucket." She said. "I like to practice in a car that actually works and doesn't grind at me."
"The beauty of synchronizers.." He nodded slowly, like he was still trying to get a grip on things. "But I'd like it if you didn't kill me in the learning process."
"Then why'd you get a sports car then?" she asked honestly, eyes darting between the tachometer and the open road, fingers tense on the shifter. "If you don't like speed, then why get American muscle? Well-- weak muscle anyway."
"It wasn't mine to begin with." He explained. "It's my Dad's car. Rather. it was my Dad's car."
"What happened to him?" she glanced over briefly. The Asian had his arms crossed, and she could just barely see his t-shirt move back and forth, up and down at an angle.
"He. died." He closed his eyes. "A few months ago due to cancer."
"Oh.." She inadvertently groaned, shifting into the next gear. The car was nice and fast, but the clutch was stubborn. "So whom do you live with then?"
"I live by myself, since I'm 18." He explained. "In a house as big as Kimberly's. Dad was pretty well off, since he was a general in the American military as well with the South Koreans."
"Wait!" she blinked. "I thought he was North Korean."
"There's no difference when it comes to the people of the countries." He explained. "Same people, same traditions. Just the peninsula was carved in two. Anyway, we defected to an American embassy in South Korea for some reason that I still don't understand. Given the potential intelligence the government could receive, the Marines accepted him into the ranks. Guess where we were posted right of the bat."
".I don't know."
"Back in South Korea." He continued. "Under Col. Drazen's command at the time. Let me tell you, the North Koreans were surprised when they found a former general south of the 38th."
"Drazen.?" she thought aloud. "Wait a minute--you mean that geezer back on the Escutcheon?"
"The very same." He nodded. "Dad and him were friends, and when he heard about Drazen's set-up, it only hardened his resolve about the west."
"So you two joined up with that cutthroat?" she said.
"Yeah," he said, "but cancer quickly overwhelmed my Dad and he sent me to take his place. But I wanted out as soon as I got in. And the Escutcheon was a perfect place to defect. And then I met you."
She smiled warmly, feeling the warm blood rushing up her face.
"Have you heard about what happened yesterday?" he asked, switching subjects. Just as well, she thought. Escutcheon, that was a time she'd like to forget.
"Yeah." the corners of her mouth dropped into a line. "I think a friend of mine was supposed to be on that flight. I think she's alive; at least that's what Kim said. Do you think those cutthroats did it?"
"I wouldn't know." He said. "I don't keep up with mercenaries anymore. The only thing I know is that geezer Drazen is dead. Oh--pull over really quick."
".Okay." She worked the clutch and brake gently, easing the transmission into first at the tachometer's signal. Her hands worked the wheel, veering the car into the turn lane. Gravel crunched and shifted underneath the wheels as she turned off the road, the country flora ceasing its encroachment in the presence of a lone gas station. Momentum pushed them forward, but the restraints kept them still as the car crunched to a stop. "Pit stop?"
"No." the seat belt whipped across his body, the door clunking open and he placed a foot outside the cabin. "Time to switch seats. You've had your fun."
"Oh right." Just as his rump left the passenger seat, she inched herself over the center console like a spider. Gravity took over, her butt bouncing on the warm leather as she lifted her other leg over the console. The Korean shuffled into the driver's seat, working his lean torso underneath the steering column momentarily. He slid out, his back pressing into the seat with her sneakers in hand.
"Do you have to take off your shoes every time?" he cocked an eyebrow as she relinquished the shoes from his grasp. "You'll catch a parasite if you keep that up."
"I can't help it if the soles are too thick." She noted, easily sliding her feet inside since the backs had been flattened. "You don't want the engine to blow up, right?"
"True." He shut the door, drawing the seat belt across his body. There was a hollow click as he slid that metal piece into the buckle. "But are you getting hungry?"
"Yeah, I could go for some burgers or something." She pressed her palm to her midriff. Beneath the cool skin, she could feel the trembling of her innards. The acids and juices eagerly waiting do dissolve something- anything. "You're the driver now, you pick."
"Ever had Korean?" her heart jumped when she caught sight of that warm gaze. "I haven't had it in a while."
"I never had it before." She smiled. "But I'm willing to try."
"Good." His legs moved predictably in the seat, and his hand worked the shifter with practiced ease. "I think you might like *pibimbap*, but I'm not sure you'll like *kimchi*."
"Hmm." he hummed. She didn't know what the boy was talking about, but it definitely sounded delicious. "Sounds good."
"Good." The car crunched its way back onto the paved road, rolling across the double yellow and into the southbound lane. "There's a nice little place I found in downtown Middleton."
"Um. Yune?" she said quietly, yet loud enough over the thrum of the engine. Her blood quickened as the thought circulated in her mind, a thought she wanted to ask since the boy was released from the brig. "Yune?"
"Yeah?" he said.
"Um. I want to learn how to shoot." She said, blood rushing to her face again.
"Why?" he asked honestly.
"I don't know really." She dropped her gaze to the floor, looking absently at her makeshift clogs. "I just have this feeling. you know?"
"A premonition?" he briefly looked over.
"You could say that." She continued. "I really wanted to ask you this after you were released, but I never got around to it. But now. I just have this feeling that something really bad is about to happen. I don't want to be totally defenseless."
"You know, you do have that little bit of Hapkido I taught you." He said.
"True," she nodded, "but that's not going to do me any good with a bullet in my head. So could you teach me how to use a gun?"
"." She felt a chill run down her spine as the droning hum hit her ears. Most likely he'll chuckle at it, despite the seriousness of her resolve.
".. Okay." the boy nodded. "If that's the way you feel about it, then I'll be happy to teach you a few things. The only thing I ask is you don't shoot me by accident."
"He--okay." She giggled. He might have been everything she could ask for in a guy, but he sure was paranoid.
"Look inside the glove box." He said.
"All right." She bent at the waist and her fingers curved underneath the angled handle. The little piece of plastic flexed with the guidance of her digits, and the box opened with a click. Within the dark, barren confine of the box was something that glinted with the dim light. "Yune," her fingers wrapped around the object, "why do keep that Daewoo in your glove box?"
"It's kind of a lucky charm." He chuckled sheepishly. "Anyway, let's begin."
***
Kim gazed intently at the papers that littered her worktable, schematics and current, detailed intelligence of the island fortress the Senor Seniors called their island paradise. Scenarios ran threw her mind, effortlessly picking out the pros and the cons of each one and synthesizing them into her main course of action. Word from Wade suggested that the thugs responsible for the bombing were attending a meeting with the Billionaires over a transaction. or whatever people like that talked about.
"Hmm." she thought aloud, "seems I can get in through the roof or the back door. Can't run-and-gun, or we'll be history for sure. Maybe I can disguise myself as a maid or something."
"KP?" Ron's voice flowed into her ears, her train of thought screeching to an easy halt. Her arm moved behind the back of her chair, the palm pressing against the edge of it as she moved her torso around. The blond stood nonchalantly, his shoes hidden by the lattice of the top step.
"Hey Ron." She smiled. "Care to take a seat?"
"Sure." He took the last step, already walking for her bed just as his other foot cleared the step. Her smooth bedspread wrinkled when his back dove into the mattress. He folded his arms behind his head like a pillow. "What's up? Your Mom says you've been cooped up here all morning."
"It's nothing really." Her glance moved to her table again. On the note pad nearby by, she scratched a final note before her fingers loosed the pen. "Just going over our infiltration of the Senor Senior fort."
"Kim," he moaned, "why are we going to tweak the old rich guy? It's pointless to harass a person with so little time left."
"Ron." she rolled her eyes. "That's where our suspects are going to be."
"They're going to tweak the old rich guy?" from the angle, she could see his eyes blink. "Man, why can't they leave our elders in peace?"
"Don't know." she threw it back. "But that's what we're going to find out. They have a meeting two days from now, and we're going to eavesdrop. Might provide answers to yesterday's attack."
"'Might' is the key word in that sentence, Kim." He noted. "Maybe they just want a loan."
"All signs point to: probably, Ron." She said. "But the question is why."
"A house?" he tossed it out, playing it like word association.
"Oh--yeah!" she replied sardonically. "Like you'd go to one of the world's richest villains and ask for a home loan."
"I would."
She let out a sigh, burring her face into her palms. Planning with Ron was like talking to a brick wall. Why she bothered, she'll never know.
"We're leaving for Madrid tomorrow morning." She stated firmly. "Just be ready by then."
"Oh--" he sat up quickly, his butt sinking deeper into her mattress, "Madrid! I love the Swedish."
"Spanish, Ron." she corrected.
"Oh." a blond eyebrow lifted. "But what are you going to do?"
"I'm already packed." She said. "I suggest you do the same quickly. Our jet leaves at 9AM."
"What do you mean 'jet'?" he asked. "All the planes at Middleton are grounded for a whole week."
"I'll phone a friend." She explained, tucking a loose piece of hair behind an ear. "He'll clear it through the FAA and others."
"How long are we staying for?" he said.
"Long enough to prepare." She said, twisting to the boy at the waist. "You'd better be going Ron. I'm going to be up here all day."
"You'd rather contract cabin fever than have the rest of the day at Bueno Nacho with me?" he angled his wrist, pressing his palm to his chest. "I'm hurt."
"Get out, Nacho-head." She giggled. "Have a little fun for me. Just don't have an all-nighter."
"Right." he hopped off the wrinkled bedspread. Thrusting his hands into his pockets he walked to the steps, disappearing inch-by-inch below the top step. Before his head vanished below the lattice, the blond mat turned around. "I'm going now. But should I bring Rufus for this reconnaissance?"
"Why bother asking?" she said. "Of course."
"Okay Kim." The blond mat dropped below the step. The soft plodding of his shoes was a diminuendo, gradually fading into the recesses of her house. From the steep flight of steps, she could hear the front door creak open and click shut a second latter.
*Now that he's gone, I can finish up. *
So far everything scribbled on the yellow notepad looked up to par, the specifics and whatnot. The plan was simple: infiltrate the fortress villa; enter the ventilation system and eavesdrop on the meeting; and escape. They didn't expect her, and if she kept everything clean and quiet they'll never know what hit them.
"Planning's one thing," she told herself, "but execution is another ballgame."
***
Kim eyes darted frantically across the barren "courtyard" of the fortress villa. She and Ron has successfully climbed over the sea wall, keeping out of the sunshine beams of the shifting spotlights while carefully avoiding the patrolling sentries. The guards couldn't have been employed by the father-son duo. They were privacy freaks, divulging the existence of his uncharted island to the unseen privy.
"Must be the suspects' entourage." She thought quietly aloud, kneeling behind small boulder.
"Along with that fold-out, flying whirligig thing." Ron chimed in. The whirligig that sat in the middle of the courtyard was actually an Osprey, military issue, its blades and wings folded in to save space. Emblazoned in red were painted a few characters of some sort on the black hull, a language she didn't recognize.
"Israelis?" the boy said.
"He--yeah!" the little rat in his pocket squeaked out.
"You sure?" She asked.
"Believe me, Kim." he blinked. "No foreigner could write Hebrew that proficiently."
"Forget about it." She said. "Just get to the servant quarters."
The servant quarters were a few yards away, close but still so far away. It was a straight shot to the open window, but they had to cross through open space. A sentry stood attentively nearby and from the look of it, there was no sneaky way past him.
"Ron." She whispered. "Distraction!"
"Gotcha." He scooped up a rock in his hand, the gloved digits closing tightly around the rough surface. He shifted his body out quietly, carefully, keeping the grinding of pebbles underfoot in check. The arm swung out like a pitcher tossing a curve ball, and she could hear the rock sipping on the ground like it was water. A noisy clang rang out from where the Osprey sat.
"What was that?" the nearby sentry said, voice thick with a familiar accent. Russian maybe? Gravel shifted as he strolled toward the craft, she could see the barrel of his bullpup rifle wobble away.
"Ron, move!" she took off for the window, arms pumping for extra speed. The open portal grew with every hurried step, and she found herself flying through it like she was Superman. Her arms buckled, the heels of her hands met the floor and she rolled forward, back onto her feet. She turned her head over her shoulder, and the blond climbed through the window, almost stumbling through it.
"Shut the blinds, hurry!" she said quietly, yet loudly that her voice went hoarse briefly.
The roller whirred as the thick flap of cloth unrolled from above the window. The flap wobbled and bounced, dark waves flowing up the tarp as Ron tried to get it to catch.
"Almost. there!" he quickly relinquished his fingers from the cloth, watching it wave gently by momentum. "That should do it."
"Got the Chloroform?" she sneaked over to the door, taking a knee by the door hinges.
"Yeah." The boy fished a hand into his cargo pants, the pocket with the noticeable bulge. A moment after the glove snaked its way inside, it came out with a tiny plastic bottle no bigger than an eyedropper in a pinch. "Straight from the taxidermist."
"Give it here." She whispered. Her hand touched upon her utility belt, fingers curving underneath a flap and popping open a pocket. Her fingers dove in, pinching onto the soft piece of cloth she packed before they left. She thumbed the bottle open and she traced circles onto the cloth with the strong liquid, watching the capsized circles deepen in color as they soaked in.
"Now what are you going to do with that?" he asked.
--She jerked her head back up, her eyes wide as a soft, gentle plodding grew louder with every split-second. There was a soft click with every sound that seemed to cause the hard wood floor to creak.
*Footsteps.*
"Someone's coming!" she whispered. "Get in the closet, hurry!"
The boy zoomed clumsily for the door, nearly tripping over his large sneakers as he tumbled through the open sliding door. Hard rattles came through the crevice, the many dark clothes swaying briefly, being slowed by the combined masses of textile. The door creaked open; stopping right in front of her as a pair of smooth, tan legs clicked into the room, stopping beside the bed.
"Ugh." the woman groaned with some Mediterranean accent. She approached the bed tiredly. Her hands disappeared into the bed, the bedspread wrinkling as her feet tried to peel off her flats. "What a day. Glad my drudgery of a shift's over. I guess it's better than working the streets. Senor Senior is a pretty decent guy, but a little too kind to be a serious world power though. His womanizing son. gets on my nerves though."
The tall woman shrank about a foot as she stood up slowly-yet- quickly, letting her knees lock when her legs straightened out. She let the pungent cloth drape over her right hand like the appendage was a towel rack. Her boots touched down quietly as they led her to the maid, starting at the heel, slowly letting the whole edge touch the floor with the instep following last--
--And in that brief moment, time stood still as she went to work on the woman. Her hands did their own thing. The left circled around the woman, the crook of her arm pressing against the trachea while the right smashed the cloth to her face. The maid floundered like a piranha out of water, fighting violently against her grasp until the chemical took effect. Her body started to get heavier and heavier until the figure fell out of her hold, belly flopping onto the mattress.
"Hi there!" she thumbed the cap back onto the bottle, jamming the cloth and anesthetic back into a nameless pocket on her utility belt. "I'm Kim, and I need to borrow this."
From the closet, the blonde head poked out though the dresses, his face wearing a sniggered jubilance of some sort.
"All right, KP." He grinned. "Been playing Hitman, have we?"
"Ron, stay in the closet for a sec." She pointed. "I need to change. Now let's see." Cloth burned gently over her skin as she slid off both her gloves, stuffing them into a pocket in her cargos. Her palms touched upon the drugged maid's back, fingertips curling underneath the hem of her collar and twisting it back, the white tag flopping into view. "Size 6. Perfect."
***
Ron watched eagerly though the narrow slats of the closet doors, pushing all traces of guilt out of his thoughts. His tongue poked out of his lips, sliding across them and darting back in as the auburn flopped the downed brunette on her back, nonchalantly unbuttoning the navy blue blouse and sliding the clothing off her petite body. And then she went for the skirt.
*Of all the days to forget my camera--*
"Uh-uh-uh!" he felt his clothes tug down erratically, starting at the pants and working up his shirt. His pet mole rat trotted into view on his shoulder, standing on his hind legs and jumping hysterically. "No-no!"
"Rufus!" he glared gently. "I don't spoil your fun, so don't spoil mine!"
"Hmm.!" the little buddy growled, narrowing his little beady eyes.
"All right, all right!" he rolled his eyes, his head following suit gently. "Don't get your peach-fuzz in a tangle."
"Ron." The auburn whispered. "You can come out now."
"Okay." He nodded, feeling the many textures whip across his skin on his way out of the cramped, crowded space. He felt his mouth go ajar as he laid eyes on the French maid that sat before him, her auburn locks pulled into a sloppy bun while her hands tried to jam her feet into the flats.
"Ugh." the shoes clattered onto the floor, sliding into the closet with a sweep of her foot. "Of all the maids in this dump, I had to drug the one with feet smaller than Bonnie's!"
The maid in question sat on the bed, half naked and hog tied like Kim did with the hairy kid on Escutcheon. Her wrists and ankles were bound together with a hair band, a really strong hair band.
"Are you sure that'll hold, KP?" he asked. "It'd look really bad if the guards caught her running around like that."
"Wade made it, Ron." She said reassuringly, bare feet slapping upon the hard wood floor as she walked to the closet. "Don't worry. It's made of the same stuff found in that elastic-constriction agent. If it can hold a Great White's jaws closed, it can hold a typical person."
"Oh." he said. "But where are your clothes at?"
"Under the bed." The rollers clicked and cracked on the rails as she slid the doors open, taking a knee by the shoe rack nearby. "Damn! Nothing but pumps and sneakers in here."
"Can you walk in them okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," she hooked her fingers into a pair of black pumps and pulled them off the wire, "but I wobble here and there occasionally. I just hope no one notices."
"I think your feet are the last thing they'll be looking at." He said. "Just don't look at anyone in the eyes, and you should do fine."
"True." She nodded, slipping her feet into the pair easily. "Ah-- perfect fit. Ron, I'm going to need Rufus for this."
"Not to rain on your planned parade, Kim." His fingers wrapped around the piece of warm flesh on his shoulder carefully, almost caressing it as he brought it down lower. "But wont they notice the mole rat on your shoulder?"
"Not when he's in the vent shaft, recording the conversation." She bent at the knees and her arm slid underneath the bed for a moment. The Kimmunicator came out in her hand when she withdrew the limb, standing up the second the arm was free of the bed frame. "I want you to stay here and watch the maid till I get back. If she wakes up, drug her again. Okay?"
"Gotcha KP." He nodded, bouncing gently as his butt met the bed. His clothes ruffled and tugged crazily as the little guy scampered off of his shoulder. His blood quickened when the rat carefully scaled up the auburn's bare legs as she giggled, disappearing under the hem of the borrowed skirt. "Just watch out for Rufus, okay?"
"As long as the runt doesn't get any bright ideas under here." She smirked devilishly as she stuffed the PDA in the blouse, turning for the door while a bulge wormed its way up to her chest. Her head dropped down. "Rufus, be careful around those! They're sensitive!"
"He-huh. okay!" the little, nasal voice squeaked.