This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.
Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.
NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.
DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga "at" aol dot com. Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.
ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!
This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.
Chasing the Dragon
by Madame Manga
Chapter Eight
He had her slung over his shoulder again, her head hanging down along his back. As he jogged, holding her around the waist with one arm, her body jolted up and down in a harsh rhythm that made her seasick. For a few moments, Rally could not remember where she was, or who was carrying her, and she imagined that her father had picked her up as part of a game.
She wanted to tell him to hold her more gently, and not to let Mama find them in the woods, but she opened her eyes to see wet pavement passing backwards in the orange light of street lamps and fire and the backs of Bean's legs and boots thumping along the sidewalk, and she knew exactly what had happened almost up to the moment he had knocked her out.
The smell of the fire surrounded them; she had only been out for a few minutes, but the weather had broken and it had started to rain. This wasn't the rotten pier, it was the street outside. He'd gotten them both over the fence, then, or through it, most likely. She heard sirens, shouting policemen and vehicles; a boat motor out on the bay.
Bean slowed and turned a corner, then stopped by a wall. Bending his knees, he eased her forward and off his shoulder, cradling her in his arms and holding her half upright. Limp still, she tried to push against his chest and break away, but she felt weak as a newborn kitten.
He looked carefully at her face and put one hand on her forehead. Rally tried to turn her head away, but it whirled and pitched dizzily, her eyes rolling back, so she closed them again and groaned. "You...hit me..."
"Goddammit, girl, it was that or watch you kill yourself! Why'd you make me do it?" He felt the back of her head, which had developed a hard lump. Her wig sat awry. "Nice goose egg." He grimaced. "Babe, slugging you is something I don't ever want to do again. You mind not giving me any more reasons to?"
"Damn you, Bean," she got out, hitting his chest with slack fists.
"Don't go makin' noise." He glanced over her shoulder. "There's still a couple of uniforms messing with the car."
She turned around and looked, her vision swimming. Two policemen with flashlights examined Buff with idle fascination, their car parked halfway across the alley. In front of the blazing pier an ambulance had arrived, its lights circulating at full tilt. The uniformed officers milled around their squad cars, radios crackling. A plainclothes detective with a bullhorn shouted, attempting to direct the chaos.
Someone used a welding torch on the gate, and when it sprang open, the two policemen with Buff went running to join up with the rest of the officers. Bean half carried Rally across the street from their hiding place. On the way he took out a keyless remote and clicked the doors open. After lowering her into the car and buckling her seatbelt for her, he started the engine and peeled out. The squad car took a hit in the rear left quarter and rotated aside as Buff scraped past.
Rally's limp body sank into the upholstery as Bean threw the gearshift back and purred south along the waterfront at seventy miles per hour. She closed her eyes. Two sirens behind them. Bean took a right turn and stomped on the gas, gunning it up a steep hill. The sirens faded. He took a swerving left down a steep decline, then another right, and raced the next few blocks at high speed.
She never opened her eyes. All she could see was Huang's dead face, pained and surprised, and Tiffany Brown's message glowing in the dark office. She had killed a helpless, wounded man with a borrowed gun; an under-the-table transaction on which Roy Coleman had staked his badge. And Tiffany's daddy was dead.
Rolling her head back and forth, she tried to stop hearing the voice in her ears: her name, over and over, rasping and coughing, pleading, screaming, dying. She shook again, her muscles fluttering, and jerked up and down in her seat, trying to master an unmasterable pain. It didn't matter who he was. It only mattered that he had died in agony while she had stood helpless. The voice grew louder.
"Lost 'em." Bean throttled back. "What the hell do we do now?"
"I don't know." Rally kept her eyes closed. She had an odd fancy that as long as she could keep them shut, all the consequences of this disaster would fail to fall on her head. Once they opened, the world would know every detail in sickening clarity.
Cable car tracks juddered under Buff's stiff suspension and her lids flew open. Mist and fog blurred the lights, the streets black and shining wet. Bean turned on his windshield wipers.
"I'll go to the hotel. I'd better take a roundabout route."
"Fine." Rally closed her eyes again.
Roy's face now. Accusing, disappointed, bleak, with two dour FBI agents looking over his shoulders. Whose fault was this? She'd been too eager for the prize. So had Bean, though he'd have preferred to fetch it himself. Roy had cautioned her from the beginning, but he'd trusted her abilities and instincts. The Feds had smelled a big catch just as she had. They had not willingly trusted her with it, though, and they had been right.
Smith and Wesson, aimed like a gun to her head... And she hadn't even been able to stay on the scene and explain. Thanks to Bean.
She turned and looked at him. Blood was half-dry on his face. Set and tight, his huge jaw jutted out as he ground his teeth. He looked at her, a street light casting a sudden flash of yellow over the scarred bridge of his nose. Him. Only because of him.
"Fucking goddamn hell..." he muttered as he negotiated the dark streets. "All that shit, and nothin' to show for it..."
Bean Bandit, a crook just like Brown, but without even a hint of the dead man's oily grace. Raw, crude, incapable of playing a part. At another time, she might even have called it honesty. Right now it looked like coarse, naked greed.
"Gonna find that Mick and that wop Manichetti and twist their fuckin' heads off. And I'd kill Brown if he wasn't dead." He made a sideways snarl, fingers tightening on the wheel, and ran a red light. "Goddammit...all that cash!"
She made a hissing sound of disgust. Couldn't he think about anything but the money?
"What?" Bean glared at her.
Rally turned away and stared through the windshield. Brown was dead. Roy's badge was in jeopardy. The money was gone, and if O'Toole had it, he was probably miles away by now. There would be no reward, no testimony. Larry Sam had risked himself for nothing...and she had told Brown about him, she realized with a rolling wave of nausea.
She picked up Bean's car phone and dialed the Eight Dragon Delight. The line rang four times and went to voicemail. She clicked the phone off. It was nearly midnight and no one would be answering. She had better call Roy. But when she did, she felt sure she was going to cry. The tears were there, waiting to gush like a summer thunderstorm. Bean's wipers brushed aside a light drizzle.
She would not cry in front of Bean Bandit. Never, never, never. She put the phone back in the console and curled up in a ball.
"Hey, wake up," said Bean in her ear. "Let's go get cleaned up." Rally blinked and straightened, realizing they were in the hotel's underground parking garage. The lowest level, 4Z, right next to the elevator. Her head felt better, though the lump still ached.
"Geez, did I fall asleep? What time is it?"
"Quarter past midnight. Yeah, you were snoring all the way here. Kinda cute."
Rally showed her teeth to him, then reached for the door handle. Pain from the cuts to her hand sizzled through her. "Aghh..."
"You OK?"
"It's nothing." Bean looked at her with a wry expression. "All right, it hurts! Satisfied?"
Bean reached over her and opened the door, his triceps brushing her chest. "I could take you to a hospital." He put his hand on the headrest of her seat.
"Uh-huh, and while I'm waiting in the emergency room, you waltz off to find O'Toole and the cash! Not a chance, Bean."
His face twitched with annoyance and he looked away. "You're awful damn sure what I'm going to do in any given situation, ain't ya? Must be nice to know someone that well." Bean got out of the car and slammed the driver's door.
Rally pulled herself out and leaned against the car, looking at her bloody hands and the torn dress. "I can't walk through the lobby like this...someone's going to notice."
"Let 'em notice. I ain't no centerfold myself right now." Bean took off his wet, scarred jacket, walked around the rear of the car and popped the trunk, tossing the jacket inside and taking out his duffel bag. "Man, I'm going through these like salted peanuts." He unzipped the duffel and pulled out another jacket.
"How many of those do you have?"
"Last spare." He put it on and transferred his soggy effects to the pockets, then wiped his face with a bandanna. Some of the blood came off in flakes, some smeared along his hairline.
"Look, people might assume you're responsible for all the damage to my outfit!" Rally knotted a broken strap and yanked the dress down. "You want someone calling the cops for a suspected assault?"
Bean shot an angry look at her. "Hey!"
"Hit a nerve?" God, what a bitchy thing to say...
He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out through clenched teeth. "I never tried anything like that on you, and you know it, babe. I've kicked guy's asses for it before now, and you saw me do it, too. What the hell's with you?"
Wow, she had struck a nerve. "Nothing! Sorry! But you have to admit you don't look like an upstanding citizen right now, Mr. Bandit! Try escorting me upstairs like this and see what happens!"
A large T-shirt sailed through the air and landed on her face. It was clean, but smelled of him. Bean locked the trunk and strode away to the elevator with his duffel.
Rally held up the T-shirt, sighed, and pulled it over her head. It came down to the middle of her thighs, entirely covering her dress. She looked ridiculous. But the sleeves reached past her elbows and concealed some of the bruises developing on her arms. Conspicuous among them were the wide livid marks Bean's grip had left on her wrists.
Bean held the elevator door for her, leaning against it with his arms folded. His scowl had returned, though he snorted at her appearance. Rally stripped off her shredded pantyhose and wadded them up in her hand, and they rode the elevator to the lobby without speaking. Her hands hurt, her head hurt, and Bean's stony face hurt.
They crossed the lobby past the bar and the check-in desk and waited for the elevator, their images reflected in the steel door. Bean, wide-shouldered and towering over her, his posture a little hunched. Her own face looked pale, her wig disarranged.
The elevator seemed to take forever to climb the eight stories. At the door of their room, Rally felt for the key. In her lost purse, of course. Her eyes began to sting and she bit her lip hard, praying she wouldn't cry in front of Bean, especially over such trivia. After a moment, he looked at her.
"Ya got it?"
"N-no..." Her voice cracked.
"Never mind, I got the spare." He pulled it out of the pocket of his jeans and opened the door. Rally ran inside, took off the T-shirt and ran into the bathroom, immediately turning on the water in the tub. Bean rapped on the closed door.
"I'm gonna get some ice from the machine. That gun's on the table. I ain't waltzing off to China, in case you come out any time soon."
She didn't answer, biting her lips to keep from crying. Sitting on the toilet seat, she rocked back and forth for several minutes. The running water would cover the sound if she did cry, but then she'd have to face him with tear-streaks and red eyes.
In the mirror over the sink, she saw her expression: set, grim, much older than she usually appeared. The makeup had something to do with it, but the eyes held something she had never seen before. The reflection of death? Those could be the eyes of someone who had just committed murder... She took the wig off, bobby pins yanking and popping, and threw it on the floor.
"Hey, you finished in there?" Bean rapped on the door again. "We better blow out of here soon as we can."
Rally got up and flung the door open, then walked to the table by the window and sat down.
"Thought you were washing up, babe."
"I didn't." The sweat and scratches felt like penance, the torn dress like spandex sackcloth and ashes...
"Yeah, I could tell." He looked at her speculatively. "You OK?"
"Just fine."
"I got some ice for first aid." Bean put a cardboard bucket on the table. "You want some on your hands?"
She didn't reply, and he took a face towel from the bathroom and wrung it out under the faucet. "Here. Put some ice in it and hold it to the cuts. I'm gonna put some on my head." He put the towel in her hand, where it hung limply, and returned to the bathroom with his duffel. The shower went on.
When he came out after a few minutes, he had washed the blood from his face and neck and the mud from his hair and changed his filthy jeans for a dry pair. Bean picked up the T-shirt she had discarded, tossed it on the hide-a-bed and shed his jacket.
While pulling his bloodstained shirt over his head, he paused. Rally sat inert with the damp towel still in her hand. After watching her for a moment, he sighed, threw the bloody shirt on the floor and sat down in the other chair.
"Shit."
With one hand, he scooped ice out of the bucket while he took the towel and spread it out with the other. He made a mound of ice chips, wrapped it up, and took her left hand in his. "Kills the sting."
He plopped the cold towel in her palm and put her right hand on top. Then he cupped both her hands in both of his, pressing them around the ice, leaning forward with his head low, elbows on his knees. She could smell him, his bare skin still hot, with a metallic hint of blood sharpening his usual scent of smoke and musky leather. His wet hair dripped slowly on her knees.
"I don't blame you, girl." Bean spoke in a cajoling tone that struck her as almost condescending. "It was Brown's deal, and he's dead, so good riddance. With him out of the way, maybe we can take out the other two—"
"YOU don't BLAME me?" Rally exploded. "Thank you SO much!"
"Shit! This ain't the end of the world, babe! We aren't dead, we aren't arrested. What's the problem?"
"He burned to death!" Rally yanked her hands out of Bean's grasp. "He died because I shot him and he couldn't escape!"
"Yeah, a scumbag of a drug dealer. Who gives a shit about him?"
"The FBI, that's who! And his...his..." She choked.
"You don't even like those guys—what, Smith and Jones? Who cares?"
"I do! That was the whole reason I got into this deal in the first place! Brown's testimony! Everything's RUINED, Bean!"
"So you won't get the reward! That half-million is still out there, babe, and I'll give you your cut. That ought to put the roses back in yer cheeks!" He reached for her hands and she leaped up, the ice scattering on the floor.
"I don't WANT the damn money! Haven't you heard one word I've said? It's drug profits! I did this to bring down the Dragons, for people like Larry Sam—"
"Oh, fuckin' A!" Bean leaned an elbow on the table and sneered. "It's all higher motives in here, huh? Like polishing your rep? Like flirtin' with the cops an' the college boy to get what you want? That popgun must've come from Coleman, because you sure didn't have it before. What's he think he's gonna get in exchange?"
"He's a friend! Do you even have any friends!"
"'Course I do! What the hell do you think I am, girl?"
"A GODDAMN BARBARIAN, THAT'S WHAT!" she howled at him. "You don't care about ANYONE OR ANYTHING except MONEY AND CARS! You have no class, no restraint, you never even made it through high school, you make me sick with your eating habits and your smoking and your stinking WALNUT SHELLS! Who could ever stand to have you around, you violent, crass, oversized thug of a—"
"Driver!" Bean slammed his hands on the table and got up. "That's what I do. I drive. I don't pretend to be anything else, babe. I don't claim God's on my side and I don't claim to be any better than the next man. Except under the hood and behind the wheel, and you know DAMN WELL THAT'S THE TRUTH! You ain't said word ONE to me as long as you thought you could use me, girl! Take me as I am or shut the HELL up!"
"You're a CRIMINAL! I don't know why I ever thought I could work with you! I must have lost my MIND!"
"I don't see you doin' much different from me, babe! You never saw a law you couldn't justify breaking into bits when it was convenient! Only thing is, I don't claim it's MORAL!"
"What the hell do you know about MORALITY! You justify the worst things under color of a JOB! If it's in your contract, you'll commit any crime up to and including MURDER!"
"At least with me, you KNOW what the rules are!"
"Consistency is the soul of virtue, huh? I don't think so!"
"I ain't ever shot a guy in the back, Vincent."
"You son of a bitch!" She shook with fury, her face stiff. "I saw someone about to shoot YOU! I can't walk out into the line of fire the way you can! I had no choice! I...had...no..."
"But you whacked the wrong guy. You didn't want to let me help you! Where'd all that righteousness get you tonight? Where'd it get Brown?"
"Like you care!" So close to tears her voice trembled.
"I don't give a bucket of warm shit about Brown. He got what he deserved. If you weren't so goddamn wound up about—"
Rally gulped hard, trying to swallow the tightness in her throat, and found a vicious whisper. "You're an animal, Bean. A frozen-hearted animal with no better human feeling at all. You only want to eat too much and fight too much and drive too fast. And sleep with lots of women! Nothing but lower brain functions ever interests you."
"Bullshit. You don't know the first thing about me, babe." He leaned over her, his bare chest close to hers and his face even closer. His features worked and his cheeks flushed. "You're freakin' two-faced on that count yourself. You wanted me to screw you not three days ago, and now I'm an animal? I didn't get THAT one rolling down the road!"
"But you sure got behind the wheel and hit the accelerator! You still want me all to yourself! You've been snarling like a dog at any man who looks at me! You even started in on Roy! You don't own me, Bean! You're NOT my boyfriend!"
"No, I'm just your freakin' partner. The guy who drives you around and bails you out when you get your ass in deep shit. The guy who cut you in on the deal in the first place and told you everything he knew 'cause he thought he might be on to a good thing. The guy who's been givin' this his best shot even when he gets jerked around by this little gal who calls him names one minute and makes eyes at him the next." The mixture of sting and hunger in his words reminded her of his sexual challenge in the motel room. "What the hell am I supposed to think, huh? How the hell am I supposed to know what to do about it? Will you give me a goddamn clue once in a while?"
They stood inches from each other, both breathing hard.
"I...I..."
Bean rolled his head back and let out a deep exasperated breath. "I mean, shit. You let a slimeball like Brown get under your skin, and you'll call ME names? That guy was phony to the core and I knew it the second I met him—hell, the second I picked up the call. For that kind of money, I'll listen to bullshit from here to Canada, but it all went in one ear and out the other, and not 'cause I don't have a brain in there!" He raised a brow at her. "If you believed one damn word he said, you're a goddamn fool. I ain't ever going to hand you a line of crap like that, babe."
He was right. He was so right that the truth made her irrationally furious with him. She had been a fool on so many counts she had only one defense left. If she chose to use it...
"Hey, you'll learn. Don't look so bent outta shape. Who cares if you ain't on the straight any more? We could make a business out of this yet if we just work the bugs out! I can show you—"
"I don't need you, Bean! I don't want to be your partner in crime! I should never have agreed to this! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"
"Huh?"
"You and your goddamn MONEY! You chased him across the country, you nearly got both of us killed so many times I've lost track, you sucked me into this and RUINED MY VACATION! Now I'm practically an outlaw myself and that's just the way you like it! I must have been insane to make you any promises, you MERCENARY ASSHOLE! I hate your GUTS!"
His face reddened. "Yeah, I must have been nuts to ask you in the first place! And I shoulda ignored that little strip show you put on for my benefit! Man, all hot and bothered over a few buttons and a pair of stockings! Could have taken care of that with ONE HAND!"
"Same here, big guy!" Rally flipped him off. "One little finger worked better than all that OVERGROWN BEEF!"
"Hey! You liked it damn well and you know it!" He raised his chin, his eyes narrowing. "I wish I'd gone ahead and nailed you good. Maybe then I could have got you out of my system and skipped all this FEMALE CRAP!"
"Oh, one good screw and I'd be fawning at your heels? Dream on!"
Bean made a sudden move towards her and she flinched back. "Like to get it started again, huh? You think you can throw me on the bed and solve the whole problem the HARD WAY!"
Bean stepped forward again, his eyes locked with hers. For the briefest moment, something like intent rose to the surface. A harsher form of the desire she'd been seeing in his face for days. But he didn't raise his hands, didn't keep moving towards her.
"I can see you want to, Bean. Bad enough to try force?"
His whole body shuddered. "Don't you ever say that to me, girl. Never, you hear?"
"You'd love to do it, wouldn't you? You slugged me so hard my head's still ringing! Methinks he protests too much!"
"SHUT UP, YOU—" Bean stopped abruptly with his finger aimed at her face. "I ain't giving you any excuse to waste me. I ain't gonna end up like Huang. If you don't know I'm not that kinda scumbag by now, then the hell with you, Vincent."
He picked up the clean T-shirt and pulled it on, then donned his jacket and zipped it. "I'm going to get that Mick and I'm going to get that money. You want your share, come and ask me nice. Or shoot me in the back for it if that's too much trouble for you!"
"You son of a bitch. You don't even care if human beings are dead..."
"You think whatever the hell you want. I give up." Bean looked around at her. "Don't know why I even tried. But it might come to me..." he muttered.
A shadow passed over his features, and for a startling moment Rally saw sad regret in a face she had thought almost incapable of subtler emotions. "I'm blowing this joint." Bean picked up his duffel. "You got your own car, you got your pet cop and you got your real partner. Guess I was just takin' up valuable space, huh?"
He waited for an instant, hand on the doorknob. When she didn't reply, he opened it, went out and slammed it behind him in one motion.
Ice melted on the carpet around her feet. She watched it idly for a while, numb. It was mostly water before she moved again.
426 sat at Huang's desk, head on folded hands, silent. His breathing was erratic, his shoulders quivering slightly. Wo and another man looked uneasily at him and at each other, but did not speak.
"I will have to call his parents," said 426 after a long time. "Please look up their number—I will wait until it is morning in Hawaii, but I want to have it at my fingertips."
"Yes, sir. Um..."
"It was necessary to leave him in the office. The coroner's team will be examining his body by now, because the fire is out. When their report is ready, get me a copy immediately. And of the autopsy when it is complete."
"Yes, sir. Excuse me, but—"
"The ballistics report as well. I must have that as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir. There is someone waiting to see you, sir."
"Later, Wo."
"This is someone you may wish to talk to, sir."
"Why?" 426 finally looked up. "Why would I want to talk to anyone?" His eyes were not wet, but they burned red with smoke irritation and with something else. Wo took an involuntary step backwards.
"This is one of the perpetrators, sir. I don't know why he came here, but we have disarmed him and are holding him in the basement. It is O'Toole, sir."
"What?"
"We thought it might give you some consolation to execute him, sir. But of course he may have useful information—"
426 got up and moved out the door, his lips contorted in fury. "Bring me an extra tank of fuel for the blowtorch."
"Yes, sir."
In the basement room, the little bodyguard sat in a metal chair, secured to it with eight lengths of wire cable, knotted cruelly tight. Four men stood or sat around the dark room, smoking and conversing in low voices.
The single bright light shone straight down above O'Toole's head. His face was smoke-blackened and mucky, with cleaner trails washed down his cheeks, and he was still crying. When 426 entered, he let out a strangled sob and wept noisily, head on his chest.
"Behave like a man," snapped 426. "You will make a pathetic ghost." He pulled on his leather gloves.
"He's callin' out to me!" cried O'Toole. "He's askin' me to take revenge! He's tellin' me, rescue me soul out've Purgatory so I won't howl there in pain forever! If ye ever loved me, he says, KILL THAT PAKI BITCH!"
"Except in regard to Bandit's conversion, the bounty hunter does not concern me," said 426. "You will have no opportunity to deal with her, so be silent. You will need your voice for other things." Wo handed him a blowtorch.
"She don't concern yeh? Man, don't ye know?" O'Toole shouted. "She's the one killed yer boy! Shot him straight through the head, didn't she?"
"You shot him, O'Toole. This pitiful attempt—"
"No! I winged him when I shot at Bandit! He wasn't dead, see?" O'Toole rocked the chair with his vehemence. "I wasn't gunning for him. Just pinked him, y'know?"
"Why would she shoot him?"
"Why, because she's a bloodthirsty bitch." O'Toole gave a significant nod. "Who ever heard of a wee girl usin' a gun that way? She's unnatural, ain't she? She likes to fill a man full've lead and see 'im gurgle out his last breath! I saw her do it, didn't I? And didn't I see her laugh like a witch while he begged for his precious life? Cold as ice, that girl."
"You are an inferior liar, O'Toole," said 426. "You stood by and watched it happen, you say, and you expect that to soften your fate?" He turned to one of the men. "Cigarette lighter, please."
"All right, she didn't stand over him, then!" shouted O'Toole. "She shot through the wall from the middle office. Crippled me darlin' lad, and killed yer Huang. The bullets was deflected down through the glass, and one got his kneecap and one his thigh and another yer boy's skull, 'cause he was laying there on the rug. She had a mini-.32—there's bound to be shell casings on the floor. It'll be a .32 through his head, you'll see." He swiveled as far as he could and looked at one of the men. "Ye've got me .45 and ye've got me rifle! I carried no .32, now did I?"
"You could easily have discarded it in the bay, O'Toole. That proves nothing." 426 lit the blowtorch. The flame glowed blue and yellow, roaring softly in the quiet room.
"And why would I want a damned baby's toy like that? That's a gun for women, isn't it? And it's a damned woman's killed 'em both. That's the bitch ye want! RALLY VINCENT! I don't care what ye do with me—just let me see that nigger bitch spread out in front o' me before I die!" O'Toole took a deep, sobbing breath. "I'll do whatever ye want, 426. I'll take the fall for her and ye can roast me for dinner after I've finished the job. He's burned, and I'll burn too. Use me up, toss the bits to the crabs, 'cause I'm yours." He hung his head again, weeping. "Me own precious darlin' lad...me sweet boy…" The flame went on roaring.
"Take off his shirt." Two men came forward at 426's direction and seized O'Toole's damp turtleneck by the sides, tearing it down over his shoulders. It split and fell to his waist. His skin was pale and blotchy, his muscles corded and taut with a sparse covering of rusty hair. "Hold his head."
One man grabbed O'Toole's hair and pulled his head back so that his chin pointed at the ceiling. He closed his eyes against the bright light, his lips moving. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."
426 stepped forward and licked the flame quickly at the side of his chest, then stroked it horizontally to the right. Rusty hairs curled and smoked in its path, pale skin reddening, blistering, scorching.
"Arrggh!"
The stroke ended in a quick downturn, and then 426 drew another horizontal line an inch below the first, right to left. O'Toole jerked and arched and screamed, the chair's legs clanging on the floor. 426 made two quick vertical strokes between the long lines, changed the angle of the flame and worked for a few moments longer, ending with a long vertical downstroke and an upward hook. He moved back.
O'Toole hyperventilated a cloud of spittle, his teeth clenched. The stink of burnt flesh and hair filled the room.
"Take it." 426 handed the torch to Wo. "I have done."
"Gonna let the bumboys finish the job?" moaned O'Toole. "I'll last all night, you'll see..."
"No, that is all. Release him." The men all started in surprise. "I have accepted Mr. O'Toole's offer." He pointed to the Chinese character he had drawn on O'Toole's chest and Wo raised his brows.
"Retribution'?"
"That is his purpose now. I have branded it on him, so that he will not forget to whom he owes this duty. Return his equipment and brief him. Do not allow him out until I give orders—I will tell him when to strike." Wo took the blowtorch and cut the wire cables that secured O'Toole to the chair, and he slumped forward. "Take him for medical attention now. I will speak to him later." Two men put O'Toole's arms over their shoulders and supported him out of the room.
"Is this wise, sir?" said Wo. "He is not a highly controllable element."
"That is what I am counting on," said 426.
Rally's cell phone sat on the vanity where she had left it, and she flipped it open and pushed the first program button. The line rang only once before it was picked up.
"Roy Coleman here."
"Roy, it's Rally. It's over." She wandered into the bedroom and flung herself on the bed.
"Yeah? Have you got Brown—?"
"Brown's dead." Rally took a deep breath. "It was a doublecross, just like you suspected. We got nothing."
"Good God, kid! He's DEAD? What happened? The hitman show up?"
"Yes, but that's not who killed him."
"Who, then? Don't tell me Bean—"
"No. I shot him. With that mini-.32. Close range through a glass wall. That thing's got punch." She raised the Guardian up where she could see it and dropped it on the bed. Not so cute after all. The stock was sticky with blood. "Crippled him. He couldn't walk, and when the place caught fire—"
"Wha—at?"
"The San Francisco cops are on the scene now. Bean made me leave with him or I'd have stayed to explain. I'm in the hotel now." She lay flat and stared at the ceiling. Still numb. "One of my shots went astray, and killed a Dragon man who'd been wounded. Went right through his head."
"Why the hell did you shoot him? With the gun I got for you...oh, holy name." Roy suddenly gasped. "Oh, my dear God. Why?"
"It...I don't know how it happened, but I thought I had O'Toole in my sights, and I thought he was about to shoot Bean. But I hit Brown, and that poor kid. Are Smith and Wesson there?"
"S-Smith and Wesson...they went down to the bar to get some nachos, they said. They've been sitting here for two hours making cracks about women bounty hunters and city cops and watching porno movies on the hotel pay-per-view, on my nickel. What the hell have YOU been doing, Rally?"
"Goddammit, Roy! I TRIED! It was a setup!" Weary, so dull and tired...
"Must have been one hell of a setup!"
"Oh, Christ, Roy! How do you think I feel about it! I wish I'd never come to California..."
"Hey, girl, are you OK? You don't sound too good."
"I'm all right. Got a few cuts and bruises, but it's not serious. I'm just worn out."
"Here come the Feds. Just a second." Roy put the phone down and she heard indistinct voices. He picked it up again in a couple of minutes, sounding angry. "Is your partner there?"
"N-no..."
"What's wrong? Did he pull—"
"No, he backed me up. Distracted O'Toole long enough for me to get out of his sights. But he's mad about the cash. He l-left. Little while ago."
"Left? Damn, we must have missed him."
"Missed him? You staked out the hotel?"
"Rally, Smith spotted the car today. He recognized it too, from some prison escape job, and he chewed the hell out of me." His voice was low and hissing. "Accused me of shielding a criminal. I pointed out there weren't any warrants on the guy, and he backtracked a little. He agreed to let you two go through with the operation, since you needed Bean's help. But after that..."
"They were going to arrest him." She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back on the pillow.
"They were going to detain him for questioning. There's a lookout watching the hotel. But he hasn't called. Bean did park there?"
"You asking me to rat him out, Roy?"
"I don't think you're in much of a position to refuse, girl!" Roy sounded furious. "I put my neck out for you here and I WANT AN ANSWER! Where is he?"
What did it matter? "He was parked in the garage." Her voice cracked. "He's driving Buff. And he was moving fast when he left. Fifteen, twenty minutes ago now." An eternity. Why had she been so angry with him? It was hard to remember.
"I'm going to confirm this with the Feds. Wouldn't put it past 'em to keep me in the dark..." Roy put the phone down again.
Rally stared at the ceiling. Angry? Oh, yes, she had killed someone, hadn't she? Shot a helpless man and let a human being die horribly in a fire. And Bean had scoffed at her distress and called her a fool for caring. Was that why her emotions seemed to have shut down? From trying so hard not to cry in front of him? Bean was gone now. Why couldn't she cry?
Roy came on the line again. "He's still watching. No sign of Buff coming out. Of course no one called me to say he'd gone in..."
"There's only one exit to that garage. That car shows up for blocks anyway." Something was knocking up against the ice of her emotions.
"Well, sure. The man had some surveillance-camera photos of Buff, faxed from Chicago and DC. But no one had a good one of Bean. So where the hell—"
A mental bullet crashed through her wall of indifference. "Talk to you later, Roy!" shouted Rally.
"Hey—!"
Click.
She threw the phone on the bed and hurriedly put on a fresh pair of pantyhose, jamming her feet into her shoes at the same time. Where had she stashed her CZ75? She flung herself on the carpet and reached under the bed, hauling out her shoulder holster and nine-millimeter. Quickly she strapped it on and threw on her professional jacket to hide it. Still wearing a torn red spandex dress—the hell with it, no time to change.
Rally dashed out into the hall. The elevator was heading down to the lobby, so she took the stairs, sliding on the wooden banisters as fast as she could go. The stairs came out next to the door of the bar and she ran over to the garage elevator and punched the button. A sluggish whir of cables began and she jittered around in a circle.
If the car was still there, where was Bean? Had he set off on foot? Not for any distance, surely—he drove everywhere. But in a compact city like San Francisco, a hell of a lot of things were within walking distance—like the Dragon pier. If he'd gone back there to look for the cash all on his own without even a means of escape, from cops or gangsters—
Rally got in the garage elevator and went down to the lowest level. There was Buff, standing right where they had left it, and the little white Honda. He hadn't driven, wherever he had gone.
Not wanting to wait for the elevator, she ran up the ramps to where she had parked the Cobra and leaped inside the car. All of her weariness was forgotten, and her anger with Bean, for the moment. She couldn't let him get arrested!
The Cobra's tires squealed as she took a hard right out of the parking garage and raced down the hill to the pier. No one was walking on the streets at this hour. Dozens of squad cars and emergency vehicles still scattered all around the neighborhood and the area was cordoned off. Rally parked the Cobra behind TV trucks and slowly moved up to the police line.
The pier was dark; the fire was out. A stretcher came out of the front door, carrying a body bag. Rally trembled, but forced it down and walked over to the nearest uniform, a policewoman.
"Excuse me..." she began.
"It was a bomb, lady. This street's gonna be closed for hours."
"Oh. W-was anyone killed?"
"Yep, afraid so. There's one of 'em now." She pointed at the stretcher, being loaded into a coroner's van. "Loads of stiffs in the yard there, and some inside too. It's gonna be front page tomorrow." She looked at Rally. "You feeling all right, lady? Sorry if I said something to upset you."
"N-no, it's OK." She gulped hard. "I was looking for someone. Could you tell me if anyone's tried to get past the police lines?"
"No—well, the Channel 2 news team, but they always do that. You looking for a lost kid or something?"
"No, an adult. He's about thirty, six-seven, black hair. Has anyone seen him? Maybe hanging around?"
The policewoman looked over at a colleague, who shrugged. "Nope. No one like that. Sounds like he sticks out."
"He does. Thank you." Rally smiled weakly and walked back to the Cobra.
Once behind the wheel, she tried to consider what to do. Her weariness began to return and the lump on the back of her head throbbed. Where was Bean? She had no answer to that, so she drove back to the hotel, arriving not more than ten minutes after she had started for the pier. She left the Cobra in the garage near Buff and headed upstairs again, entering the lobby and punching the button for the main elevator.
"Uh, sir, I asked you to put out that cigarette..." she heard from the bar. The elevator opened and Rally turned to enter.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a silhouetted shape in the bar. Someone hunched over the lighted counter, someone broad-shouldered enough to block out most of the view through the open double doors.
She skipped quickly aside to move out of the line of sight, bumping into a man who was trying to get in the elevator. "Sorry," she hissed, and hugged the wall. He threw her a dirty look.
Rally worked her way along the wall, crossed the hall and crept up to the door of the bar. Before looking inside, she checked her holster and thought for a moment. Why had he stayed here? What was it going to get him?
"Sir, it's against the law to smoke in here. Some of the other patrons are complaining."
"It's a goddamn bar," said Bean wearily. "How can you not smoke in a bar?"
"I don't make the rules, sir, it's a state law—"
"California." Bean shook his head. "Remind me again why I left home?"
Maybe he was just having a drink for the road. But would Bean drive drunk? Rally sucked in her breath and stepped into the bar.
He had three empty beer pitchers at his elbow and another one in his fist, half full. Rally watched as he lifted the whole thing to his lips and downed the remainder, then gestured to the bartender.
"Uh, sir, I'm sorry, but I can't serve you another."
"Why the hell not?"
"Um, it's the law. If we serve someone who's already had too much—"
Bean creased a fifty between his fingers and waved it under the bartender's nose. "Who says I've had too much?"
"Look, I'm sorry, but I could lose my job. If you drink on the premises, we can get sued for anything you might—"
"Califoooornia," moaned Bean, and stood up, all six foot seven of him. The bartender gulped. "How 'bout I just take this outside with me? Then I won't be drinking on the premises." He gripped the bar, one hand on each side, and rocked it slightly to the sound of straining bolts.
"Eeek!" squeaked the bartender. "Please!"
Bean heaved and the bar worked loose. Glasses fell to the floor and the other patrons jumped clear. A tap popped free and sprayed beer in an amber fountain. A woman screamed.
Rally jumped forward, grabbed Bean's elbow and shouted in his ear. "Knock it off, Bean!"
His head snapped around and he dropped the bar with a thud. The lights under the counter went out and beer geysered to the ceiling.
"You with him, lady?" The bartender scrambled to shut off the tap.
"Yes, I am." Rally snatched up the duffel. "Are you drunk, Bean?"
"I'm calling the cops!" The bartender reached for a phone. "This guy's a wild animal!"
"No, wait! He can pay for the damage."
Rally snapped her fingers at Bean for his wallet, but he only stared at her. She unzipped his jacket, frisked him with her free hand and pulled out a wad of fifties, dropping it in a puddle of beer on the counter. "Here—this ought to cover it. Now come with me!" she ordered Bean. Duffel in one hand and Bean's elbow in the other, she towed him to the elevator.
"He play with the Niners or something?" she heard one of the patrons say.
"Naw, gotta be the Raiders," said someone else.
"Where the hell are we going?" grumbled Bean.
"Outside where I can keep you from getting arrested! Christ, what were you thinking?" She shoved him inside the garage elevator and punched the button. Bean looked down at her with slightly unfocused eyes.
"What's the deal?"
"Did you know there's an FBI man waiting for you to leave? I just talked to Roy."
"Well, I figured that. So what do you care?"
"You're spoiling for a chase, huh? In San Francisco? There aren't that many ways out of this city, and you don't know them very well. They'll nail you to the wall, Bean."
"Me?" Bean grinned wolfishly. Rally flinched.
"All right, maybe you could do it. But I don't want you causing any more mayhem than you already have! You're plastered."
"Ahh, I'm not that drunk." Bean belched. "I only had four pitchers of beer. I was gonna get in my car in a minute."
"Even with your metabolism, that's a hell of a stupid risk! Why go into the bar in the first place?"
"Had to cool off." He ran a hand through his hair, which was standing on end over his red headband. "Don't like driving mad."
The elevator stopped and the doors opened, but Rally and Bean didn't move. She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. "Look, I...I didn't want to cry, so I got angry instead."
"Yeah? Did it work?"
"Kind of." To Rally's chagrin, her eyes welled up.
Bean sighed and dropped his head. "You got a conscience, girl. Guess that's more good than bad." The elevator doors closed.
"Not going to let me get angry at you again, huh?" Her voice went high on the last word, and she put a hand on her mouth, fighting down the lump in her throat. "Not going to give me an opportunity to call you names?"
"You think I got no feelings about that?"
"Bean?"
He had his hand on the back of his neck, rubbing the muscles, and didn't answer. Rally stared at the top of his head until he lifted his face and met her eyes. "Is that why you were drinking?"
"Kills the sting, babe." His smile was sour.
Her stomach contracted. Bean? Feelings? He'd proposed this partnership again...why? She'd assumed it was purely mercenary. Money was all he cared about, wasn't it? The elevator doors opened and a man started to get on, then backed out after a look at Bean's scowl. But Rally moved quickly out and strode toward her car, and Bean followed.
"Now what? You don't want the Feds getting their claws on me?"
"I think I owe you that much."
"No shit."
"I'll get you out of here and tell them you're gone—hey, what are you doing?" Bean stopped at Buff and dug for his keys. Rally unlocked the Cobra's passenger door. "We're taking MY car, not yours. They have a picture of Buff. Get in."
Bean walked over and snapped his fingers for the keys. "I don't ride. I drive."
"Not my car, you don't," snarled Rally. "Especially not when you're drunk! Get the hell in and buckle your seat belt!"
Bean made a face. "Four pitchers don't take much off my reflexes."
"I don't even want to know how much you think it takes to incapacitate you!" Rally threw the passenger door open, tossed the duffel into the back and shoved Bean toward the car. He barely moved from her push, but slowly complied, ducking his head under the door frame and pulling his legs inside one at a time. Rally slammed the door on him and got into the driver's seat.
"Ain't they looking for you, too?"
"Not yet. The cops won't have contacted the Feds, and Roy just found out about Brown and Huang. The FBI lookout won't stop me from leaving again if we move fast." She jammed her key in the ignition and started up the engine, its deep growl rumbling through the garage.
"Again?"
"I went down to the pier to look for you. I was afraid you were going to try to find the money and get nabbed—or shot! The fire's out, by the way."
"Huh. Wondered why yer engine was warm. So you skipping out on the FBI deal?"
Rally shot the car backwards out of the space and angled it down the row, heading up the ramp for the exit. "What deal? It's blown. Brown never meant to give himself up."
"Guess not. So what the hell was the idea?"
"I...don't know." The car emerged into the street and Rally took a left. The rain had grown heavy, the gutters running freely, but there wasn't much wind now. "It got a little chaotic, with the Dragons barging in and that huge explosion! I'm not sure anybody's plans went the way they were supposed to, not just ours."
She frowned in thought. "But you know, O'Toole had plenty of chances to kill me, and he was using a damn accurate weapon. If he was missing, it was on purpose."
"Missin' on purpose?" Bean blinked at her.
"Brown bragged about the guy's ability. And I saw the rifle—a Heckler and Koch PSG-1. It confused me at first—I hadn't expected a marksman to be using a semi-auto. Most of those aren't too accurate. That monster can do 50-round groups into an 80-millimeter circle at 300 meters."
"Whatever. Pretty special, huh?"
"I'll say—it costs almost twelve thousand dollars. About par for these guys, since they have so much loose cash to throw around!"
"Yeah, cash. I wish I had my half-million. Quarter million," he amended. "Man, I must be drunk."
"I'm sorry, Bean."
"Slick operation, though. Aside from losing Brown."
"Damn, that's what's bothering me! It seemed so planned out..." She paused. They passed into the Presidio, a dark, wooded area with few buildings.
"Huh?"
"Bean! What if that was the idea?"
"If what was the idea?"
"Brown getting shot—by me!"
Bean looked startled. "Sorry. I ain't drunk enough for that to make sense."
"He set himself up! Look, it follows!" She gestured wildly with one hand on the wheel. "He wasn't armed. He showed us the money to get us confident and he kept his mouth clean, mostly. When you left the room—who knows, he might have hinted to those old guys to come and meet you—he started saying things to piss me off."
"No foolin'."
"And then when the window was shot out, he stood right there and practically begged me to drill him! He made me watch the fight you had with the mercenaries and he called me a whore—if he hadn't been crippled and unarmed, I WOULD have shot him! And all that stuff about killing May and Roy too—just taunting me! Dammit, Bean, he was trying to get me to shoot at him!"
Rally yanked the wheel to the right to enter a driveway by a park sign. She passed a line of trees and continued into an empty, lighted parking lot. Slamming on the brakes, she jolted both of them. The Cobra came to a stop at the end of the lot and she turned off the ignition. They sat on a low cliff overlooking a darkened beach, the surf a distant pale line wavering in the gloom.
"What the hell would he do that for?"
"I...I don't know." Rally glanced around and chewed her lips. "It didn't look like he had a bulletproof vest on, though he could have had some kind of custom-made armor over his vital spots. He must have known I was an accurate shot. Maybe I was supposed to shoot him so he could fake his death..."
"Just to make you look bad or somethin'? Or get away from the Dragons? Seems kinda risky." Bean rubbed his eyes, which didn't seem to be focusing well. "Maybe he ain't dead after all."
Rally put a hand over her mouth. "You heard him. God, those screams..."
"Yeah, you're right. Lucky for Huang he was already dead 'fore he was toasted. I didn't have to heave him out the window to make sure he was a goner. Wish I had, though! Why didn't you let me?" Bean made a whistling sound as he indicated a trajectory with one finger, then stuck out his tongue with a splatting noise and made a wide gesture with both hands. He laughed drunkenly.
Rally shuddered. She saw the young man's stricken face again. "He was a human being! A person, with a family and friends...someone must have loved him." Rally put her head down on the steering wheel. "I killed him..." The tears were about to come. She couldn't stop them. "I've killed crooks before. But not like that. Wounded, helpless..."
"So what now?"
"Oh, damn, Bean, we have to find O'Toole! He's got your money, but my reputation..."
"What's the big deal about your rep? Ain't you just gonna sweet-talk the cops anyway?"
"I don't think so. Roy was so angry with me..." She gripped the steering wheel. "The FBI's going over the scene by now. I've been in trouble before. But I hadn't killed anyone with a gun registered to the SFPD. And I hadn't gotten on the bad side of an FBI sting. What Roy thinks of me isn't going to matter if the Feds decide to arrest me for obstruction..."
"Then I'd better get clear before they do."
"What! You're just going to skip and leave me to face it alone?"
"What the hell else can I do?"
"Can't you tell them what you know? Can't you tell them I didn't mean to shoot an unarmed man?"
"I don't know that." Bean shrugged, his expression sullen. "I know that isn't something I'd expect to see you doin'. But there's always a first time, babe."
"Thanks a hell of a lot! I shot through that wall because I thought O'Toole was about to shoot you and I didn't figure he was going to miss! Even you can't ignore a .308 round through the cranium!"
"I never saw a guy with a rifle indoors."
"O'Toole! He's the one who shot out the window! I had to get out of that office while he was skimming slugs right over my head. You got that crease on your skull from his rifle!"
"Sure I did. But I couldn't see the guy shooting and I wasn't anywhere near when you whacked Huang. Look, girl—" Bean grabbed the top of her seat and turned to face her. "I could tell the Feds everything I know about this deal, everything I know about you, including the color of your—yeah, well. It wouldn't cut no ice with no Federal prosecutor. I ain't an eyewitness, and that's all she wrote."
"So you're going to let them hang me? You won't help me?"
"I'll get my ass busted if I do, and it won't do you any good anyhow. What's the point?"
"You goddamn...iceberg...Bean!" Rally cried. "Won't you stick out your neck for anyone?" She buried her face in her arms against the steering wheel.
Several minutes of silence followed, broken only by her agonized sobs and the rain on the windshield. Bean sat still in the passenger seat, arms folded over his chest. He let out a deep huffing breath once in a while. Rally gradually subsided and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Bean dropped his bandanna in her reach and she cleaned herself up, mascara and purple eyeshadow smearing.
"You're a bastard, Bean, you know that?" She blew her nose.
"I do what I gotta do to survive, babe. So do you."
"Don't make me out the same as you. I care about what's right, not just the damn money..."
"Do we gotta take that road again? Lemme out, I'll walk." Rally burst into tears again. Bean sighed irritably. "It's too damp in here for me, babe. Catch you later." He opened the passenger door and let in a sheet of rain.
Rally felt her stomach wrench at the thought of sitting alone in the dark. The distant surf surged and crashed, a whisper of chaos on the periphery of her vision. A pale line, almost alive in its motion. "Bean—no, please. Stay here with me..." she whispered through tears, and reached out.
"Huh?" He stopped as her hand touched him.
"Oh, God, I killed a man. I killed him and he's dead, he's burned to death..."
"You thinkin' about ghosts, girl?" Bean put his hand over hers where it rested on his arm.
"No! I'm not a murderer! Please tell me I'm not a murderer..." He was warm and massive, his body shifting in the seat as it creaked under his weight. He had substance. He was the direct opposite of disembodied chill or invisible wrath...
"Aw, I never said you were." He patted her shoulder. Rally buried her face against the side of his chest, feeling the coolness of his thick leather jacket. Bean sat still for a moment, then moved and dislodged her. "Uh...I got business to transact. See you."
"You've got business with me, Bean. Unfinished business."
"Sure I do. Half a million dollars' worth. But it ain't going to wash up on the beach while I'm sittin' here."
"Not that kind. It was..." she gulped— "it was the answer to a question."
"What answer?"
"'Yes.'"
"Huh?"
"The question was, 'You want to do it?'"
"Yeah, right. What a load of laughs that was." Bean shook off her hand and put one foot out of the car, but Rally put a hand on his chest and aimed for his mouth. When her lips touched his, his muscles tensed and hardened. "No way, girl. I am not falling for that one again." She reached up and kissed him, feeling his resistance. His lips were tight and ungiving against hers, his spine rigid. But he didn't move away.
She drew back in a moment to meet his razor glare. Bean sat up and brushed her off to grab the door handle again.
"Please, Bean! Don't leave me alone right now!"
"You don't need me. You just told me that, flat out." He rubbed two fingers across his mouth with his face turned away from her. "Why kiss me?"
"I—I'm asking you to have sex with me. I need to feel something other than what I'm feeling now..." She wrapped her arms around herself, digging her fingernails into her skin.
"I am not the right man for this job, Vincent. Get someone else. Pretty Larry'll fall all over himself to oblige."
"I want you, not someone else! You were there. You saw what I had to do!"
"Yeah, and gunfire doesn't get my wheels moving the way it does yours."
"That's disgusting! How can you think that I—"
"What the hell do you want to do it for?" His shoulders hunched up in a defensive barrier. "You just want your cherry popped?"
"No! I just—damn it, Bean! Don't make me talk!" Rally sobbed. "I feel like my skin's roasting off! I just want to be reminded I'm still a human being..."
"How is me fucking you going to remind you of anything?"
"Shut up!" Rally grabbed the front of Bean's jacket and the knot of his headband to yank his head around. She rose to her knees on the seat and slammed her mouth against his with bruising force. Pain shot along all her nerves, crackling in her chest and the joints of her jaw.
Bean grunted and took her upper arms, starting to push her away. She kissed him desperately and bit at his lips. He jerked back, his expression angry, but his scowl faded as he looked at her. Rally trembled in his grasp, her eyes brimming. Her nervous tension suddenly gone, her head sagged on her limp neck. Bean's hands gripped her; he found her gaze and held it. Something behind those sharp eyes, the hard wall of his features. She had seen that look before somewhere…
"Aw, hell." An odd grimace crossed his face.
With a slow, enveloping movement, Bean embraced her. Her face slid across seamed leather, his arms wrapped and settled heavily around her, his chin came down on the top of her head and he rocked back to hold her cradled against his chest. Very dimly, through layers of tanned moose hide and ballistic nylon and hard ceramic plates, his heart beat under her cheek.
Rally curled her hands under her chin and closed her eyes, crying silently. Bean's hands stroked her back and upper arms. Gradually she subsided and lay back in Bean's embrace, finally looking up into his face as he held her.
His expression unsettled, he examined her for a minute, then bent down and kissed her. Softly, reassuringly. He reached over and closed the car door with a solid thunk, shutting out the rain.
"I'm here, babe," he said at last. "Any way you want it."
THE REST OF THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN CENSORED FOR THIS SITE. You can find the complete story on my Livejournal. My username is madame(underscore)manga. Sorry.