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 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 Nine
"You...lying...bitch." Bean's hands hung limp at his sides, his face so dazed he looked as if he'd been slugged in the back of the head by a giant's fist.
"Bean—"
He closed his eyes with his teeth set, then flung his head back and rolled it down as if trying to jolt the sight out of his brain. "Why? I never did you wrong. Why?" Rough, shaking, his voice betraying more pain than she had ever imagined he could feel. Rain speckled the greenbacks under the parking lot lights.
"Bean, I didn't put it there. I didn't know it was there!"
"Bullshit."
"It has to be a plant!"
"You told me no one could tamper with that lock." He finally moved, grabbing her jacket front in one fist but not pulling her towards him. "And why the hell would anyone give you half a million? It's all here."
"I don't know! I don't know! For God's sake, Bean—"
"Same damn suitcase, same money." An awful change went through him, his eyes scanning wildly back and forth. "You must've shot Huang so he wouldn't squeal to me about it!"
"Bean! STOP IT!"
"Tried to get me to leave without you! Called me names to get me out of the way when I stuck to you!" His face twisted in a mixture of anger and agony, his pupils contracting to dots in spite of the darkness.
"You bastard! How can you think I—"
"Shut up!" Bean wrenched the jacket tighter. "Drove back to the pier, huh? Yeah, and you sweet-talked your way past the cops while I was cryin' in my beer like a damn fool. You fetched it from wherever the hell you'd hid it and stashed it in your car. And then you fetched me along too, 'cause I still had something you wanted a piece of! My big...stupid...ASS!"
Rally seized his wrist in both hands, trying desperately to loosen her collar, clinging to him as she wheezed out the words. "The FBI was waiting for you! I had to get you out—"
"Just couldn't rest till you'd screwed me every possible way there is to screw me, huh?" He let her go with a stumbling shove and slammed the suitcase shut. "Cryin' like that to get me to melt?" Bean doubled over and pushed away from the roof of the car. His fists slammed against the window header and he bowed in front of the suitcase. His gaze swept the car interior through the rain-streaked windows. "What the hell were you thinkin' in there? 'Now I've got him by the balls? Now I can fool him so bad he'll give me every damn thing I want and never ask another question?'"
He straightened and pounded one fist into the roof next to the suitcase, inflicting a deep dent, his voice so hoarse and raw it tore into her ears. "IS THAT WHAT WAS ON YOUR MIND IN THERE?"
"No. Noooo..."
"Guess I spotted you right the first time." Bean turned his head, his teeth gritted in an ugly smile. He didn't look above her breasts. "'Least now I know why you'd spread yer legs for an animal like me, Rally darlin'. You just come a little more expensive than the gals that work the street. Half a million bucks a screw, hey?"
Another collision. Another crash landing, and this time the damage was beyond all estimate. "You...filthy...bastard. How DARE you talk to me like that?"
"You don't give a shit what I think of you. Save the righteousness." He yanked the suitcase off the roof, scraping the paint. "I'm taking this, Vincent. Every red cent of it. You lied to me."
"Stop!" Rally drew her CZ75.
Bean looked down its barrel, blinking from the rain hitting his face. "Gonna shoot me for real this time, huh? See if it does you any good." His expression was calm, but then his upper lip curled back from his teeth. Rally shivered, the pistol steady.
"Go on." Bean smiled at the CZ75 like a pit bull. "If you put it square between the eyes, you might take me down before I can get to ya. Or you might not."
He was right. Nothing but a head shot would have any effect on him at all. She could not cripple, only kill.
He'd made a mistake. A terrible one, and he'd compounded it nearly to the worst extent of his harshest, cruelest, crudest nature. Could she kill him for that? For a mistake? The lingering wetness in her groin felt cold and sticky, her swollen vulva pulsing, her bruised lips sore.
Bean finally looked her in the face, and she could barely recognize the man who had just finished fucking her—no, making love to her, she acknowledged to herself with something like nausea. He had been so passionate, but so considerate of her inexperience. She had felt so cherished, so alive and human in his arms...
Could she blow off the back of his head with a nine-millimeter slug, topple him twitching to the ground, watch his life seep out over wet black asphalt? For the sake of half a million dollars? The look in Bean's eyes was alien, close to evil, but Rally felt a draining surge of peace. She tipped the muzzle skywards, her mind emptied of violence.
"I ought to snap your neck." Bean turned away. "But if I was gonna do it, I guess I'd'a done it by now."
"Bean, that's drug money. You promised not to take drug jobs!"
"You can forget about that promise, babe. You just canceled it out, but good. And stay out of my way." He whipped his bowie knife out of his jacket and stabbed it into her left rear tire, then yanked it out and held it in front of her eyes. "You interfere with me one more time, you murdering whore, and I'm warning you, you will never do it again."
He put the knife away and turned to look at her for a moment, his hair dripping with rainwater that ran down his face like tears. "I ain't got it in me to kill you right now. But that is not going to last." He adjusted his crotch with a brutal sneer, wheeled and stalked off into the misty darkness.
"What happened? Someone shot the hell out of the place, that's what. Drive-by with a couple of full-auto choppers, maybe M60s." The policeman held up a long, necked-down brass cartridge casing, its shiny surface reflecting the streetlights and the surrounding neon signs of the neighborhood shopping strip around the Eight Dragon Delight. "See that? That's a—"
"A 7.62mm. Those bastards..." Inside the yellow crime scene tape lay dozens more, an evidence photographer stepping carefully around them as he lined up his shots. "When?"
"Almost an hour ago. Right after one A.M. Lucky it was after closing time, so there weren't a lot of customers. Only one guy bit it at the scene. Took two ambulances to clear out the casualties, though. Man, it's a busy shift for a Tuesday night—y'know, there was this bomb down on—"
"Where...where's the manager? Larry Sam."
"Dunno who the manager is. That old guy, his name is Sam." Rally looked over to see a weeping man sitting on the curb, his wrinkled cheeks streaked with tears. Her heart contracted. With hesitating steps, she approached him and bent down.
"Excuse me, sir...Mr. Sam?" He peered up at her, his bowed head grey and crew-cut. "I came here to talk to your son. Larry. I'm so sorry about this..."
He wiped his hand on his chef's apron and held it out to her. "Rally Vincent. I rememba you. You like ribs?"
Rally nearly doubled over in anguish. "Yes. Please, I don't want to bother you...but can you tell me where Larry is?"
Mr. Sam burst into tears again. "Ambahlance. Parahmedics..."
"Thank you. I'm so sorry." She touched the old man's shoulder and turned towards the shattered door. Larry would have been standing right there behind the host desk, or maybe helping to bus dishes, or at the register. Clearly visible through the sparkling glass windows, their remnants now crunching under her feet as she crossed the sidewalk. The frames and the walls inside had been chewed full of ragged holes and blood stained the floor in several places.
"Lady, if you're a reporter, wait outside," said a young blue-jeaned Chinese woman with a furious expression. "Get your statement from the cops and get out of my way!" She elbowed Rally aside and went into the restaurant with a large camping cooler.
"I'm a friend..." said Rally. "I came here looking for Larry."
The young woman turned around and stared at her. "Are you Rally Vincent? The bounty hunter he told me about?"
"Yes. Are you...?"
"I'm Vanessa. His oldest younger sister." She headed towards the swinging doors to the kitchen and stopped abruptly when they opened, bumping into her cooler.
"Hey," said a police detective, emerging from the kitchen. "Stay off the scene, ma'am. That tape's there for a reason—"
"Yeah, well, the cooler's here for a reason too!" Vanessa Sam shouted at him. "I'm not going to let all that food rot in the refrigerators while the power's out! Fifty pounds of tiger prawns in the shell don't come cheap, buddy!"
"You can't remove anything from the scene!"
"Food's not evidence! Do you know there are people starving right on your doorstep, you armed storm trooper for the repressive oligarchy?"
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Vanessa Sam dropped the cooler to the floor and sat emphatically on its lid, her expression daring him to do anything about it.
"Excuse me," said Rally, mustering as much of a smile as she could manage. "Detective, could I talk to you for a minute? My name's Rally Vincent, and I might have some leads for you on this case..."
"No fooling? Hey, someone said you were in town!" The detective came over and pumped her hand, then looked more closely at her outfit. "Uhh...you been having a busy night or something?"
"Yeah...something." She looked over his shoulder at Vanessa Sam and jerked her chin at the kitchen door. Vanessa raised her brows—she had a distinct resemblance to Larry, though her wire-rimmed glasses and cropped haircut didn't flatter her face—and she got off the cooler, picked it up and backed through the swinging doors into the kitchen.
"I've been working with the restaurant manager here. He gave me some information on a Chinese syndicate called the Eight Dragon Triad. I...I think they got wind of that, and that's why they shot the place up."
"No fooling? Hey, I gotta call this in, Ms. Vincent. Excuse me a moment."
"Sure," murmured Rally, and slipped under the tape as soon as his back was turned. In the kitchen, Vanessa was taking boxes off the shelves of a large commercial refrigerator and packing them into her cooler. A portable construction site light stood on the floor, lighting the room in a hard white glow. A half-cooked batch of cashew chicken lay congealing in a wok, and utensils and stainless-steel basins were scattered across counters, stove and chopping blocks.
Someone had spilled and trampled a box of fortune cookies on the floor; the yellow crumbs spread over the black rubber floor mats like broken flower petals.
"Oh, hi. Thanks." Vanessa pushed hard on the top of a box of frozen prawns. "Darn, I'll never get half of it in here. I should have brought a truck."
"What are you going to do with it?"
"The expensive stuff...well, I was going to put it in my apartment freezer to save it, but I doubt the restaurant will be reopening soon. They shut the power and the gas off to the whole building because of the damage from the bullets. I'll stock up at home and take the rest to the Berkeley People's Cooperative Food Bank, I guess...Larry's going to yell at me, the capitalist pig, but what the hell." She put in another box of frozen prawns and stomped it down with her foot.
"Have you seen Larry? How is he?"
"I went to the hospital first thing when Mom called. She's there now. Larry's in surgery." She took off her glasses and wiped them. "He got a bullet through his chest..." Vanessa burst into tears, and Rally impulsively hugged her. Vanessa's arms went around her and she cried for a few moments into Rally's cleavage, then straightened up. "Sorry." She wiped her nose on a kitchen towel and stomped on the box of frozen prawns again.
"I'm so sorry about this. I...I'm afraid I might have had something to do with it..."
"Larry said he'd gotten a tape of some Eight Dragon Triad guys. I told him he was nuts and I was going to come over and rip all those stupid mikes off the tables unless he promised to quit trying to be Steven Seagal. What are the damn cops for, anyway?" Tears dripped down her nose.
"Well...sometimes it takes more than just cops. Your brother's a brave man, Vanessa. He helped me out a lot, and I'm grateful. Is there anything I can do to help you?"
"No. Not really." She paused and picked up the cooler. "I'm going to take Dad to the hospital now. Then I guess I'll take Mom and Dad home with me, because they sure can't sleep here. I'll just kick my roommate and her stupid boyfriend out for a few days."
"Oh. Could you...could you let me know how Larry is doing, and when I can see him?" She took a card from her purse and tried to give it to Vanessa, whose hands were full.
"Put it in my shirt pocket." Vanessa headed out into the dining room, and Rally lifted the tape for her to pass through to the sidewalk. "Yeah, I'll call you if I remember. I have the feeling I'm going to be busy for a few days." She put the cooler down behind a battered 1960s Plymouth station wagon, the bumpers covered with anti-war stickers. "But I'll try to remember. Dad!" she called. "Come on with me!"
"Thank you." Rally turned towards her Cobra.
"Just a sec," said Vanessa, helping her father into the passenger seat of her station wagon. "Larry said something to me just before they wheeled him into the operating room. He was conscious for a minute, and he said your name."
"Yes?"
"He said, 'Rally—Minced squab.' You have any idea what he meant by that?"
"No. No, I don't. It's a dish you serve here, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it's minced breast of pigeon wrapped in lettuce leaves. Dad's speciality. Kind of expensive."
"Pigeon..." Rally closed her eyes. A cartridge case rang under her foot. "Chopped stool pigeon, Chinese style."
Another beach, this one long and straight, running north and south at the western edge of the city. She had parked in a lot that sat on top of a seawall and looked out over the grey Pacific Ocean. Dawn, almost. The pale glow of emerging sun rose behind her, shadowed by the ranks of townhouses that lined the street across from the beach. Rally's mind felt as grey as the ocean, her thoughts dulled by the night's emotional firestorm. The streets were still wet from the night's storm, but it wasn't raining any more, though the sky was overcast. She wouldn't see a sunrise today.
"Rally...I'm sorry I flew off the handle." Roy sounded weary. "I called my wife, even though it was three A.M. in Chicago. She talked some sense into me. I apologize."
"It's OK, Roy," said Rally quietly into her cell phone. "You weren't really all that angry. Not compared to some people..."
"The FBI's another matter, kid. Smith is steaming."
"Oh, God."
"The lookout at the Sandpiper Inn saw you leave, but he thought you had Brown and were taking him in. Otherwise you would have had a pursuit on your tail."
"That's what I thought."
"There are two agents in the garage keeping a watch on Bean's car. Did you find out where he went?"
"I don't know where he is now." Rally's shoulders sagged. "Roy, please don't kill me. I took him out of the garage in my car."
"Oh, for the love of... Why?"
"Because I thought I owed it to him." She rubbed her temples. "B-but there's something I need to tell you, about the suitcase with the money..."
"You are going to have to tell it to the FBI, Rally. Everything."
"But—!"
"Unless you want a warrant to go out for your arrest. It's a good thing you finally called me back, though you almost left it too long. Come in for questioning, and I mean NOW, or there will be nothing I can do for you."
Something clicked on the line and another voice broke in. "Miss Vincent, this is Agent Smith. Come back to the Sandpiper Inn and leave your car in the garage. Agent Wesson is there to pick you up."
"Yes, sir," she whispered. "I'm on the other side of the city. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"Detective Coleman is with Agent Smith." Agent Wesson pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and pointed at a hard chair in front of his desk. "He's giving his side of the story. I do hope, for both your sakes, that it's going to match yours." He sat down in his own chair and laced his fingers together. About thirty-eight or nine, he was trim and brown-haired, his white dress shirt and conservative tie matching his short cut and clean-shaven face.
"I didn't tell him everything, sir. If you think he's left something out, it's my fault. Please—"
"Detective Coleman's fate is not your concern, Ms. Vincent. I am not interested in hearing your defense of him."
"...Oh."
"My senior partner and I have been working Sylvester Brown for seven months now." Wesson gazed at his hands. "We had been looking for a wedge into the Eight Dragon Triad for a year, and finally he contacted us to negotiate. He was slippery as an eel and we dangled the bait and played the line for a very long time. He shuttled between Los Angeles and San Francisco at least once a week, and so did we. I'm so sick of airline coffee I feel like puking at the mere suggestion. Seven months of care and patience, and you shot it in the leg and let it burn to death eight hours ago. Do you understand me, Ms. Vincent?"
"Yes."
"When Detective Coleman's call got forwarded to me, we weren't too happy about it, to put it very, very mildly. We thought Brown was getting ready to jump. We'd been encouraging him to do so for a long time. But we thought he was going to do it in Los Angeles after some careful planning, and we had no fucking idea he was going to drag a Chicago bounty hunter into it. It still makes no sense to me that he did. You have any idea why?"
"No..."
Wesson waited for a long moment, putting his locked hands on the desk. "I want some cooperation here, Ms. Vincent. I don't want monosyllables. I want full answers with every damn detail included, no matter how bad you think it makes you look and no matter what you think the implications are for anyone, including Coleman."
He took off his glasses and glared at her with cold grey eyes. "I want total, perfect honesty. I am a Federal law enforcement officer with the full power of the Justice Department behind me, as you are well aware, and I could simply read you your rights and arrest you on suspicion of murder, conspiracy and obstruction of justice. That will pull you a life sentence, of which you will serve at least twenty-five or thirty years if I have anything to say about it. You might get out when your hair's gone white, assuming you're still in one piece. How would you like it in the pen? You could renew some acquaintances you've made in the course of your illustrious career."
Rally's hands trembled on the arms of her chair. "I'll cooperate. You don't need to threaten me like that."
"That's what I want to hear. Keep in mind that I have other sources of intelligence. This conversation is being recorded and I will be cross-checking everything you tell me, so keep it right on the centerline." He opened his briefcase and put a file folder down on the desk between them.
"I understand."
"Why did you go after Sylvester Brown? You gave us the impression that he called you out of the blue."
"I didn't set out to do it. I went after Bean. Bean Bandit. Has Roy told you—?"
"I know of Mr. Bandit. Brown mentioned him in general terms—as an ace driver based in Chicago—and the Bureau already has a file going on his activities, though it didn't have a name on it until yesterday. Agent Smith is more familiar with that file than I am, but I know that Bandit was your mystery partner on this job. Did you follow him out from Chicago?"
"No. I was on vacation in California, and we spotted him—me and my partner May Hopkins. I went after him because I thought he might be running drugs again."
"Again?"
"He stopped...he had stopped. We had a bet that I won, and he promised to stay away from drug jobs."
"So you consort with a criminal? On good enough terms that he'll give up lucrative work for your sake?"
"I don't CONSORT with him—!"
"But you teamed up with him to pick up Brown."
"Uh...yes. But it was temporary!"
"Was it? That promise is still in force?"
"No." She fought to keep her expression composed. "He told me that it was off."
"So the Dragons persuaded him to work for them after all? Hmm..." Wesson leaned back and tapped the earpiece of his glasses on his teeth.
"No, that's not it. He would never work for them. He despised Brown and he said that the Dragons could kiss his...ass."
Wesson leaned forward and opened another folder, a thick black one. "He has the reputation of working for anyone if the price is right." He extracted a business card and held it up. "Here we go. 'Professional Courier and Driver. Passenger or Cargo. Ten Years in Business, Never Lost a Load. Anything, Anyone, Anywhere, Anytime. Certain Restrictions Apply—Call for Rates.' How carefully legal. You are sure he had stopped running drugs?"
"Yes. I know he had."
"Detective Coleman told us something else. He's taken jobs from old enemies before. Specifically, the Detroit gangster known as 'Gray'. Whom, incidentally, you shot some time ago."
"Yes, I killed Gray. He was about to kill Bean."
"Really. You two seem to do a lot for each other's sake." He put his glasses on again and flipped through the folder for a moment. "Are you Bandit's lover?"
"Huh?"
He glanced up over his metal frames, his grey eyes hard. "Complete honesty, Ms. Vincent."
"I...I..." She blushed scarlet.
Wesson sighed irritably. "This isn't prurient interest on my part. I need to know what influences can be brought to bear on this man."
"Oh, God..." She put her head down. "I have had sex with him. But I am not his lover."
"Excuse me?"
"He won't listen to me. I can't influence him at all, unless it's to kill me the next time he sees me."
"You've saved his life, you assisted him to escape from us, you've slept with him, and he wants to kill you?"
"He thinks I tried to steal money from him. Five hundred thousand dollars of Dragon cash."
"What?"
"It was Brown's payoff to him. Brown tricked him into making a drug run. Bean wanted compensation, but Brown tried to kill him instead. That's why we teamed up. Bean needed some firepower on his side, and I wanted to take Brown in for the FBI reward."
"Great. We never thought anyone was going to get a chance to collect."
"Why not?" Rally asked. Wesson lowered his brows. "I know, you are the one asking the questions here. But I really don't have any idea why he pulled me into this. He claimed it was because he was afraid of Bean and thought I could help, but obviously that was only bait! If you tell me more about this situation, maybe I can figure out what you want to know!"
He looked at her for a moment, then quirked his mouth. "Oh, it was a little too clever. That reward was only a diversionary tactic. He'd approached us months ago, offering information in return for a witness-protection deal for his family. He never gave us much besides promises. We needed to gain some time for him in the Triad, so we tried to make it look as if we thought he was a pivotal figure and wanted to arrest him. With his bodyguard around, he wasn't exactly vulnerable. We thought."
"Was he pivotal?"
"Frankly, I'm not sure how close he was to the heart of the matter. He talked a good game. But he was not even part Asian and we recently found out he had no Triad number."
"Oh, one of those divisible-by-three numerology codes?"
"You've been reading up on this, I see."
"I got that from Larry Sam."
Wesson gave a mirthless chortle. "Who is the man whose restaurant was shot to pieces last night shortly after you left the Dragon pier. Brown dead, our operation blown and Mr. Sam in the hospital. What a lucky charm you are."
"You think I don't care about who's been hurt?" Rally leaped from her chair. "You think I don't know this whole mess is on my shoulders and it isn't going to go away? Bean thinks I tried to steal half a million dollars from him! He said he would kill me and I know he isn't joking! Even if you let me go and gave me a goddamn medal for what I tried to do, I've got a death sentence hanging over me! Yes, he had sex with me, but that doesn't make an cent's worth of difference to him! He'll snap my neck the next time I get in his way!"
Wesson looked her up and down, eyes evaluating the lines of her face and figure. "That's the kind of value he puts on money?"
"That's right."
"Well, I won't be suffering any qualms about him, will I...?" Wesson let out a long disgusted breath.
"Qualms...?"
Wesson frowned. "Where is he now?"
"I don't know. He left me at Baker's Beach, carrying the money. I assume he's stolen a car and left the area by now."
"Stolen a car, hmm?" Wesson picked up a phone and spoke into it. "I'll contact the SFPD," he said to her. "Not that grand theft auto always get reported in a timely fashion, but it's worth a shot. Speaking of which..."
"You want to know how Brown and Huang died." She sat down again.
"Exactly."
Rally swallowed hard. "It all went the way it was planned, until some other Triad men showed up. Two leaders, and the chief assassin, plus a couple of young assistants. Huang and a guy named Wo. They all went off into another room with Bean, and Brown talked to me. He seems to have been trying to get me angry. Then—"
"Yes?"
"He signaled to O'Toole. You know—"
"His bodyguard, Fearghus Martin, who has gone by 'Thomas O'Toole' ever since he escaped from the Maze in 1987. Convicted on explosives charges in 1983. He's been with Brown for ten years and worships the ground he walks on."
"So he is former PIRA?"
"Yes. But the Provos kicked him out before he went to prison, for conduct unbecoming. Rape, to be precise. Seems he left several prostitutes and bar girls in ditches around Londonderry, beaten half to death and permanently maimed. He was never tried for those crimes, however. They had to keep him in solitary, because his former comrades tried to rectify the omission."
Rally shivered. Those hot yellow eyes over the barrel of a gun...
"Something?"
"No...uh, O'Toole shot out the window of the office and pinned me in there for a minute. Bean and Huang tried to interfere and O'Toole fired at them. Bean only got a crease. I think Huang was gut-shot. Bean ran to get O'Toole, but Brown showed me a surveillance camera view of a bunch of his thugs dumping Bean in the bay. I got out and evaded O'Toole for a while, but he got the drop on me. Bean came bursting in when he got out of the water—I'm still not sure how—and I moved out of O'Toole's reach. Then I thought I saw him aim at Bean. I shot...I shot at what I saw. It turned out to be Brown, and one bullet apparently killed Huang."
"It turned out to be Brown. Holy crap." Wesson slammed a folder down on the desk. "What the hell did you see to shoot at?"
"A shadow through the glass wall of the office. I saw someone draw a bead on Bean, and I thought it was O'Toole. Brown's right hand was half gone. He couldn't have fired a gun. I shot four rounds through the wall and I crippled him, but I swear to God I was sure it was O'Toole!"
"Something does not compute here. Brown wasn't stupid. He would not have pulled you into his defection on a whim, and he and O'Toole would NOT have let him get accidentally shot by a twenty-one-year-old tootsie who calls herself a bounty hunter!" Rally jammed her lips together to keep from uttering a retort. "This stinks, and frankly, your story stinks. I'm beginning to believe—"
"But I don't think it was completely an accident, either! I think he meant to get shot. Maybe not in the leg like that, since it meant he couldn't escape, but for some reason he wanted a bullet of mine to…" She trailed off. "Oh, my God."
"What?"
"I…don't know." A idea was forming, but it seemed so peculiar that she didn't want it to see the light of day yet. "It's just strange. I heard O'Toole talking about doing something himself if necessary, and Brown saying he couldn't ask that of him. I wonder if he meant—" She broke off. "I'm sorry, I can't make it out yet."
"Goddammit." Wesson leaned back and rubbed his temples. "We will get to the bottom of this, Ms. Vincent. If you are holding anything back, I am going to find out what it is, make no mistake. Start talking right fucking now."
"I've answered every question you've asked me!"
"You're leaving something out!"
"But how do I know...oh." She looked wildly around. "Bean. Bean is the key, isn't he? Brown talked my ear off about Bean, all along. He wanted to know everything about my relationship with him. He got me to tell him about the bet..."
"He did?" Wesson sat forward. "Of course, he wanted to recruit him for drug running. He didn't know that Bean had promised you not to take drug jobs. Until you told him, that is."
"O'Toole knows too—he listened in while I talked to Brown in the office, and so I'm sure he heard when I told Brown about the bet. I don't know about Manichetti, but he might have been listening as well just to keep tabs on what was happening."
"Brown's driver? What was he doing during all this?"
"He was there briefly and then he left."
"To go where?"
"I have no idea. But it must have been to do something important...I thought he must have been waiting with a car."
Wesson tapped his fingertips on the desktop. "How did you get the money? Why did Bean think you were trying to steal it?"
"He found it in my car, in the trunk, after we left the hotel. I was as surprised as he was. Brown had showed it to us in his office since he was supposed to bring it along for Bean. After I shot him, it was gone, but the suitcase it had been in was still there. Bean tore the place apart looking for the cash."
"I was at the scene earlier this morning. It looked like a tornado had hit in there."
"It did. He was furious. Wasn't the office all burned?"
"No, it was fairly intact, as far as that goes. Huang's body wasn't particularly damaged, so there won't be any problems with the autopsy, I'm told, which I'm sure you'll be glad to hear."
"Wonderful. But…what about Brown?" Rally's surprise had a sickening edge to it. "He was at the bay end of the warehouse, farthest from the fire. The offices are only halfway down, and if they're not burned...he was screaming…he was telling me the fire was right on him. The windows were all red…" She felt her gorge rise.
"O'Toole apparently used an accelerant on the walls, and that burned off rapidly all the way down the warehouse, but the wood is damp—that pier has been sitting over the water for eighty years—and didn't catch quickly. There wasn't a lot of structural damage, except to the front facade and the roof. The walls are charred on the surface, but not destroyed. The offices were built only a few years ago, and are mostly steel and glass. There wasn't much that would burn in there that was exposed to the fire."
"Oh. Is…is the autopsy being done on him now? Brown, I mean."
"They haven't found his body yet."
"Huh?"
"A big section of the roof fell in where it was weakened by the explosion. That's causing problems."
"But the explosion was at the front. It knocked me into the room, and it blew Bean off the—"
Wesson made an impatient gesture. "Ms. Vincent, these details are all very interesting to you, I gather, but they are beside the point. How, exactly, did you get that cash?"
"You think I stole it too? I guess since the offices aren't burned, no one's going to believe that I didn't go back and find it and pack it into that blasted suitcase again and hide it in my car! Two cops saw me at the pier! At least the FBI isn't going to hold a knife under my nose and call me a—"
"We don't yet know what we are going to call you, Ms. Vincent. The cash?"
"Well…the cash was gone and I thought O'Toole must have taken it with him. My Cobra was in the hotel garage all the time and I guess the money was planted sometime after that...there wasn't a big interval when it could have been done. It was the same suitcase we left empty in the office…or looked like it. The handle had been shot off."
"Planted in your car. Why?"
Rally's stomach twisted. Why? I never did you wrong. Why?
"No theories?"
"Obviously...to make it look like I'd stolen it...to have Bean find it. Oh, my God—if…if we hadn't just finished making—" She put her hand over her mouth.
"Yes?"
"Um…under most circumstances, Bean probably would have tried to kill me then and there, and I would have had to shoot him. He—he's very strong, and I've seen him take hits that would have killed anyone else. Even if I shot him in the head, it's very possible he wouldn't lose consciousness, not right away, and it wouldn't take him more than a moment to…" She swallowed hard. "I think Brown must have figured it like that. It was to get us both out of the way if all else failed, but he could have sold it to the Dragons as a way to recruit Bean. It might even end up working…"
Wesson's right eyebrow twitched, but he said nothing.
"Manichetti left long before Brown showed me the suitcase and didn't come back, so it couldn't have been him. It must have been O'Toole, but he was injured and bloody and jumped into that filthy bay. He wouldn't have had much time to clean up. Someone would have noticed him coming in to the garage."
Wesson picked up his phone again. "Desk clerk. Or anyone parking at that time of night." He spoke low and rapidly, then hung up. His fax machine began to chatter. The door opened and Smith walked in with a scowl on his blunt face. "Finished with Coleman, sir?"
"Yeah, for now." Smith grabbed the other chair with a glance at Rally. "I'm here to compare notes." He shoved a binder across the desk to Wesson, who scanned the open page and gave a short noncommittal grunt. "What a heap of dogshit this is turning out to be." He sneered at Rally's outfit and rummaged in his jacket. "Got a smoke, Bob?" Wesson opened a desk drawer and tossed Smith a open pack of Newports. Smith pulled one out and looked askance at it. "Aw, Christ, these are stale."
"I haven't bought any in months."
"What did you go quitting on me for? Where's a guy going to bum a cigarette if he can't get it off his co-workers?"
"I suddenly acquired a distaste for mood-altering substances," said Wesson, reading the binder. Smith lit the cigarette with a Bic lighter and drew in a deep drag, putting one ankle on the opposite knee. Older than Wesson, he was probably in his middle fifties. He sported a grizzled buzzcut and thick workman's hands, a drill sergeant in a sport coat.
"This drug crap." Smith blew out a ring of smoke. "Frankly, it's the DEA's problem and it should have stayed that way. All we do is step on each other's fucking toes. They arrested another undercover agent by mistake down in Miami yesterday. Crock of shit, if you ask me. The Bureau wasn't founded for this kind of junk. Why, back in Hoover's day—"
"No." Wesson pulled out the fax and looked at it. "You spent all your time on car theft stats instead. And it was against the rules to drink coffee or smoke at your desk."
"Yeah, and we kept our damn noses clean, too. Drugs are bad news for everyone who touches 'em, and that includes cops." He took another deep drag and Rally coughed. "Oh, you don't like tobacco, miss? Sorry." He smiled and flicked his ashes into a coffee cup on the desk. "This tastes like coffin sawdust, Bob."
"I know. Makes them easy to resist." Wesson slapped the fax down. "All of these were stolen before midnight. We're going to have to wait until later in the day." He looked at Rally. "Any thoughts on the matter?"
"Um...well, he likes sports cars. Old American ones. Muscle cars. What will you do if you find him?" Rally ventured.
"The phrase is, 'when we find him'. We aren't a bunch of fat Cook County cops on the take. This is the FBI." Wesson picked up his phone.
"Uh...this is Bean Bandit. Do you have the smallest idea what he can do?"
"He can drive?" said Smith with a snigger. "So what?"
"He can do a lot more than that! You know the size of him?"
"Hot shit with the ladies, huh?" Smith leered at her torn dress. "Size matters?"
"It does in a FIGHT!"
"Looks like he's better at RUNNING!"
"You mind keeping it down a little?" Wesson put a hand over the receiver. "I'm trying to work here, Pete."
"So is Coleman's theory correct? Mr. Bandit trying to get into your pants, Miss Vincent?"
"Jesus Christ..." muttered Wesson.
Rally clenched her fist over the fax. "I already told your partner that I slept with Bean. Once."
"Once? How long ago?"
"About one this morning."
Wesson put the receiver down. "What? After Brown died? Right around the time he found the money in your car?" The two agents looked at each other. "And he told you he'd kill you moments after he'd—hold on a moment, sir, I'll explain." He put up a hand. "Ms. Vincent, I thought you meant you had sex with him by mutual consent. Did he force you to take him out of the garage? Are we talking about kidnapping and rape here?"
His expression filled with anger and dawning sympathy. Even Smith straightened up and put out his cigarette.
"I..." Rally's mouth dropped open.
It would be so easy. All she had to do was say 'Yes', and maybe burst into tears for effect, and Smith and Wesson would back off, apologizing and stumbling over themselves to make it all better. They'd ask her gingerly to have a pelvic exam, which would prove she had been injured—her hymen had been torn and there was sure to be blood on her underwear—and Roy would back her up, testifying that Bean had been lusting after her and had a violent air about him.
She could slough the whole mess onto Bean in such a way he would never get free of it. He could be the cunning instigator and she the innocent, none-too-bright pawn. All she had to do was play to assumptions that everyone was more than willing to make, and be the helpless victim for a while. What would it cost besides a carload of self-respect? Bean hated her anyway.
"No," said Rally in a steady voice. "He didn't force me to do anything."
"He's not here. He can't hurt you now. You don't have to shield him, even if he told you not to go to the police. I can get a female agent to talk to you if you'd prefer, or your friend Coleman." Wesson picked up his phone.
"No, please. I mean what I say. I wasn't raped. Please don't even hint that to Roy. He'll go nuclear."
Smith snorted and lit another Newport. Wesson let out a long sigh and sat back in his chair. "All right. You cooperated with Bean of your own free will. I hope you realize what you're admitting to."
"I do. I would have stayed and waited for the police after the place caught fire, but Bean made me leave. I did call Roy as soon as I could manage! You know that!" She clenched her fists. "I haven't been trying to evade this."
"Why did you take Mr. Bandit out of the hotel, then?"
"I owed it to him. It was a point of honor, because I promised him half the money in that suitcase and my help in getting away with it."
Wesson shook his head. "Why did you let him escape with the money after he found it in your car?"
"Because I wasn't willing to kill him to stop him."
"Why didn't you contact us immediately?"
"I don't know. I had the idea that Larry Sam could help me. I went to see him and discovered that the Dragons had shot up his place. I held together until I left the restaurant. I...I'm not sure where I went after that. I drove around at random until the sun came up. Then I called Roy again."
"Sounds like it's about time for the Mirandizing," said Smith. "Unless you want to go for it, Bob." He nodded at the binder page with his handwritten notes.
Wesson tapped a pencil point on the paper. "What were you going to do with the other half of the money, Ms. Vincent? Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars—that's a tidy chunk of change for a bounty hunter."
"I was going to turn it over to the FBI," said Rally with a tiny smile.
"Huh!" Wesson sounded incredulous..
"It's true. You can ask Roy. I wanted it all to go to the government the way it should. But I had to promise Bean half of it or he wouldn't go along with the deal. Give me a polygraph test if you like."
Smith leaned over and flipped the binder page to the previous sheet, then underlined something in his notes with one finger. Wesson read it and raised his brows with a smile.
"All right, Pete. I will go for it. I've heard a few details that make it sound even better. You have the ID sheet filled out?"
"Last page," said Smith. Wesson flipped through the binder and examined the page, which looked like a Wanted poster without a photograph, the entries written by hand. "That's mostly from Coleman, since he saw the guy up close in good light. We put together a composite drawing and it's ready to circulate. Good break. And I guess this little lady can bust him wide open."
"What?" said Rally.
"I think we should let Detective Coleman give her the proposed outline of action, sir. Just to impress Ms. Vincent with the importance of this," said Wesson.
"He's pretty impressed, all right," chuckled Smith. "He's sweating bullets and sitting in a puddle. I'll put him in the conference room." He got up and left the office.
"Are you asking me to help you arrest Bean?"
"Not precisely," said Wesson. "We're asking you to help us get him into the Eight Dragon Triad."
"No refuge, Rally. That's the idea. Make it so hot for him..." Roy mopped his forehead for the third time since he had come into the room. "…that he will have to join a syndicate to remain in business. The FBI will work with the Chicago department to hem him in when he returns there. We might arrest him and wait for the Dragons to bail him out, which apparently is likely. He'd incur an obligation that way, and we know he pays off his obligations."
"You'll never arrest him, Roy." Rally gazed out the window of the conference room at the mid-morning sky. Still grey, though a little brighter than it had been at dawn. Smith and Wesson sat at the opposite end of the long table, shuffling folders and maps and making notes. They didn't seem to be listening.
"No one's invulnerable. He's been lucky."
"He's not like anyone else. He's Bean."
"A cheap crook who walked off with all the money when he got a chance! He's not a friend of yours! Why in the name of Christ are you defending him!"
"'I told you so.'" She dropped her head in one hand. "I know you warned me."
"Are you going to hold that against me?"
"How can I? You were right." Rally raised her face and drew a deep ragged breath. "He took all the money. He threatened to kill me."
"Then there cannot be a problem here, right?"
"Oh, God! Trying to get the money back was one thing. Telling them what kind of car he might steal—well, that was such a long shot. But this..."
"The Dragons apparently want him so badly that they let their main West Coast distributor take the fall for letting him go. The FBI already knows a little about Bean. With your help, they can get a complete profile and sense of his motivations and M.O. That's their wedge into the Triad. And they want you to visibly participate in the effort to hem him in. You provided refuge for him before. They want him to know that's not possible now."
"They want to destroy any prospect of Bean's ever realizing that I didn't try to steal the money from him," said Rally quietly. "They want to make sure he hates me permanently."
"What's wrong with that? He promised to kill you!"
"Because he made a mistake!" She gestured half in despair. "If he gets a chance to think about it calmly, if I get a chance to prove it to him, he might realize that he was wrong. If he only gets a chance! Without that, he's going to go back into drug running. He'll sink lower and lower. It's even possible he WILL end up working for the Dragons, just out of spite, and then... Oh, God, Roy, he could end up DEAD!"
"Don't tell me you give a DAMN about that!"
Why did she? His softer side had frightened her even more than had his threats of violence. What would she have done if Bean had persisted in kissing and coaxing her, if nothing had interrupted his afterglow? Anything she could have done would have been a disaster. Had she been about to wrench away from his insistent hands or had she been about to turn in his arms and kiss him back?
Anything but that…
The idea of sleeping in Bean's bed, imprisoned in his embrace night after night, was worse than her fear of the penitentiary. If Bean did come after her, she could meet the physical threat. A violent attack was exactly what she knew how to deal with. She had the tools. But if he had asked her to stay with him, be his lover, give herself up to the kind of pleasure she knew very well he could bring her...
Rally shuddered with a cold thrill. Terrifying and morbidly tempting, like the prospect of drug addiction. She had already had a couple of powerful hits, and she had no idea how she could have fought off the craving if he had managed to get her hooked. Addiction had always been one of her greatest phobias. Once or twice in his arms again, a few intense moments of physical rush, and her mind and heart could have followed. That might have been all it would have taken to render her helpless before a thin illusion of happiness; the love of a man like Bean could lead only to disaster.
But love wasn't what he had offered her, of course. Only an opportunity to lose her direction, her ideals, her will. A self-made prison that looked like release. That was the root of the problem—she wasn't truly afraid of Bean, but of herself.
"What is it?" Roy frowned at her expression.
"He's not Chinese—why do they think he's got a shot at numbered membership?"
"He's part Japanese, Rally."
"What?"
"I don't know the details. But the FBI has established that he had one Japanese parent. They believe that the Dragons know that too and that it must be good enough for them."
"The FBI knows who his parents are?" She remembered what Brown had said: I may be the only person in the world who has this information and has put two and two together... What did that mean?
"That's what I said! It got outlined to me this way: Some of the Hong Kong Triad leaders have forged alliances with other Asian gangs, and the Macau Triads are even more willing to do so. Singapore, the Philippines, Thailand. In the United States, the Triads use Vietnamese for a lot of their thug work. What seems to matter to them is Asian blood in general, as opposed to European. They don't care about Asian citizenship, either—actually, recruiting American citizens is the kind of thing that will help them a lot in this country. The Japanese yakuza are very powerful in their own country, but the Triads are moving into the vice markets there. So far, the yakuza haven't allied with them—there could be a gang war brewing. Perhaps the Dragons believe that recruiting Japanese-Americans will help them with the yakuza. They could be right."
"But he doesn't think of himself as Japanese. He doesn't even like Asian food, for God's sake!"
"See, that's the kind of details they want from you! I agree, it surprised me too. I thought he didn't look quite Caucasian, but I figured he was Latino or maybe part Native American. That could be in the mix too, for all anyone knows."
"I don't know. It's all such a mix right now...I'm so tired, I can't think!" Rally put her head in both hands, then sagged to the table. "I've been up the whole night, doing terrible things..."
Smith looked up, then leaned over to Wesson and said something. Both of them looked at her, and Smith cleared his throat. "Miss Vincent. You have the picture now, I hope?"
"Yes."
"And you are of course going to go with the program. Considering your alternative."
She closed her eyes. "Can I go get some sleep now?"
Wesson slid a document over to her. It was typed on a FBI letterhead, and her eyes blurred as she tried to read it. "This is simply your pledge to aid our operation and investigation in any way that lies in your power. Basically, you are working for us until we say you're not. In return, you have not been arrested for your role in the deaths of Sylvester Gaius Brown and Henry Kameha Huang, or for your aid to Bean Bandit and the conveyance of five hundred thousand dollars of illegal drug profits to him. This agreement is revocable at any time, for any reason we see fit." He tapped the paper. "On this line, at the 'X'."
"In other words, I sign my body and soul over to the FBI, or it's thirty years to life."
"Here's a pen," said Smith.
"Oh, May, I feel like shit..."
"You LOOK like shit!" May stood in the doorway of her hotel room wearing only a T-shirt and underwear. "What did the FBI say to you?" Rally could only shake her head. "Come in and sit down! Gosh, what happened?"
"Oh, God, May, I shot a helpless man and Brown burned to death..."
"I know. Roy woke me up and told me late last night. But he said it was an accident."
"It was. But they're still dead. And B-Bean..."
"Did he get hurt?" May's eyebrows went up. "Where did he go?"
"I hate him." Rally's voice was almost inaudible. "I hate him."
"What?"
"He got his damn money and he left! He ought to be satisfied now, the bastard!"
"But Roy said you hadn't gotten the money! And that it was just as well, because the FBI was going to find out about it sooner or later even if everything had gone the way you hoped."
"We didn't get the money at the warehouse. We thought O'Toole had taken it. Someone...somehow, they planted it in my Cobra."
"Planted it?" May sat down beside Rally on the bed. "I've got a bad feeling about this..."
"Bean found it. He thought I'd hidden it there. That I was going to renege on the deal and stiff him for the money. And he even accused me of committing murder to keep it quiet..."
"What did he do?" May put her arm around Rally's shoulders.
"He...he said he ought to kill me..."
"Oh, my God."
"But then he just took it and left. I couldn't stop him."
"Oh, Rally..." May set her little jaw.
"I'm so tired. I've got nothing left. But I have to find them. O'Toole, and the rest of them—I have to prove that money was a plant. I still don't know what their game is, but they meant Bean to find it and probably to kill me... Someone's gonna pay for that."
"Yeah, they will." May had a cold edge in her voice. "But maybe not today. Come take a shower, sweetie. Let's get that dress off you—geez, it looks like you got dragged behind a car. Were the FBI guys that nasty?" She unzipped the back of the red dress and began to work the spandex down Rally's body.
"No. They were very quiet and very serious—at least Wesson was—and that's how I know I'm in deep, deep shit. I had to sign a paper promising to help the investigation, but if I screw that up, they'll just go ahead and arrest me..." Rally shrugged out of the sleeves and waggled her hips to assist May. Her panties and hose tangled with the dress, static electricity crackling, and she shed the whole set at once, leaving her in only her strapless bra. May unhooked it for her and led her into the bathroom.
"You want a shower or a bath? I'll scrub your back and wash your hair, huh?"
Rally couldn't help smiling. "What've I got here, a maid?"
"Oh, a little more than that." May kicked off her panties and pulled her T-shirt over her head. Her five-months-pregnant stomach and slightly enlarged breasts made her seem a little older, but she still looked like a teenager. "We'll do a shower, then you can soak if you want to. Nice to have that hotel-size water heater!" She turned on the water and rummaged through her vanity case for a loofah. "Salon shampoo...conditioner...glycerin body wash. OK, let's get in—the water's hot!"
Rally stood under a pounding spray and let May stroke her from head to foot with a lathered net puff. The last greasy streaks of makeup dissolved away, and the sweat, tears and stickiness of her hour in the car with Bean went down the drain with them. All that remained was a lingering soreness in her groin and the emptiness, like a cold cavity in her midsection. He hadn't even filled that for her. Could anyone? Any man?
"Here, Ral, get your hair wet." May squeezed a generous portion of elegantly scented shampoo into her palm and worked it into Rally's hair. Her dexterous little fingers massaged Rally's scalp and encouraged the lather. "Boy, I really lacquered you up, didn't I? It soaked right through into your hair. This'll get it all out."
"Oh, May..." said Rally softly. "I'm sorry I got mad at you yesterday. It was all for nothing."
"I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have been goofing off. You needed me to come through for you."
Rally wanted to cry, but her tears had all been shed. "May, you are my best friend, you know that? I really love you."
"I love you too, sweetie." May dropped a kiss on Rally's bare wet back. "Here, rinse." She helped Rally chase all the suds out with hot water, then smoothed conditioner into her dripping hair. "Leave that in for ten minutes. This is the good stuff. Expensive!"
"Thank you. Is this what you use for Ken?"
"Oh, sort of. It's mostly just an excuse to indulge myself!"
"Do you miss him?"
"Yeah, a little. You know pregnancy makes you horny!"
"It does?"
"Uh-huh. I always feel all warm and swollen down there, like I've just had a good fucking!"
Rally shivered under the steaming spray.
"Is something the matter?" May put both hands on her back.
"No..." She considered telling May what had happened in the car, but the words wouldn't form. "You...you mean it feels like that all the time?"
"Yup! Not like I need any encouragement, but it makes me want to touch myself about every half-hour!" May giggled and waggled her bottom, her blonde hair streaming with water.
"Gosh, May, is that really a change?" They both giggled.
"Well, how often do you do it?"
"May!"
"I mean, you don't have a boyfriend, you don't even go out with anyone—and if you and Bean didn't have sex when you spent two nights together, you must be getting it some other way!"
"Oh, God, don't talk about him! I don't want to remember he exists..."
"Oh, Rally, I'm sorry!" May embraced her from behind, her little round stomach bumping Rally's bottom. The shower flowed over them both. "I want to make you feel better. I messed up earlier and I could have screwed this whole thing up for you..."
"No, you didn't! It was never going to work no matter what any of us did. It was a trap. They set up a trap for me. It's not your fault." She turned and hugged May back, their wet naked bodies sealing together. May pressed her head to Rally's breasts, then looked up into her face.
When Rally looked down, May kissed her on the mouth. Her little hands cupped the sides of Rally's face and she rose on tiptoe, pushing her soft tongue between her lips. Rally experienced a deep twinge in her belly and pulled back. "What are you doing, May? Are you really that horny?"
"Maybe." May ran her hands down over Rally's breasts and tweaked the nipples. "How about I just take care of you for a little while?" Rally blushed and leaned back against the tile. May lapped at her nipples, alternating fingers and tongue from one to the other.
Rally sighed deeply and bowed her head to kiss May's wet hair. A hand began to explore her pubic hair and she let her legs part, relaxing into May's soft touch. Her clit and labia were no longer slick and swollen, but her entrance felt sore. When May's finger penetrated slightly and met the source of the sting, Rally held her wrist to guide her away.
"Is that too tender? Sorry."
"No, it's nothing...just feels better here..."
"Like that?"
"Yes..." They kissed and jousted lightly with their tongues. Rally felt her moisture begin to smooth May's strokes, and let her head loll on her neck, enjoying the gentleness, the softness and smallness of her friend's body pressed against hers. So unlike. So completely unlike. Perfect. Her hips pumped against May's hand.
"You're so pretty, Rally," whispered May. "You look beautiful like this, you know? You don't need all that junk I put on you last night."
"Um." Rally's breath came faster.
"You seem a little...different today. Something interesting about the way you smell...well, never mind all the crap. Right now it's just you and me. Do you want to touch me?"
Rally reached down and put a hand on May's stomach. "Hi there, baby. Your mama and I are just having a little fun." She slid the hand down and around, and discovered that May was hot and slick, fully ready. As her fingers moved between May's labia, May's hand worked back and forth on her vulva, their lips meeting again. May panted and jerked, then let out a loud cry and threw her head back.
"I was about ready to come the moment you got your clothes off, sweetie," she said with a grin. "There's something very sexy about you today. Now that I got that out of the way..." She went to work in earnest.
Rally rolled her head back and forth across the tile, bucking her pelvis under May's expert fingers. The slippery tub felt dangerous, but her friend held her up and tongued her nipples, circling her clit with a wet index finger and stroking the other hand between her buttocks. Rally spread her legs wider. May's finger explored her tight knothole and pressed a little way inside, and Rally shrieked.
"Too much?"
"No—oh God, do that!" Rally put her hand over May's and clamped it firmly to her vulva, then rubbed down hard. Her skin glowed with the warm massage of the water and her face felt even hotter. Her awareness wound down tighter and tighter into the core of her belly, and suddenly she heard herself groaning loud and hoarse. She came, her legs shaking.
"Ooh, time to rinse," said May.
She woke to May's gentle shaking. The window showed late-afternoon sunlight declining to the west. "Rally, it's five o'clock. If you want some dinner before you have to go back to the Federal Building, you'd better get up now. I took a cab and got your suitcase and your guns from the Sandpiper Inn so you could change."
"Ohh God..." She grabbed the pillow and pulled it over her head. "I hate sleeping during the day!"
"So get up."
"I want to stay in bed for the rest of my LIFE!"
"And let Bean get away with all that money? I don't think so! Wait until you feel better—you'll be rarin' to go!"
"Oh, all right..." Rally rolled up, rubbing her eyes. She wore underwear and one of May's T-shirts, which was far too small for her. May winked at her, sitting on the bed. "Uh, May, did we...?"
"Yes, we did! Don't worry, it wasn't serious." May poked her lightly in the nose. "You just looked like you needed some comforting. The girls at the Purple Pussy always helped each other out that way, you know. You haven't lost your virginity or anything!"
"Aaaghh!" Rally screamed, vaulting off the bed and heading for the bathroom, pursued by May's laughter.
"Where do you want to eat?" May called. "Chinese?"
"NO!"
"Italian?"
"…No."
"Umm...Japanese?"
"AAAIIIGGHH!"
"Geez, have a cow. Hmm, there's an idea—burgers?"
"No, please..."
"What the hell is wrong with all of those?" said May in disgust. "Aren't you hungry?"
Rally came out of the bathroom and flopped down on the bed again. "No."
"Soup and salad bar. That's the ticket if you don't feel like eating much." May picked up the hotel's restaurant guide and flipped through it. "Here. Fresh Choice, on Geary."
Rally opened her suitcase. "OK, that sounds all right…" She selected a pair of comfortable black knit leggings and a hip-length short-sleeved tunic, putting on her CZ75 and reaching for her wrist slide.
"You think you're going to need that?"
"Absolutely." Rally put on the wrist slide with the .25 and strapped the Duo to her ankle, putting on a pair of short boots. "You'd better bring all the stuff you can haul. We've got to get my car from the Sandpiper Inn, though. We can take a cab over there again and drive the Cobra to the restaurant."
"You think Bean's still in town?"
"I don't know. Certainly the Dragons are!"
"OK." May picked up her jacket and loaded the pockets and hanging tabs inside. She put in three flash-bangs, a confetti bomb, a frag grenade, a length of fuse, a detonator/timer, a location transmitter and a small pack of C4. "We are two tough broads, armed to the teeth. I'm the Blonde Bombshell, and this is my partner, Three-Gun Rally! Don'tcha mess wit' us, sucka!" Rally smiled, May laughed, and sunshine seemed to fill the room—along with the smell of gunpowder. "Yes! Feels like old times. Let's go eat."
They concealed their arsenal and went down, emerging from the elevator into a brightly decorated lobby. This was the sort of hotel Rally liked—moderately priced, well-maintained, and with no armies of servicepeople holding out hands for tips. She had the feeling of regaining a happy medium after days of extremes, and the sense of balance and energy she usually enjoyed began to move through her veins.
"OK, I'm hungry now," she said happily. "I hope we get a cab soon!" One pulled up the moment they walked out to the steps, and they piled in, joking and giggling all the way to the Sandpiper Inn.
Even the sight of the place didn't disturb Rally's improved mood, and she even hoped O'Toole would put in an appearance, just to give her CZ75 a workout and let May feel like a contributor. She had spun an entire scenario involving multiple grenades stuffed down his pants when they entered the garage and walked to the Cobra. Rally had parked it on the first level, in sight of the entrance gate, and sitting by the ramp was an FBI agent in a navy blazer, who rose and approached them.
"Excuse me; Ms. Vincent?"
"That's me." Rally got out her keys.
"That's your car?" He looked bug-eyed at the Cobra. "Wow…uh, that is, I'm Agent Gonzales. Agent Smith wants you to take your car to the Federal Building this evening. Don't take a cab."
"Wasn't planning to." Rally was slightly mystified. "I just got it out of the shop anyway!"
"All right, then." He walked to his chair—a folding camp model with a thermos standing next to it. "I'm watching for this Bandit fellow, and his car's staked out down on the fourth level. Be sure to give us a holler if he starts tailing you or something like that."
"No problem," said Rally with some warmth. The mention of Bean eroded her equilibrium slightly, and when she opened the Cobra's doors, the sight of its interior produced a sudden flashback. Not of Bean threatening her, nor of the look on his face when he had, but of him sitting in her passenger seat, face wreathed in a happy smile, cajoling her, 'C'mon, gimme a kiss.'
For the first time she thought about what he must have felt when he had found the money. What had he believed, a moment before the rifle had hit the suitcase? That she wanted him as a steady lover? That she had given him her heart along with her virginity? Maybe she didn't know much about guys, but how much did he know about women? Or even about her?
Possibly he thought they were all fickle at heart, liable to abandon him on a moment's notice…the way someone had abandoned him in a parking lot. His natural mother had given him up, his adoptive parents had died. Probably he had been too young to have any memory of a caring mother at all, if he had ever had one. And so that suitcase must have hit him like a sucker punch in the least-armored part of his emotional makeup.
It was still no excuse, she told herself. He had no justification for what he had said, and since he had threatened to kill her, she determined that whatever sympathy she found lurking in her feelings towards him would have to be rooted out. If she ever had him in her sights again, she would not hesitate to pull the trigger.
They got into the Cobra, and May wrinkled her nose. "Boy, it sure smells funky in here. Roy been smoking in your car? I thought you didn't let anyone do that."
"I don't."
"Of course, the smell tends to spread around even if he does it outside..." May sniffed more carefully. "Man, it's thick. That isn't just smoke—it's...um."
"What?"
"Uhh...nothing."
"May?"
"You don't want to remember he exists."
"It smells like...Bean?"
"Yeah. As if he were right here next to me." May looked to the side and hunched her shoulders as if to conceal a sudden quiver. "Kind of spooky."
"How do you know what he smells like?"
"I'm pregnant! I can smell five times better than usual! I pay attention to that kind of thing...he smells like that leather jacket of his, and like motor oil and cigarettes. And as if he had an oversupply of testosterone—like a bull musk-ox! It's awfully strong, Rally."
It did smell like Bean. Like Bean and herself combined: sweating, straining, fucking their brains out with the juices flowing like rain...
"What's been going on in here?" May crouched over and looked at the floor, then felt under the seat. She came up with Bean's driving gloves and a blank look. "What are these doing here?"
Rally reddened in an intense flush of blood, then felt it all drain away.
"What is it? You're pale." May looked at her. "Frankly, you've been looking strange all day. Until the last hour or so…but now—"
"I'm a little stressed out!"
"OK, OK. Um, are you sorry you let me..."
"No." Rally leaned over and hugged May. "I didn't mind that at all. Frankly, it was the perfect remedy..."
"To what?"
"Bean."
"Um...to Bean?" May's eyes narrowed. "Rally, what happened when he found that suitcase?"
"I told you. He took it, he told me he should kill me, and he left."
"Was that all he did? Rally...it smells like..." She hesitated. "Like sex."
"Are you going to start THAT again?"
"I...Look, I'm sorry I teased you about Bean. I was mad. I know you don't like him that way and you never have, and gosh, you reacted so well! I couldn't resist! But this is serious. I mean, I know what semen smells like. I've sucked off more men than I can count, and it varies a little, but..."
Rally sat with her hands on the wheel, her face twitching.
"Rally. This morning you were bruised all over. You looked terrible until you got cleaned up. I know, you'd just spent hours being interrogated by FBI agents, and you'd had a firefight and killed someone. I put it down to that. But when I touched you in the shower, you were sore at the entrance to your vagina. For God's sake, sweetie, I'm your friend. Tell me what happened in this car."
"I...I've told you."
May closed her eyes, her face going white, and put the fingertips of both hands over her mouth, pressing them tightly to her lips. "Fine. I shouldn't push you. I'm sure I'm not doing this right." She swallowed hard and steepled her fingers over her face. "That's your business, maybe." She took a deep breath, then suddenly hit her fist against the door. "Goddammit, it's my business too! I left you alone with him!"
"Oh, God..."
"This stinks! Literally!" May's voice and body trembled. "I thought he had a heart, OK? He saved my life a couple of times. But I guess that doesn't say everything about a guy. I guess money means more to him than anything else in the world, and I guess if he thought you were trying to trick him out of that much cash he would get angrier than I've ever seen him."
"You got that right. But you're reading too much into this, May; you're imagining things."
May opened her eyes again, their gaze hard and direct. "You tell me what happened last night when you feel ready to tell me, Rally. I am not going to make you talk about it. But the next time I see Bean Bandit, I'm going to shove a Minnie-May special so far up his ass they're going to be looking for his balls on two separate continents and for his PRICK on the fricking dark side of the MOON."
