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 Eleven
"Sure as shit, it's the airport," said Smith, jabbing a finger at a large map of the San Francisco peninsula on his office wall. "He's been busting for the airport this whole time."
"What would he do with the car?" asked Wesson. Several other agents stood around, chatting and kibitzing. One was on the phone, one was passing out cups of coffee.
Roy Coleman sat in the corner of the room, ignored by nearly everyone. He had his chin resting in both hands, which covered most of his mouth and beard, and he was muttering, "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women," over and over.
"Gonna ship it, naturally. She said he shipped it out here. So he drops it off at air freight—" Smith looked over at the agent on his phone. "You got that United freight office yet, Bui?"
"Not yet," replied Bui with a hand over the receiver. "I keep getting automated message systems." He shook his head, then started speaking. "Yes, the FBI. That means I want to talk to a human being. No, don't cut me off—ah, crap."
"OK," continued Smith, "so then he strolls off to the terminals and gets on a flight. Maybe not straight home—he could fly to Milwaukee or Indianapolis or something and buy a car to take him to Chicago. He's got a cool half-million with him, so not a lot of obstacles in his way there. Make sense? We going to plan accordingly? I'll send a detail to the airport now." He grabbed his phone.
Several agents nodded, and Wesson got up. "I'm going to have them check that radio again. I don't know why it cut out. In the mean time…" He picked up his cell phone and dialed Rally's number. It rang ten times, and he clicked it off. "Huh. She might have it turned off, or she's dropped it…."
"Or she's dead," said Roy in a hollow voice. "May's with her, too." He looked haggard and pale under his beard. "She told me what kind of fighter he was. How can two young women hold off Bean Bandit?"
"Thought you said she could take care of herself," snorted Smith. "If she's such a tough broad, don't worry about her. If she isn't so tough, well, she shouldn't have taken up this line of work." He turned back to the agents. "OK, talk to the chopper. Ask if they've spotted 'em."
Gonzales, with the radio and a set of headphones with a mic, shot off rapid questions and narrated at the same time. "Yeah, last seen heading over San Bruno Mountain on southbound 101. You said that. This guy can't spot a car he's been following all over the map! So where the hell are they? Not on the road? Guess he thinks she put on wings and flew away, since the airport's right down the road. So either she's on the freeway, or she's on a surface street. Well, try it, then. Tell me soon."
He looked up. "He's going to look in South San Francisco. The industrial area north of the airport."
"What about Bandit?" said Roy. No one paid attention. He closed his eyes and cursed, then shouted, "WHAT ABOUT BANDIT?" Wesson shot a reproving look at him. "If he can't see the Cobra, what about the red car? Buff stands out like a—"
"Buff?" cackled Smith. "Got an ear for a moniker, too, hey? I think I want to meet this guy!"
"Can't the chopper see him? For God's sake, ask!"
"No, of course they can't see him. They're out over the bay and turning around," said Gonzales. Everyone looked pityingly at Roy, who clenched his fists.
"He said he would kill her if she got in his way," said Roy with quiet desperation. "I think tailing him for thirty miles and calling in his location to the FBI, CHP and SFPD definitely qualifies as getting in his way."
"She's got a gun." Smith shrugged and turned away.
"HE'S GOT A JACKET MADE OF BATTLESHIP PLATE!" shouted Roy again. "She only has a nine-millimeter and two smaller guns! He can take a .44 magnum without missing a step! Will you, for God's sake, listen to me?"
"Cobra's not in the industrial area," said Gonzales, listening to his headphones. "The motorcycle cops are coming over the rise." He paused for a moment. "Yeah, they see the red car. It's parked on the left-hand shoulder, down the mountain a ways. Cops are getting closer—they're up to it. Holy crap!"
"What?" said everyone at once.
"Throwing knives. He took them down. Not dead, pilot thinks, but they're not going anywhere soon. His co-pilot's getting down the twelve-gauge."
"Hasn't that chopper got a rifle on board?" begged Roy. "Buckshot won't stop that monster!"
"He's firing… Guy shielded his head with his arms. Oh!"
"Huh?" said Smith.
"It's the Cobra. It's down at the bottom of the slope against a fence. Tires ripped the grass all the way down. He must've forced it off."
"Tire tracks all the way?" Roy grabbed a spare headset. "Maybe she didn't roll, then." He listened tensely. "Explosion? Oh, thank God! May's got her—" He broke off, seeing four FBI agents staring at him. "Um…" Roy smiled uneasily.
"What's the explosion?" said Smith.
"Uhh…he says…confetti? With pink smoke?" said Gonzales. The agents looked at each other in incredulous amusement. "What is she doing? Having a birthday party down there? Woah!" He took the headphones off abruptly, putting a hand to his ear. "That wasn't a confetti bomb!"
Roy looked pained, but kept the headphones on. "A big explosion, with shrapnel flying. Halfway up the slope. Not right near Bandit, but in his direction." He bowed his head. "Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Blessed Mother Mary."
"I don't think they're gonna float down from above and form a cordon!" shouted Smith. "Those little gals planning to blow up my Roadbuster?"
Roy turned on him in fury. "When that man's coming after them with the full force of his unholy wrath? I think they've GOT THE RIGHT!"
"Do it again, kid," said Bean with a ferocious grimace. "And do a better job this time. Ya already tossed a frag at my car. Throw the next one closer than that." He shook shrapnel out of his hair and jacket, his face bleeding slightly from a few stings. Buckshot marks peppered his jacket.
One of the motorcycle cops cried out in pain, crawling along the road above and trying unsuccessfully to aim his service pistol. The chopper hovered low, blasting dust off the road and blowing Bean's hair around like a tornado, and the co-pilot took aim at him again with the Ithaca twelve-gauge.
BABOOM! Pellets hit the dirt near him as Bean put up his collar and arms to ward them off. He whirled and threw his bowie knife. It crashed through the chopper's windshield and stuck in the cockpit bulkhead. The pilots yelled and took the chopper up again.
Rally crouched in the car, CZ75 drawn, and tried to take an uphill sight with trembling hands, her injured knee throbbing. Head shot. Her only choice was a head shot. Not too high or she'd hit only the headband. Not too low or she wouldn't get a vital spot. The first one had to take him down, because she wouldn't get a second. Like hunting a grizzly bear. Any wound short of mortal would only make him mad, and even with a mortal wound he might still live long enough to kill…
She stared at the top of Bean's head. Could she put it through the top of his skull, above the headband? That would do it—but too high, and it would only whistle through his hair. For the first time she realized why he so often wore his hair that way: a sprawling shock standing on end. With that dense black crop as cover, it was impossible to tell exactly where his skull ended and his hair took over.
"That was a warning, Bean!" shouted May from behind her opened passenger door. Since the car pointed slightly upslope, it provided her with fairly good cover, as far as that went. "I gave you the toy one first to prove I've got all my stuff along. And the second to show I mean business! Just get in your car and drive away!"
"Uh-uh. I'm taking care of my business first." He glanced over at Rally. "Why ain'tcha shot at me yet, Vincent? Don't tell me; yer hopin' for another nice big piece of me, right?" Bean adjusted his crotch and smiled in a manner that reminded her of O'Toole. "Well, you ain't gettin' it, slut. So go ahead and fire." He began to walk down the slope again.
"You son of a bitch!" howled May. "I knew it!" She threw another grenade with all her force. It bounced off Bean's chest and fell to his feet. He kicked it down the embankment and it went off with a loud pop and another cloud of glitter and pink smoke. "Oops…" Rally made a quick mental inventory of May's jacket. She had no real grenades left!
"Yer old enough to play by the rules." Bean looked in May's direction as he approached with a deliberate pace. He shook his right arm; the switchblade appeared in his hand and he shot the blade out of the handle with an ominous 'snik'. "Don't think I'm gonna disinvite ya to this shindig!"
"You planning on demonstrating your way of getting angry with women at this shindig?" she yelled. "Try it on me, Bean! I'll bite it in half! I'll pull it out by the roots!"
Bean made a contemptuous, uncomprehending smirk and moved closer to Rally. "C'mon, you murderin' slut. Gimme your best shot." He held up the switchblade and beckoned.
That best shot would be one right between the eyes, as he'd said, but it was extremely difficult to look into those eyes and take a fix at the same time. "No. I am not going to start this, Bean. If that's one of your rules, we are not going to fight."
He looked slightly surprised. "Oh, I can get ya to shoot first, babe. Easy." Bean headed for May, chuckling. "Got any more party favors?"
WHOOM! May's grenade went off in the air right in front of his face. Rally saw a whitish cloud and no glitter.
"Ahchoo!" Bean sneezed violently, then again. "Ah…ah—choo!"
"What the hell was that, May?"
"Sneezing powder, of course! Get him while he's off balance!"
"But—"
"What the hell are you waiting for? He just taunted you about—what he DID! God, girl! Don't you want him DEAD!"
"I—" Rally sighted on Bean's head, and pulled the trigger.
"Can they get there in time? Tell them to hurry!"
"They're driving twice the speed limit on an empty freeway! Believe me, they're hurrying." Bui put his hand on Roy's shoulder. "I know you're worried. So are we all…well, maybe for different reasons."
He glanced at Smith, who was head-to-head with Wesson, both shouting into phones. "Ten SFPD squad cars! And a dozen more heading up 101 from Millbrae and San Bruno and Brisbane! He's going to have to beat it fast if he doesn't want to be arrested by every jurisdiction in twenty miles!"
Bui patted Roy's shoulder again and picked up the radio headphones as Gonzales relinquished them. "OK, they're hovering. Got off another buck load, but he's too close to the girls now—uh, hard to tell what's happening. Some kind of cloud around his head? They hear gunshots—muzzle flash from her nine-millimeter. Hey!"
Bui turned to Roy, his eyes scanning as he listened. "He's down, he's down—no, he's up again. Lurching around like he's drunk. What did she do?" He listened again. "Shot at his head—OK, she aimed for the headband. Good idea. Yes, sir, Agent Smith, she's trying not to kill him."
He did a thumbs-up and listened for a moment. "Wait! He's recovered! Oh, there he goes! He's grabbing the little blonde one!"
"MINNIE-MAY!" screamed Rally. She grabbed her door and vaulted out of the car. Landing, she put all her weight on the injured knee and fell, snapping the CZ75 into a two-handed grip as she hit the grass. "Oww! BEAN! LET GO OF HER, OR I AIM A LITTLE HIGHER!" The chopper swooped low again and landed on the road, the pilots tumbling out with their shotgun.
Bean had May hoisted up with one hand seizing both of hers, her legs frantically kicking. Blood ran down his face from under his headband where her bullets had hit, and he held his switchblade to May's stomach, his eyes still a little unfocused.
Rally let out a silent scream, horrified beyond measure. The baby!
"Come and—AHCHOO!—get me, babe! 'Less you want me to—ahCHOO!"
Bean stopped and looked at May's midsection, about level with his eyes. Rally saw his expression change as he blinked. Apparently he had forgotten until that moment that May was pregnant. He glared at Rally, accusing her with his expression of using May's condition as a shield, sneezed and tossed May down, not very roughly.
Leaving her where she was, he came toward Rally, bending over for a sneeze every few seconds. "Guess you get all my—ah, ahCHOOO!—attention, babe. Why'd you bring her along on the tail? AH—CHOO!" He pressed a finger hard under his nose. "Just to—ah, ah, CHOO! Shit!"
"May came along on her own hook!" she shot back at him, scrambling backwards and prone on the damp grass towards the fence as he advanced with the switchblade glinting in his right hand. "Why did you go bashing my car while she was riding in it, you moron?" She backed up to the fence and aimed her CZ75 up under his jaw as he loomed up and stood over her. "You wrecked my bodywork so bad it's gonna take a MONTH to get fixed!"
"Speakin' of—ahCHOO!—bodywork, babe—" Bean began with a dirty snarl, shifting his grip on the knife. Rally's finger tightened on the trigger. Suddenly he jerked forward, his face registering shock. "Hey!"
May had landed square on his back with a running leap, and wrapped her arms and legs around his neck and face as hard as she could squeeze. "Knock it off, kid!"
He turned around and around, spinning away from Rally and trying to dislodge May as she jammed her fingernails in his eyes and pulled hard on one corner of his mouth. "OW! AHCHOO!"
Bean jerked forward and back with the violence of his sneezes and with May's seesawing movements. She got a thick hunk of black hair in her teeth and flung her head back and forth like a puppy shaking a toy. "HEY! OUCH! Ah, ah, CHOO! Aw, shit…!"
May grinned with her mouth full of loose hair, then spat it out and snapped for more. The chopper pilot waved the shotgun, obviously hesitating for fear of hitting May.
"Ah…ha…" Rally, although terrified for May, began to laugh hysterically at the sight. The mighty Bean Bandit, rendered helpless by a cloud of sneezing powder and little May's ferocious attack! "Bwaah-haa-ha-ha-ha!"
Weeeooooooooh…
Waaaooooooooh…
Weeeooooooooh…
Waaaooooooooh…
Weeeooooooooh…
Waaaooooooooh…
About a dozen patrol cars and an ambulance arrived on the embankment above them, in various badge colors and makes. May fastened her teeth on one of Bean's ears. "HEY!" he kept yelling, swatting at her with his left hand and holding the knife out at arm's length when she tried to grab it.. "Goddamn little monkey! Ah--choo! Ah…ah…ahCHOO!"
"Bwaah-ha-ha-ha-haa!" spluttered Rally. Police officers swarmed down the embankment, yelling and drawing weapons. Bean registered their presence, then suddenly lashed his whole body and shook May off in Rally's direction.
May hurtled through the air, hit Rally in the stomach and knocked them both into a heap against the fence, and Bean raced up the embankment toward his car. Police officers bowled over as he shoulder-slammed, stiff-armed and tossed them aside.
KRAK KRAK KRAK KRAK went a bevy of service automatics. More bullet scars appeared on Bean's jacket, but he threw off the last officer and leaped into Buff. The engine roared and Bean took off southwards, knocking one patrol car aside and rolling over the hood of another one that tried to block his path. Half a dozen took off after him, as did the chopper, and approaching cars made U-turns to follow.
"Oh, May! You were so BRAVE!" Rally threw her arms around her friend in time to see her face turn color and her eyes bug out. "Oh boy! Lean over!" She held May's head while she fertilized the grass with her lunch.
"No, she's fine," Rally assured the approaching officers, patting the sweaty blonde hair. "Just a little morning sickness… Yeah, I know, it's afternoon!"
"Wish I'd barfed on HIM," grumbled May, taking a water bottle from a policewoman. "Eww, gross! I'm still picking his hair out of my teeth!" An SFPD tow truck was easing the Cobra up to the road, and the injured motorcycle cops were loaded into the ambulance, which drove away north, sirens going in spite of the emptied road.
"You sure you girls aren't hurt?" said the policewoman. "I saw that guy throwing cops around like paper dolls! What a monster!"
"No, we're OK, thanks to May," said Rally. "What a Warrior Princess you are, sweetie!"
May rinsed and spit, then took a deep drink, smiling at Rally. "I'd've eaten him raw without salt for you, honey! Too bad all he lost was a few chunks of scalp!" May looked fierce and made some kung-fu chops in the air, then stopped and fished another long black hair from the back of her throat. "Gross!" She hacked and took another drink.
"There's a Detective Coleman asking after you two," said an officer, handing her a radio handset.
"Roy!" said Rally into the radio. "Don't worry; we're fine! May's a spitfire!"
"Thank God," said Roy, sounding monumentally relieved. "They tell me he came right at you with a knife! Do you think—"
"You know, Roy, I'm not certain about that." Rally creased her brow and looked south along the road the way Bean had gone. "When May jumped on him, he wasn't aiming to stab me. I think…he might have meant to put a mark on me. Sort of like the one he has."
"An X on the face? Holy name!"
"Something. Like another warning, or a…I don't know. I was scared, but I didn't have the feeling he was actually going to just kill me, no matter what he said."
"Maybe not this time! But perhaps he's just working up to it—"
"Yeah, that's a comforting thought! Where is he now? They still chasing him?"
"Uhh…they lost him."
"Oh, fine!"
"Yeah. Somewhere between…uh, the airport and the San Mateo bridge. They blockaded the bridge for a while, but no dice. He never showed up at the roadblock in San Carlos, either, so he must have gone off the freeway westward into the suburbs somewhere before that. He'd left the chopper behind and wrecked most of the cars pursuing him. They'll be cleaning up the freeway for hours. The whole Bay Area's going to have the traffic jam of the century—no, the millennium!"
"Sounds like it! Oh, there's my car!" The Cobra emerged at the top of the slope and the winch eased down until all four tires sat on the road. "The damage's not too bad this time, at least to the working parts…oh, man, look at that scrape!"
The right side was nearly bare of paint on the door and badly dented, with traces of Buff's red color here and there. Compared to it, the left side didn't look so bad, though it too was dented.
"Well, at least Bean took a little punishment, too, because May got off one good shot at the car. She's a hero!"
"Oh, uh…if she's got any more grenades…"
"Only the toy ones. She used up all the frag bombs. I don't think anyone's going to get technical today!" Policemen hovered awestruck around May as she retold the whole fight, baring her teeth and shadow-boxing. "But I know what you mean. We'll be careful. OK, I'm going to head south." She got out her keys.
"What?"
"I want to check out the road. I might get some idea where he's gone."
"Oh, my…well, OK, I guess that's what the FBI would want you to do. You're going to take some cars with you, I hope?"
"Sure I will. I'm not stupid! Talk to you later, Roy." She handed back the radio and called, "Who wants to escort me for a while? I'm going to scout the road." Three burly cops leaped in her direction, grinning, and she gave them an OK sign. "Thanks, guys! I'm going to feel totally safe!" She turned to May. "Ride back with one of the Frisco cars, honey. I think Junior's had enough excitement for one day!"
"Awww…well, OK. Good thing he actually gave a damn about the baby!"
"Yeah…" Rally got in her car and considered that. Bean hadn't lost every sense of principle. He'd put her and May on his shit list; that didn't make him a different person. She had seen the face he showed to enemies…in a way.
As May had said, Bean looked miserable under the ferocity. This wasn't a fight he relished, in the way he liked to dust it up with almost anyone else. That might be the only reason she had no injuries other than a stiff knee. His heart wasn't in this.
Rally closed her eyes for a moment, mind in turmoil. If Bean only found out that she hadn't stolen the money, he would probably have no more reason to continue this apparently unwelcome feud. She thought he wished, very deeply, that he didn't have to uphold his honor this way. But he'd believed it of her so easily. Could she ever forgive him for that, if he ever asked her for forgiveness? She had no idea.
"We going?" asked an officer, rapping on her window.
"Yeah," said Rally, smiling and starting the engine. "Let's roll!"
"You all right, May?" Roy put down his slice of pizza.
"Me? Just great. Fine and dandy, thanks." She grabbed a slice of pepperoni and bit fiercely into it. "Man, I'm starving! Wasted a whole sandwich! Thanks for having this waiting for me!"
"That chase shake you up? I gather this hasn't been the kind of vacation you anticipated." Roy got up and fetched May a glass of water from the bathroom of his hotel room, then sat by the table where they ate, a takeout box between them.
"No, it hasn't been," said May through a mouthful. "Though I had some fun tossing poppers at Bean! But missing amusement parks is one thing. THIS stinks." She put the pizza slice down and rested her chin on her hands.
"Brown? Yeah, it stinks."
"Brown..."
"You were thinking of something else?"
"…Bean."
"I hear you used to like Bean all right. I'm sorry he turned out to be…"
"I used to, yeah..."
"I gather this was in character for him, though. Walking off with the suitcase. Forcing you off the road. And going for Rally."
"Maybe."
"Minnie-May?"
"Oh...nothing." She poked at her slice of pizza and peeled off one piece of pepperoni. "I thought I knew something about him, but I guess I didn't."
"What makes you say that?"
"Oh, Roy..." Her eyes began to fill.
"Hey, kid." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Ol' Roy's here. We'll figure this out. Rally's not sunk, not by a long shot. The FBI will see reason."
"Yeah, whatever."
"What on earth is getting to you, May? Something about Bean?"
"I should have stuck with her on the job—getting Brown. I should have insisted on going along. Then this wouldn't have happened...or at least I could have done something to prevent it! I wouldn't have been snoring away in a hotel room while she was all alone out there..." She slumped into her seat, rounded stomach protruding.
"Alone?"
May sat up and sniffled into the back of her hand. "Roy, you know something about criminals. How do you tell what kind of crimes they're capable of? I mean...are there some guys that won't do certain things even though they'll do anything else? Or is a criminal just a criminal?"
"Uh..."
"I mean, take Bean for an example. Would you think he was capable of hurting someone...like someone he knew, who was a friend? Just to be an asshole, if he got mad?"
"I don't know Bean that well, May. I can't say I'd put much past him, though. I mean, look at what he did today."
"I didn't think so."
"I know he tries to protect children. That's common among men of his stripe. Beyond that, I doubt he draws the line—Rally told me he intended to kill Brown at first. A man who's capable of cold-blooded murder is probably capable of most other crimes."
May nodded, her expression grim.
"What do you think he's done, kid?" Roy's voice was quiet, but his eyes were hard.
"I don't have any real proof, Roy."
"What do you have, then?"
"Just...a smell. He sort of admitted it today…yeah, I'm sure he did. And she wouldn't tell me what happened. I know she's holding something back."
"Yes?"
"Oh, God, Roy. I think Bean raped Rally."
The detective's face went pale as his eyes widened. "Holy name."
"I smelled something in her car. She seemed really disturbed when I asked her what happened after he found the suitcase. I'm positive someone had sex in there recently, and it's a little hard to imagine who else it could have been. And it's impossible for me to imagine that she did it of her own free will."
"May..."
"What? You don't think she--"
"She liked him, May. Before all this happened. You didn't see them together, did you?"
"N-no...but she's not the kind to get physical! She was OK with him for a while when he was a good sport about the bet, but then she got mad when he asked her to go partners! She's been torqued off at him for months."
"She wasn't a couple of days ago. She was laughing and joking with him."
"Really?"
"I'm afraid so." Roy made a face. "I warned her about that. Um...I overreacted, in point of fact. It looked to me as if they were already lovers, but Rally assured me they weren't."
"She told me the same thing Tuesday evening. I was teasing her about him and she blew her lid. And, um, Roy, you might not know this about her..."
"Huh?"
"She's a virgin. Or...she was."
"May, that's none of my business—"
"It is if Bean attacked her when he found the money in her car! It doesn't matter if she thought she liked him! He could still get angry and HURT her!"
"You have a point." Roy's face darkened. "What's your evidence?"
"The smell in her car. It smelled like him in there, Wednesday evening, as if he'd been exerting himself and sweating. That would have been only about eighteen hours later. And it smelled like semen."
Roy's face grew even darker. "Go on."
"Well, I didn't see anything on the upholstery or anything like that. But his driving gloves were under the passenger seat. And she acted so strange when I mentioned it...I shouldn't have just blurted it out like that! She had bruises on her arms and on her back and chest the morning after the fire—plus really bad ones around the wrists. Someone with big hands held her so tight she got his fingerprints on her skin. I helped her shampoo, and there was a monster goose egg right on the back of her head. That would have been a blow hard enough to stun her, and...um…well, you're a police officer. I can tell you."
"Go on."
"She was sore between her legs—her vaginal entrance was swollen and tender. I know that for a fact, Roy. She denied that he'd done anything to her. I know she's lying. Bean said something when he was waving that knife around, about giving her another nice big piece of himself. And he grabbed his crotch when he said it."
Roy gritted his teeth, his breath rasping. "You think she'd shield him if he actually had raped her?"
"She's very independent. There are all kinds of things she doesn't tell me. She might think it will just go away if she ignores it. She might not want to admit that she made a mistake trusting him and that you were right, that he was dangerous. She might be ashamed that she was ever that vulnerable."
"Why wouldn't she just have pulled a gun on him, if he threatened her?"
"I don't know. But if he was determined, she would have had to kill him to stop him. Maybe she couldn't bring herself to do that."
"What?" Roy looked disbelieving, but it mixed with dawning horror. "If a guy like that came at me with violent intentions, I wouldn't think twice about killing him. It's not like she's a novice at this."
"She hated the fact that she'd killed Huang and that all those people were dead, including Brown. Maybe she couldn't face killing someone else that night. She's known Bean for a long time, and if you're right, maybe she did like him. By the time she sorted all that out, it could have been too late to do anything to stop him. If he disarmed her, he could do anything to her that he wanted to do—I mean, look at him. Rally's fast and strong, but that man's a monster."
Roy put a shaking hand on his lowered head, then over his tautening lips for a moment. "This is all speculation, kid."
"I know it is. But you believe me anyway, don't you?" May started to cry.
"There's no physical evidence by now." Roy's face was stiff. "The FBI went all over the car last night and surely destroyed it, if there ever was any, and she didn't have an exam at the time, obviously. I couldn't arrest anyone on this. Especially if the victim denies that the crime ever took place. He knows her, he was angry with her, they were all alone. It sounds like a perfect scenario for a retaliatory rapist, but that's psychiatry and not evidence. It wouldn't stand up in a court of law..." His face contorted, tears of helpless fury starting in his eyes.
"You are not a judge or a jury."
"No, I'm not." Roy reached into his jacket, took out his .38 Special and laid it on the table with deliberation. "I'm a cop. God save me from becoming an executioner." He crossed himself and folded his hands in silent prayer.
"Dear God, what a mess…" sighed Rally, looking around at the wreckage of half a dozen SFPD cars that spread over the highway south of the airport. "How'd he do it?"
"D-damn, lady," said a shaky young patrolman. "I thought I was gonna lose bladder control! He slipped right in among the pack and started bashing side to side…he forced me to crash into O'Neill and White, and he sent Nguyen off the road and into the soundwall. Then he stopped short and let Lieutenant Nakamitsu plow right into his back end, and Beltran hit the lieutenant's car…and he didn't look even dented! What is that car, anyway? Some kinda CIA secret weapon?"
"He had it built for him." Rally shook her head, then did a double take. "Oh, my God! That Officer White!" She dashed over and jogged alongside a stretcher two paramedics were rolling to an ambulance. A tall blonde officer lay strapped to a backboard, his forehead scraped and bloody; one of the San Francisco patrolmen who had responded to the call at the Eight Dragon Delight. "Oh, no! How badly is he hurt?"
"Might have a couple of broken vertebrae," said one of the paramedics. "His car went straight into the ditch. Too soon to know if he'll have any paralysis."
"Is that Rally Vincent?" said White weakly.
"Yes, it's me. How are you doing?"
"Just get that guy, OK? He's a menace. No, he's insane. Why doesn't he like you any more?"
"Long story, Officer." The paramedics loaded the stretcher into their van, folding the legs up and sliding White inside. "I'm going to get him, all right. If it's the last thing I do." Rally watched the doors close and the ambulance drive away. Flatbeds were loading the black-and-whites and hauling them away, but glass and metal lay strewn in every direction. When she got back into her Cobra, she had to pick her path carefully to avoid a flat. Her three-car escort followed.
Rally continued south on 101, her view obstructed by soundwalls in the residential areas. High-tech companies and dot-coms in new office buildings lined the road elsewhere, obscuring the mountains to the west and the bay to the east. Further south the highway was open to traffic, and jammed solid. Even the police sirens, intermittently fired off, couldn't open a path.
Rally crept along in bumper-to-bumper between two squad cars with another flanking her on the right, wondering what the fuming motorists around her would do if they knew she was one of the causes of the backup. String her up to the nearest Caltrans sign, probably!
Her radio crackled. "Miss Vincent? They tell me you're scouting the freeway the way he went. Glad to see you're showing some initiative."
"Gosh, Agent Smith, I felt I'd participated so little, only following him for a few miles and getting run off an embankment! The whole time he was coming at me with a knife, I was thinking, man, I'm just not doing enough on the FBI's behalf today!"
She heard a snort and low chuckling. "Frankly, I'm impressed. How you little ladies got away from that guy passes me. What, did you start crying or something?"
"No. I don't cry, Agent Smith. It doesn't accomplish much. I'm stuck in traffic right now, somewhere in Burlingame. I'd take a surface street, but according to the local news station, they're all congested too, since people are working around the 101 southbound barriers on other routes and making it back on the freeway north of here. I don't know the roads anyway. He went this way, so I'm going this way."
"Oh, he must have doubled back. We figure he's trying for the airport."
"The airport? Why?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Smith sounded smug. "He'll ship the car—we have an alert out at the air freight offices—and then hop a flight east. There are agents at every check-in desk. So I'm afraid you're stuck in the jam for nothing. Better turn around…if you can." He chuckled.
"No. He doesn't fly."
"What? It's the best way out. It's plain as day."
"Agent Smith, he told me he never flies. He hates the very idea. He doesn't fit in the seats."
"We've got this all set up." Smith sounded impatient and resentful. "Everything's in place. Agents swarming the terminals."
"That's right," Wesson broke in. "We planned this all very carefully, Ms. Vincent. Please recall that we are experienced agents, not bounty hunters. FBI training—"
"Well, I'm sorry you went to all that trouble. If you'd asked me—"
"You'd have given us your advice," said Smith. "Fine, you've given it. If you want to go on a wild goose chase…or crawl…you can do that. Hope you get back in time for the snatch."
"You made me sign my life away for this? So you could dismiss what I tell you?" Rally's face felt hot, and she had never hated Smith, Wesson and even the FBI more than at that moment. "What on earth did you want my expertise for, if you don't even care about what I know?"
"Calm down, sugar. Do I hear some tears there? We'll see you sometime this evening, I guess. Have a nice drive." Smith signed off.
"OOOOooohh!" gasped Rally. "That chauvinist pig ASSHOLE! That self-righteous know-it-all!" She made horrible faces at her rear-view mirror and thumped her forehead on the steering wheel a few times. "I wish it was THEM Bean wanted to slice up and kill! I'd like to see THEM scrambling on the grass away from a huge guy with a switchblade! It's a looong time since SMITH saw combat! He'd probably have browned his JEANS! OOOooohh…"
She eventually calmed down by imagining Smith running and screaming like a woman while Bean carved Wesson into bite-size pieces and ate them off the end of his knife. "Heh heh heh…OK, that's enough of that! Take out the aggression on the job at hand!"
"OK, this is San Mateo?" she asked her radio, which she had tuned to the patrol cars's frequency. "There's another bridge across the bay in a few miles, isn't there?"
"Yes, ma'am. They had a blockade set up on the eastbound approach until a little while ago."
She peered at a slowly passing road sign. "So you take the off-ramp for Highway 92 east to get to the bridge. Where does 92 go, westbound?"
"Over the mountains and to Half Moon Bay and the beaches. About fourteen, fifteen miles to the coast. Nothing much over there but the ocean and a lot of artichoke farms."
"Hmm…" Rally examined the buildings to her right; the city rose up foothills that reached a crest a couple of miles from the highway. "You know, if I wanted to wait and see if I was going to get stopped on this bridge, I might take the road in the opposite direction and find a place on those hills where I could watch with binoculars. Yeah, looks like some good lines of sight from there. I'm taking 92 west for a little while…if I can get over to the right in time! Sheesh!"
Even a driver of Rally's caliber had trouble squeezing through the monstrous traffic, and by the time she reached the 92 off-ramp, the afternoon was wearing on. She sighed as she inched up a high flyover on the way to 92 west, surrounded by police cars. Bean was probably long gone. She wouldn't get a chance at him until she got back to Chicago. "OK," she told the officers. "It's probably too late now. We can turn around as soon as it's possible."
She tapped her fingers on the wheel and fiddled with the car radio, trying to find a decent station. A few feet lower than the ramp she was on, eastbound 92 crossed 101 on another flyover on the way to the bridge, no more than twenty feet away. That too was packed solid with cars inching in the direction opposite to hers. She amused herself for several minutes by naming make, model and year on every vehicle she could see.
1988 Ford 5.0 Mustang, with sunburned paint. A brand-new 1999 Cadillac Eldorado, shiny and pearly. A 1972 Volkswagen Beetle, well-restored. A 1997 Thunderbird, a 1998 Mustang Cobra—no comparison, she thought—a 1995 Honda Accord. A black Hummer. Plenty of boringly new BMWs, Lexuses, and Mercedes, with a fair sprinkling of 1970s Camaros in primer.
"Oooh," she said aloud, "Look at that mid-year 'Vette convertible! What a pretty car." It was dark, sparkling blue with the hardtop on in spite of the sunny day—a 1967 big-block with a serious hood bulge. The color, for some reason, reminded her of the beautiful earrings she had forced Brown to take back, the ones that matched her eyes. "Wonder what the engine is on that gorgeous thing? An L-72? Oooh…"
She was too far away to read the badging. "Who's the lucky owner? Hope he appreciates what he's got." Rally peered through the windshield as the car slowly approached on the 92 flyover. It was a man wearing a shapeless red and gold 49ers jacket. His baseball cap's bill obscured his face as he stared off to his right, away from her.
"Some dot-com multimillionaire, probably." She shook her head in admiration. "That car must have cost…well, if it's all original, at least a hundred grand. Wow, I'd love to test-drive something like that!"
The car came nearer and slid into the left lane, closest to her. Corvette and Cobra moved almost directly opposite each other as they both eased forward, and Rally strained to read the tiny chrome lettering on the side of the power bulge. The driver looked up, and she stared directly into Bean's eyes from twenty feet away.
Her mouth dropped open and her heart raced; she grabbed for her police radio handset. Bean recognized her at the same moment; apparently he had just spotted the Cobra, though she had seen the Corvette coming for some minutes as she checked out the cars.
His face, which had held a moderate meditative frown, twisted in surprise and consternation. Instantly his alerted gaze took in the police cars front and back of her and the handset in her grasp. Bean glared daggers at her. As his car crawled forward with other bumpers inches from his on all sides, his eyes darted for an escape route, but there was nowhere he could go. The highway flyover he sat on soared forty feet above the ground, and the traffic was so dense that even he was nearly immobilized.
He balled a fist and hit his steering wheel in frustrated anger, sharp teeth grinding together like a trapped animal's. Rally still held the radio handset, her thumb on the switch but not pressing it hard enough to activate.
If he ever asked her for forgiveness. "He looked that unhappy?" "What the hell are you hanging around me for, Bean Bandit?" "What's the deal with always getting in my way up close and personal?" "I don't care if you know I can get blindsided." "Sorry about that comment—I could tell he likes you." "You know well as I do that you ain't gonna go back on a handshake." "For which of them would he sacrifice several hundred thousand dollars in annual income?" "You didn't tell me he wants you so badly." "We're asking you to help us get him into the Eight Dragon Triad." "What the hell am I supposed to think? How the hell am I supposed to know what to do about it? Will you give me a clue once in a while?" "Oh, plenty. But they want to make him into much more of a criminal than he is already—" "Just can't keep my hands off you, beautiful lady. Feels like they ought to stay there." "Oh, God, Roy, he could end up DEAD!" "He could have killed me with his bare hands, but he didn't." "Well, I won't have any qualms about him, will I?" "I didn't think you were that kind of woman. Reckoned ya knew your own mind." "What's that old proverb? Save someone's life and he becomes your responsibility?" "How long have you been in love with Bean?"
Bean's car had almost passed hers, his head swiveling to look at her. Rally held out the handset where he could see it, slowly shook her head at him and let it fall on the seat, mute.
His eyes went wide. Shocked. Suspicious. When she held his gaze with hers, her face settling into a guarded, quiet expression, she saw something surface in his eyes: doubt, perhaps. A suggestion of distrust of his own convictions, a gentle shaking at the roots of his settled assumptions.
But before she could tell how that tiny seedling would grow, or if it would wither unnourished in the dark places of his mind, the traffic moved on.
