Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
By
E. S. Young
Chapter Forty-Nine: Beyond Enemy Lines
Oy vey… so, so late with this chapter… -.-; I really thought I would have posted sooner than this because I didn't have that much farther to go with Impromptu. I had planned on finishing up Chapter II, posting it, and then getting right back to work on this. However, speech league decided to interfere once again as did unexpected rehearsals for the musical I'm currently in. 9.9;; Speech league, at long last, is over but now I have musical practice to deal with. -.e And the damn director can't seem to get a schedule written up…so I never know when I'm having practice until the last minute. The good thing is, rehearsals are only a little over an hour long (albeit, come May, they'll probably stretch on into four hours 9.9;;). It's just aggravating when I don't know whether or not I've got anything going on in the evenings. I like being organized and having a schedule, as you may have already deduced. Apparently, to my director, this matter is an insignificant one. -.e;;;
With two beautiful women flanking each side, one would have thought Sands' luck had finally picked up. Unfortunately, the woman on his right was in no mood to 'get down and funky' and the one to his left happened to be his sister, whose partner in kinky indulgence, as Sands now called him, was standing right behind her. Joséphine had not been seen since Ajedrez's ambush, though Sands suspected the child had been hauled off to her bedroom to await her punishment. And, in a way, he felt as though he was doing the exact same thing by sitting in front of a large, mahogany desk while a Mafia leader stared him down.
Édouard Poisson wasn't all he was cracked up to be. True, his well nourished muscles were visible beneath his layers of clothing, but the white dress shirt and black dinner jacket, though an elegant combination together, seemed casual when they were thrown together with a pair of khaki pants. But the insouciant façade he was trying to achieve shattered the moment Sands locked eyes with the aging Mafia don. At once any traces of an easy-going man were fiercely chiseled away by the heartless, constricted face that swam in front of him.
Though spare, the lines that branched off of each corner of Poisson's eyes were deep, as were the ones that flanked his tightly clenched jaw. Unlike the lines that many parade when they age, the crevasses that ran along Édouard Poisson's features were not caused by laughter, but by grueling bitterness and acrimony that extended far beyond the man's years. A pit of manic cruelty had been ignited within the man, and now it burned brightly in his eyes, simmering with barbarity.
Barbarity that was being directed at Zebbidy, Sands noted, intrigued.
Wonder what that's about…?
He's probably still brooding over her running away at the party.
True. He seems like the type who'd hold a grudge.
And you aren't?
I meant over something pointless, Sands shot tonelessly, tired, aggravated, and not in the mood for the voice's bantering. He cast a sidelong glance to his right, glimpsing Zebbidy and noting the stark contrast of her creamy complexion and how her auburn tresses shown red the dim light of the room. Her small hands were folded quietly on her lap and Sands noticed that she had chosen to stare at them rather than meet the eyes of Édouard Poisson. Zebbidy bit her lip, flexing her fingers in an attempt to distract herself from looking at anyone.
Shaking the sense back into his head, Sands switched his gaze to Zebbidy's counterpoint. Compared to the redhead's soft curves, Ajedrez appeared almost overly voluptuous – not that Sands would have minded had the irresistible urge to decapitate seized him the moment he laid his eyes on her.
Settled comfortably in the lap of her fiancé, (who was in turn seated leisurely on one of the couches that flanked each wall of the office) Ajedrez appeared to be rather disinterested with the whole scene. But when she caught Sands looking at her all of her boredom evaporated as a knowing smirk stretched across her alluring face. Her smile was cool, smug…so haughty. Undoubtedly she was feeling high and mighty now that she had sunk her claws into him again… Set up an ambush and brought him, Lynné, Zebbidy, and Liam to Edouard Poisson (her 'partner in crime')… Thrown them at his feet… Successfully played and screwed him over.
Or so she thought.
As well crafted as her plan seemed it was really rather redundant. Instead of finding a new way to torment him, Ajedrez was merely recreating a past event.
'Event.' Yeah. Be great to relive that one again.
Really, I thought she had more taste than that.
You give the bitch more credit than she's worth, the voice sniffed disdainfully.
What pisses me off is that she thinks she's got me. She's so damn…overly confident…and that's her major flaw.
So you're going to escape. It was a statement, not a question.
I plan on it, yeah.
Good boy, the voice praised dryly. Just one thing: How, exactly, do you plan on leaving when you've got the bitch, her lapdog – Sands cast a glance at Adrián and barely restrained his mouth from twisting into a wry smirk; his replacement couldn't even hope to compare to him. Dumb and Dumber, the voice remarked of Édouard and Alphonse, eyeing each Poisson in turn. As well as the pair of henchmen that are undoubtedly positioned outside the door.
Not that I don't have the utmost confidence in you, it amended, though its tone would suggest otherwise. I'm just curious to know how you plan on making your get-away after considering the problems at hand.
First, Sands drawled lazily, we're gonna need some noise.
"Oh, God…"
"Kitty? You all right?"
"A chair just made contact with my skull – do you think I'm all right?" Catherine snapped. She winced, immediately regretting the intensity of her volume. Her head throbbed with a sickening rhythm, sending her insides reeling on an endless wave of nausea. There were no doubts in Cat's whirling mind that, had she a mirror, she would have been able to see the growing welt on her head, and watch as it pulsated with every aching second. With her eyes cinched shut in pain Cat tilted her head back and let it sink into the soft, luxurious cushions behind her, all the while ignoring her future husband as he prowled Édouard Poisson's living room, preparing to thrust another tirade upon her narrow shoulders.
"How the hell could you have let your guard down like that?" Richard Harrington demanded, a vein vibrating furiously in his temple. "The bitch was strapped to a table! For Christ's sake, Kitty, how hard is it to keep a bound woman from escaping?"
"You're not experienced with Lynné," Cat shot, careful to keep her voice at a low. "She'll deceive you when you. You'll think you have her, but then, when you least expect it, she'll turn everything around on you."
"She was drugged!" Harrington bellowed, outraged.
"It doesn't matter!" Catherine yelled back, springing to her feet. At once she was back on the couch, wincing at thousands of red-hot needles were stabbed into the crown of her skull. Between the exhausting qualms and through the gossamer haze of pain, she could make out Richard, her partner…her fiancé…glaring down at her in tacit disdain.
Had she really been foolish enough to expect sympathy from Richard? Of course not. Even if she had let her whore of a stepsister get away – which she hadn't; Fusco's sudden change of heart hadn't been expected – Cat was no fool. Yet Richard treated her as though she were one. And now that Lynné had slipped away, whether she was aware of it or not, she had once again cast the light of idiocy upon Catherine.
"You should get some ice for that," her fiancé commented insouciantly with a glance to Cat's bloodied abscess.
The merciless lump on her head continued to resonate with every second, blinding her with its unyielding plague of agony and sickening malaise. Yet through her increasing, unbearable torture, Catherine saw Richard Harrington standing in front of her, his arms crossed and his heart awash with contempt. A feral growl reverberating in her throat, its low, guttural tone echoing throughout the room, Catherine bared her teeth, digging her nails into her scalp, and issued a chilling, venomous hiss.
"Bite me."
Lynné wasn't sure what to wear: the mask of vengeance and uncontrollable scorn or the one of wide-eyed fright that gave her a pitifully meek appearance. The former ventured much closer to her true feelings, but the latter was wonderfully deceptive…
Ho hum, what's a girl to do?
In the end, she settled on a cool façade of indifference. This way, she figured, everyone would ponder over her vacuous face, wondering what she was really thinking and how to pry away the mask that hid those thoughts.
Poisson, it seemed, had adopted a similar expression. Although, while blank and unrevealing as it was, his mask harbored a harsh brutality that, though subtle, could still be seen lurking within the steely gray depths of his eyes.
Lynné, however, merely appeared to be bored with the whole situation, as if she had had to endure the same scenario tine and again, which (to an extent) she had. This was all part of the job, she told herself. Yes, being hauled in before an over-bearing, power-hungry potential dictator was all part of the job.
And don't make this out like it's my fault.
Who the hell else am I gonna blame? Fusco?
Knock yourself out. Serves the little prick right for not letting me in on his plan.
I though you forgave him.
Fuck no. You mean to tell me that for once you weren't listening?
You weren't either. Had you been paying attention, however, I'm sure you would have heard the bitch and put a bullet in her oversized ass.
I've been injected with Christ only knows how many drugs, so you'll forgive me if I have trouble staying lucid enough to hear Ajedrez when she chews her nails.
True, the voice allowed. After all, you've yet to pick up on that tapping sound, so I suppose I can –
Wait – tapping?
Yes, the voice seethed, thoroughly disgusted with Lynné's ignorance. God, what did they give you, anyway?
But Lynné wasn't listening. With as much strength as her weary body would allow, she forced each and every one of her wandering thoughts to focus on the noise and seek out its source. It didn't take her very long to discover that the answer was right beside her.
Come on, Lyn. Now is not the time to piss around…
She's probably too doped up to notice you.
No. If there's one thing that annoys Lyn, it's a repetitive tattoo.
So you plan on pissing her off so she'll whip out a gun and blow Poisson's ass away?
Now, what would be the point of that, especially if she doesn't have a gun?
Slowly, carefully Sands raised his index finger and continued to send out a message in a light, abrupt series of taps. Morse code. It hadn't been part of his CIA training, but he'd be damned if he hadn't added it to his list of capabilities. Along, Sands added, the corners of his mouth pulling into an insolent grin, with Lynné. It had been her idea, actually, to learn Morse code. Sands had been skeptical, but only at first. Information, tricks, or skills were rarely passed down, especially if they bore the markings of a potential use.
Now, with the nail of his finger making sharp contact with the wooden edge of his seat, he drummed out a crisp note – nothing too fancy lest Lynné's mind was dwindling – and sent it to his sister.
For a moment, he thought that the susurration of the tapping – a mere splinter, hardly enough to puncture the tension in the atmosphere – had bypassed Lynné, for his sister's line of view remained fixated straight ahead, focused on the brooding Edouard Poisson. But then, with only the slightest, most miniscule hint of movement, Lynné tilted her head to the right.
Isn't it strange, the voice mused thoughtfully. She's been in your presence for a good half hour, now…and she only has one leg.
Point being?
Well… if I recall correctly…you've only ever seen her with two.
So he had. The voice was right. Strange how it had never occurred to him before. There hadn't been a time when he had seen Lynné with only one leg. She always wore the prosthetic one, even while she slept. Yet…she had taken it off. Once. Months ago – hell, nearly a year ago, now. But he had been unable to see her without it, because, as it turned out, the very same man who had been responsible for the butchering of Lynné's leg…had also taken the liberty of removing his eyes.
Behind Lynné stood Liam Fusco, gripping the back of his partner's chair so tightly it threatened to splinter. Picturing this, Sands felt certain that he would have found the scenario comical had the setting been less threatening and more easy-going. Still, he couldn't help but admit that it was rather ballsy of the agent to stand so protectively over Lynné – to stand near her at all.
"Monsieur Poisson," Liam stumbled, his speech broken under the choleric mobster's gaze. "I… I a-assure you, I ne-never –"
"Never what?" Ajedrez's sultry, honey-coated voice floated from the couch, an indolent sound that somehow pierced the uneasy ambience of the room. "Betrayed us?" she queried. "Mislead us? Lied?" One by one, she filched possibilities from Liam's gaping mouth, wicked elation shining brightly in her eyes.
With Ajedrez's peruse ebbing away at his decorum, Liam's anxiety was obvious. He wanted so badly to look into Lynné's eyes and find… not an answer or reassurance, but a faint glimmer of brazen boldness – a mellow self-confidence that inspired him to believe that there was a possibility of a getaway. But his partner's back was to him, her dark eyes analyzing Édouard Poisson, and Liam knew he would have to settle for Lynné's long, glossy brown tresses. They weren't as allaying (or as pretty) as Lynné's eyes, but they would have to do.
He cleared his throat. Beside him, Sands idly tapped the arm of his chair.
"I didn't betray you," Liam explained to Poisson, refusing to let his voice cede to his panicked emotions.
"You bludgeoned Mademoiselle Johnson," Poisson began slowly, "over the head…with a chair."
"She was…about to perform a lobotomy on Lynné," Liam blurted before he could stop himself. "And… Señorita Barillo –" he gave a nod to Ajedrez, who scowled deeply " – had strictly forbidden her to do so, uh, so …I was…merely…respecting her wishes," he finished with flourish. He beamed, almost ready to dare Poisson to challenge him.
A sudden hush befell the room, bathing its occupants in a veil of breathless apprehension that clung to their skin as their pores soaked it in like a massive, invisible sponge. As if fully submerged in the heavy mood, everyone held their breath, feeling their chests begin to constrict and twinge sharply. And just when lungs seemed ready to burst from lack of oxygen, Édouard Poisson spoke, his voice acting as a hand that pulled them from their abashed suffocation.
"It seems to me, Agent Fusco…" His tone was cool, calculating, and made a clean cut through the air. "…that you were protecting this woman, rather than ensuring that Señorita Barillo's wishes be fulfilled."
Liam blanched, opening his mouth wide but making no sound.
"If I may intervene? Thanks," Lynné suddenly proposed without awaiting a response and raising her hand like a child in school. Poisson snapped to attention, fixing his steely eyes on the slender brunette across from him. Lynné met his gaze easily. "This is just speaking from experience, but in all the years I've known Fusco – " Liam cringed inwardly; she was still using his last name " – he has proved himself to be the most nervous, cowardly, hopelessly dim human being I have ever encountered."
Again, Liam winced, and this time everyone saw.
"However," Lynné went on smoothly, "he has also always been a gentleman, showing a great deal of respect to the –" she gave a light cough that could have been a laugh " – fairer sex. And so, it is possible that he wanted to spare Señorita Barillo from anger and also keep me from harm." She gave a faux-naïf shrug. "It's the gentlemanly thing to do."
"If he is such a gentleman," Poisson seethed, "then why did he feel the need to bash Agent Johnson over the head with a metal folding chair?"
"Father! Calm dow –"
"Not now, Alphonse!" Poisson railed, throwing off his son's arm, his gray eyes flashing in anger. "Agent Fusco," he seethed, rounding on Liam. "She is a lady, is she not? Why, then, would he strike her unless he had an ulterior motive?"
"Sir, I am confident that there was no other motive involved," Sands put in dryly, "cuz as I've said before, Cat's no lady." He glanced at Liam. "Even Fusco would know that."
"Monsieur?"
"Shh… silencieux, ma petite," a man said gently. There was a fleeting image of someone pressing their index finger to their lips in a gesture of silence, but forceful questions shoved the mental picture away.
"Qui sont vous – "
"Joséphine," another man ordered. His tone was soft, yet there was a commanding air to the voice that made the little girl obey. There was also the familiarity to consider. A deep tenor with rounded syllables made crisp with exposure to upscale parties and cultured affiliates. She recognized the man instantly.
Tentatively, she dared to venture, "Oncle Vincent?"
The response was gruff. "Oui." She pictured a nod of confirmation.
"Vous devez vous taire, Joséphine," warned Vincent.
Rather than heed her uncle's words, Joséphine pressed him further, albeit, she did lower her voice slightly. "Qui est avec vous?"
With a resigned sigh, Vincent gave her a grave reply.
"Un ami de la famille."
"I will ask you once, Agent Sands," Édouard Poisson explained. His tone was soft, but the danger still lurked within every word. "And I warn you, I do not care to repeat myself."
Sands merely shrugged, his guise languid, while inside his agitation was beginning to grow. This prick obviously has a flare for dramatics…
Against his chair, he tapped out: 'S-T-A-B…F-I-S-H…W-I-T-H…P-E-N…'
And, amazingly, he received a response, albeit, a brief one.
'C-O-O-L…I-T…'
"Why are you involved with my granddaughter?" Poisson suddenly demanded of Sands. The agent gave the smallest of jumps as the order hit him full-force, but he recovered so quickly the blunder was next to invisible. To his left, Lynné and Liam's eyebrows arched considerably at the peculiarity of Poisson's question. But it was the woman on the right that snagged Sands' attention. At the word 'granddaughter' Zebbidy's head had shot up, her auburn tresses tumbling down from their negligent ponytail as her eyes widened with nervous apprehension, and for the first time that night she looked up at Édouard Poisson.
Pushing his bemusement aside, Sands turned back to the Mafia leader and gave him a winning response.
"Excuse me?"
He ignored Lynné as she rolled her eyes and an indignant (if unladylike) snort from behind that undoubtedly belonged to Ajedrez.
"I merely meant that as an expression of my misunderstanding," Sands began with snide defense.
"Forgive me," Poisson apologized with equal sarcasm. "I didn't realize you were easily confused."
Not confused, just easily distracted, Zebbidy thought with a glance at Sands. The agent may not have noticed, but she had caught him in his earlier examination of her person. Now she watched as he gave Poisson a tight-lipped smile, apparently unmoved by the mobster's callow remark.
"It's not that I was confused," Sands countered smoothly. "I just thought your question was rather…off-topic. Besides, my involvement is obvious, and it's not as though I really had a choice in that matter. She followed Lyn – " he jerked a thumb at his sister " – home one day, and she's hung around ever since. Can't get rid of the brat."
"Strange," Poisson remarked. "I was under the impression she had been under the protection of your agency."
Sands waved a dismissive hand. "Please. The CIA doesn't know jack – they only think they do, overly confident bastards that they are. Which isn't a good quality to have, considering the line of work… Delusion and spy don't mesh well."
"You would know, being so experienced in both areas," came Ajedrez's snippy comment. Beside her, Adrián let out a short, forced laugh. If Sands felt anything towards either of them, he hid it behind a cool smirk.
"So the CIA knows nothing of her?" Poisson continued to press. "She is not under their protection, she was not feeding them information –"
"None that I'm aware of, no."
"Then why, I wonder, did you allow her to stay with you? What purpose could she have possibly held? Unless," he continued slowly, "you did have a use for her."
Sands raised a quizzical brow.
"Care to tell me what you're implying?"
"Monsieur Poisson, calm yourself," Ajedrez cut in, sliding gracefully off of the velvet upholstered couch and gliding soundlessly across the room. She leaned over next to Sands, her position giving the agent a very pleasing view, one that he refused to appreciate or even acknowledge. "I think what Édouard means to imply," she whispered silkily, her rounded syllables purring softly in Sands' ear, "is that you were sleeping…" Closer still, as if to kiss him. "…with the enemy."
Zebbidy's almond-shaped eyes became circular at this. She regarded Ajedrez with disgusted outrage, but before she could speak a word, Sands intervened.
"You think I'm screwing the kid?"
At this, a fountain of laughter streamed from Lynné's mouth. Behind her, Liam appeared to be torn between alarm and concern. His dark eyes never leaving Ajedrez's honey-brown ones, Sands pursed his sulky lips in amusement.
"I know I'm a swinger, baby, but even I have limits. Pedophilia is outta the question." Unless we're talking about the Olsen twins, but they're legal now, aren't they? "In short, sugarbuns," he said aloud, "no, I am not, nor have not had sexual relations with Joséphine."
"Joséphine?" Alphonse Poisson gasped, dumbfounded. Uncertain, he looked to Édouard for an answer. "Father…" His voice failed him and he was left to stand in bewilderment.
Poisson shook his head, squinting his eyes in crazed mirth. "Joséphine…" he murmured. "My…seven-year-old granddaughter… Je ne le crois pas… I was told you were an intelligence agency…"
"Common misconception," Lynné muttered dryly.
"Your agency never informed you?" Poisson asked, his tone disbelieving yet laced with twisted amusement all the same.
"Obviously not," Sands replied brusquely. "They have a habit of keeping important details from me."
Folding his ring encrusted, vein-gilded hands atop his polished mahogany desk, Édouard Poisson gave another light peal of deranged laughter. "Agent Sands, it appears that you have been kept in the dark for some time…"
Bitter, coppery fluid filled Zebbidy's mouth, and it was then that she realized that for the past five minutes she had been unconsciously consuming her own tongue. Beside her, Ajedrez Barillo's face was aglow with an imprudent smile that had been engaged by Poisson's jab towards Sands' short-lived handicap.
"You see, Agent Sands, I fear someone forgot to mention to you," Poisson began regally, "that Joséphine is not my only granddaughter."
Behind him, Alphonse's eyes glittered evilly. Ajedrez's face was so alight with sadistic mirth that Sands would not have been surprised if her entire head was suddenly engulfed in flames.
"So who's the other kid?"
"You know her," Ajedrez informed him. "You may have even slept with her."
"She is so very pretty, after all," Alphonse added with a foul sneer.
The maze of lines that had been carved into his semblance contorted upward into an insufferably sinister grin that made them feel as though they had descended into the very heart of Dante's inferno. Édouard Poisson shifted his devilish gaze just a fraction of an inch to his left, resting his steely gray eyes on the waifish, intelligent beauty of a redhead that sat but a mere foot away from him.
"Zebbidy. Would you care to explain?"
It's over! Finally! Dear gods, I am so terribly sorry for the wait, and with a cliffhanger chapter, too… you guys deserve so much credit for your patience. You really do. The next one should be up much sooner, although it really all depends on my schedule, damn insufferable choir directors… But until then, I suggest you guys go over the dreams Zebbidy has had about her past, mmkay? The next chapter is where they all come into play. Honestly, I'm surprised no one has picked up on anyone of this sooner or at least mentioned it in an earlier review, but…meh. Quick translation of the second-to-last scene before we move on to the Author's Thanks, since I know notall of you speak French :D I just felt that after doing an entire scene in French, it would be tacky to throw in those damned parenthesies.
"Monsieur?"
"Shh… quiet, little one," a man said gently. There was a fleeting image of someone pressing their index finger to their lips in a gesture of silence, but forceful questions shoved the mental picture away.
"Who are you– "
"Joséphine," another man ordered. His tone was soft, yet there was a commanding air to the voice that made the little girl obey. There was also the familiarity to consider. A deep tenor with rounded syllables made crisp with exposure to upscale parties and cultured affiliates. She recognized the man instantly.
Tentatively, she dared to venture, "Uncle Vincent?"
The response was gruff. "Oui." She pictured a nod of confirmation.
"You need to keep quiet, Joséphine," warned Vincent.
Rather than heed her uncle's words, Joséphine pressed him further, albeit, she did lower her voice slightly. "Who is with you?"
With a resigned sigh, Vincent gave her a grave reply.
"A friend of the family."
And now that you have all been spared from confusion...author's thanks!
Author's Thanks and Review Responses:
morph: Glad you liked Ajedrez's past. I've actually tossed around the idea of basing a short fic on her scenes in OUaTiM, taking them from her POV. Not sure if I'll do it since I'm still tackling this monster and possibly a sequel as well as Impromptu…but, maybe. 9.6; And, yes, poor Adrián. Even though I don't care for him all that much, I still can't help but feel a little sorry for him because he really has no idea just how strong his fiancée's thirst for vengeance is. If I do write a third story, El will most definitely be in it, rest assured ;D Wasn't really going anywhere with the PotC refs; they were meant for fun and fun alone. I was talking about Lyn and Liam's insistence that neither of them were kinky, when in actuality, they both are, but, like I said, it was impossible to identify that in the first chapter, so don't worry :)
Lynx Ryder: Zeb's not normally a hateful girl, but at the moment she wouldn't mind ripping Ajedrez's face off ;D That's true; aside from Zeb and, on extremely rare occasions, Lyn, Sands' mom is the only person who's ever truly cared about him. Poor boy…good thing I hooked him up with a caring individual, huh? And I'm glad you're willing to tolerate Liam now. He is on the side of the good…or…as good as Sands and Lyn can get, anyway ;D
Dawnie-7: Yes, when confusion ensues, honesty is always the best way to go especially if your trust is limited. 9.9 Nice to hear someone's finally visiting Lyn's DJ as well :)
fanfiction fanatic: lol, my review (assuming I ever get the chance to review, damn FFn -.e) are either short and to the point or long and drawn out, complete with details on what particular lines I liked the most. :D;; It all really depends on the story, really. But anyway… 'brilliant and annoying…' hmm….yes. I think I like the sound of that. It's usually how I feel when I'm reading a story and come to a cliffhanger. :) But I'll try not to keep you in suspence for too terribly long with this one. The last wait was just…redicuously long. 9.6;;
Only two chapters left, guys!
o