Disclaimer: I don't own this stuff. It's the property of Angela Robinson and Sony Pictures.

Chapter 3:

Monday was a bad day.

I woke up with a sharp pain in my side because I'd slept on a spring that was sticking out of the mattress, and my day just got worse from there.

By the time we stepped out of the shower, the phone was already ringing. It was Max letting us know that the drop had been made. I tell you, that girl has exactly two moods: pissed off, and angry. That wouldn't be so much a problem if her moods weren't obnoxiously contagious.

So, yeah, I guess you could say that I wasn't exactly in the most receptive mood when Amy told me that she should go to the pickup alone.

"You're joking, right?" I asked her. "I mean, you gotta be kidding; 'cause the Amy I know wouldn't even consider the possibility that I'd let her go into something like this on her own."

"Lucy…"

"No," I countered, "that's not an option."

"Lucy, if I get nabbed, you're the only one who can break me out," she explained, calmly, "if they grab you, there's no way I'm going to be able to find you; and frankly, I don't want to watch myself fail."

Okay, I admit it, she had a point. I can, however, be a little on the pigheaded side. I'd like to think that it's one of my little flaws that Amy finds endearing; but I doubt it. "They'd have to catch me first," I replied, stubbornly. "A whole team of DEBS, the CIA and the FBI put together couldn't do that; and that's when I didn't have you to back me up."

"Yeah, but you've been out of the game for four years," Amy pointed out.

Again, she had a point. See above, re: pigheaded. "I'm still better at my absolute worst than they are when they're at their best." I insisted, "case in point: your ex-boyfriend got his ass rather soundly kicked when I was a foot shorter, and about a gajillion pounds lighter than he is. And he had a gun."

"Lucy, I just don't want to lose you," Amy tried a softer touch this time.

Around about now, I figure I was about two steps from growing a pink curly tail and rolling around in the mud. "Which is exactly why I'm going in with you. I'm not gonna leave you in the lurch."

We continued back and forth for a while. I can't remember everything that was said, but it consisted largely of Amy telling me that I was being an idiot (and let's face it, she was right) in the way that only Amy can; and me being the stubborn pigheaded woman that Amy fell in love with; although I somehow doubt that those two are the first traits that she fell for.

Turns out I'm a little more stubborn than her, though.

The drop, of all places, was at a Greyhound station. It was in one of the lockers in the back corner, a few aisles back where nobody ever went.

Amy managed to unlock the locker without too much trouble, and handed me a large manila envelope.

For the most part, it was photographs taken from the scene. The driver of the BMW we'd creamed was listed in critical condition, but they thought he was going to make it. The DEBS had got their hands on the two occupants of the Buick, and were now in the middle of questioning him. I always wondered what that kind of interrogation would entail. And it would be worth seeing to find out if they'd found out anything. If the DEBS weren't able to break him, that might, on its own, tell me something. I looked down at one of the photographs; a picture of the Buick's driver. I tried to hide my reaction, but Amy's been around me far too long.

"That picture mean anything to you?"

"Yeah," I replied, "it means that we're in a lot of trouble."

We started walking out of the station, "I could've told you that without looking at the file," Amy said.

"Yeah, but how often do you hear me say it?" I asked, handing her the file.

"I take it you know these people?"

"Yeah, I know them they're…"

I never got to finish. With a loud metallic clang, I saw tiny pinpoints of light explode in my field of vision. I don't remember falling, but I remember being on the ground just before the world went black.

When the fog cleared, I was still lying on the ground. The manila envelope had been neatly placed right next to my left hand; it hadn't been dropped.

And Amy was nowhere to be seen.

I gotta hand it to Max. She's tough.

Sure, she went down with one punch, but I had to put just about everything I had behind that swing; and if I hadn't managed to take her by surprise, right as she stepped through the door to her bedroom, I probably wouldn't have even had that much.

Even so, she already had her hand on the revolver she had tucked into the waistband of her skirt by the time I was standing over her, my Beretta neatly aimed at the bridge of her nose. Her hand froze on the butt of the pistol, then slowly moved away from it. She can be borderline psychotic at times, but stupid, she's not.

"How'd you get in here?" She demanded.

Damn DEBS. So much faith in their security, so whenever someone manages to get through it, they ask the single most irrelevant question: how'd you get in? Frankly, my first question would be "why'd you get in?" But maybe that's just me. "I don't have time for twenty questions," I told her, "so I'll settle for one: where is she?"

"Who… Amy?" She faked confused pretty well.

I pressed the toe of my boot against her throat, keeping the pistol trained on her forehead. "Yes, Amy, dammit. Where is she?"

"Something's wrong with Amy?" At that, I hesitated a fraction of a second. I had to remind myself that she'd been trained to lie, cheat and deceive, but I had to admit that this one was pretty believable.

"You set us up," I replied, "now I dare you to lie to me."

"I set you up? What do you mean?"

"Recognize this?" I threw the manila envelope down beside her. "That's the dossier you left at the drop-off point. Someone knew we were coming there; and hit us when we got there. I got the lump on my head to prove it." I pressed a little harder with my foot, Max started to struggle to breathe, "and you're the only one who knew we were going there."

"Lucy, think about this," Max gasped, "if I was gonna set you up, why would I have them leave you behind? You, I'd set up in a cold minute, but do you honestly think I'd go after Amy instead?"

I let up the pressure a little. Admittedly, anything said at gunpoint is suspect, but the fact that I was here and Amy wasn't was a pretty strong argument in her favor.

I reached down and pulled the revolver out of her waistband; and tucked it into my inside jacket pocket. I took a step backwards, still training the pistol on her. "Sit down in the corner against the wall," I ordered, nodding to the wall, "sit on your hands, and bring your heels as close to your butt as you can. Feet flat on the floor." That put her as far as possible in the room from the Panic button that was installed next to the door, and sitting on her hands made it impossible for her to stand up before I shot her.

"What now?" she asked from her position on the floor.

"Now, we talk," I sat down in the chair next to the desk.

"What about?"

"The man who has her; his name is Ron Cockburn. Ronnie the Wrench; and trust me, you don't want to know how he got that nickname. I used to work with him whenever I had a job that required a little less finesse and a little more muscle," I told her.

"Thief?" She asked.

I shook my head, "thug," I replied. "But he's smart. Like, genius-smart. He's really good at finding the right kind of pressure to exert to make someone work for him; so if he's got Amy, it means he wants something from me; and trust me, he's thought it through to the last detail."

"You think he'll hurt her?"

I nodded, "he'll kill her and sleep very well the night that he does it; but he won't hurt her as long as he needs me. At the moment, I'm the only thing that's gonna keep her alive."

"And what do you need from me?" Max asked.

"Nothing. I trusted you once, I'm not going to make that mistake again," I replied.

"You honestly expect me to leave you to try to help my best friend while I just sit here?" Max demanded.

"No, I fully expect you to get your ass in the middle of it and get Amy killed," I countered. "If I need your help, you'll hear from me. But right now, either you double-crossed us, or someone in your organization did. Either way, I can't trust you." I turned toward the window and started to climb out.

"If anything happens to Amy," Max said, "I swear to you I will…"

I interrupted her, leaving the threat unvoiced, "if anything happens to Amy," I told her, "I'll let you."

Like I said, Monday was a bad day. When I made back to the motel room, it seemed so much emptier. It was the same sleazy, low-rent, roach-infested fleabag of a motel room that it had been that morning; but Amy had made that a little more bearable. The sheets had been changed that morning; so I can't tell you why I walked over to the bed and reached for it. Maybe I was trying to feel some kind of Amyness that had been left behind.

"Lucinda, I must say I'm surprised."

I spun around at the sound of the voice, my own Beretta as well as Max's revolver coming to bear on the arrival.

He stepped out of the shadows near the bathroom. If it was possible to speak with surgical precision, he would've done it. You could practically hear him spelling out every single word as he spoke it. Every vowel and consonant was clearly distinguishable, "Four years ago, I would never have been able to sneak up on you like this. You're losing your edge."

I held the two handguns on him for a moment. He was walking casually into the room, his hands clasped behind his back. He wasn't even carrying a weapon, the arrogant bastard. His light brown hair was parted exactly as I remembered it. His muscular arms, visible even under his dark gray suit, were clasped exactly as I remembered them. Even his tie was the same tie he'd worn when I last saw him. I guess some things never change. "Hi Ronnie," I replied, holstering the weapons. I glanced over at the clock just in time to see it click from 11:59 pm to midnight.

So, yeah. Monday was a really crappy day.

But at least it was over.