Chapter 18
3...2...1...1...2...3
Claire's gaze swept the parking lot, the Mustang keys clenched in her hand. She licked her lips in anticipation.
The car was parked in the handicap space, right where she said it would be. It was sleek and black and freshly waxed.
A woman loaded plastic bags into a minivan, and a man chatted on a cell phone as he wheeled a basket to a shopping cart return.
Agent James, guiding Claire's basket from the front, stepped onto the asphalt.
The next moment happened in a lightening strike flash, the squeal of tires, and a white delivery truck blur. Agent James' legs were upended. Shot horizontal. His body cartwheeled up and into the windshield. The glass cracked and buckled from the force of the impact. His body ricocheted off the fender like a deflated basketball.
James! Claire froze.
Minivan woman yanked her toddler into her arms and rushed toward James, yelling at the man stood dumbstruck at the cart return to call for help.
The delivery truck sped around the side of the store and disappeared in a cloud of muffler exhaust.
Claire's jaw dropped. Please be okay. I'm sorry, please be okay.
Minivan woman set her daughter on the ground and flopped to her knees. "Oh, my God! Don't move. Can you hear me? Don't move." She lowered her head next to James' face and her wide-eyed gaze drifted to Claire. "Hey! You! Do you know him? Is he with you? Help me."
Claire stumbled backward over a head of lettuce. "I'm sorry."
"Help me. I don't think he's breathing. Do you know CPR?"
Sirens wailed in the distance. Now, or never. Emergency services and the police would keep her tied up in reports and witness statements for the rest of the evening. She didn't have time to be accountable.
"He's not breathing!"
Claire looked at the Mustang. James. Minivan woman. Cart Dude. Sirens. He'll die. Shit! Decide! Not like this. No! Not like this.
She shoved minivan woman aside and rolled James onto his back.
"Pay attention. Do exactly what I say, exactly what I do. Tilt the head back, like this. Apply slight pressure with your palm on his forehead to keep it back. Pinch the nostrils closed with your forefinger and thumb. Regular inhale and exhale. You're not blowing up a balloon. Watch!" Claire covered James' lips and blew once, watched his chest gradually rise and fall, and then blew again.
She grabbed minivan woman's hands and placed them slightly above the notch on his sternum where the bottom ribs met the middle of James' chest.
"Palm over palm. Get on your knees. Keep your arms straight. One hundred beats per minute. Thirty compressions and then two, quick breaths. Hum the song Another One Bites The Dust. Go!"
"I can't...I'm going to hurt him. Why am I humming?"
"Do it! He's already injured. Arms straight! Don't bend your elbows. That's it. Faster."
Claire glanced over her shoulder. "Because the song is exactly one hundred beats per minute."
Sirens, and now flashing red lights cruised into the parking lot entrance.
Please be ok. They're coming. I'm sorry. She turned and broke for the Mustang, slid over the hood to the driver side, and yanked the door open.
Claire burned black tire smoke out of the parking lot, careened around a corner, and kicked the engine into third gear.
She ran a red light two blocks down, and merged onto the freeway entrance ramp with a shift into fourth.
The Mustang cut across two traffic lanes and veered into the fast lane. Claire tapped the clutch with her left foot and threw the shifter into fifth. Her right foot hit the gas, the pedal mashed against the floorboard as she accelerated. Hold on, Mr. Awesome. You may be stupid, but you're my stupid.
###
Rewind It Back
###
"Claire, Claire Redfield! It's been ages. You look fantastic!"
She was sucked into a bear hug. Her arms pinched to her waist.
Agent James looked up from the magazine rack.
"Don't struggle. Don't cause a scene. We're just two old friends who bumped into each other in the frozen food section," Ada whispered into her ear.
Claire caught a glimpse of Ada's reflection in the glass. She sucked in her breath. "Jesus...Your face. What the hell happened to your face?"
"Pick out a quart of store brand Rocky Road. Top shelf. The last container on the right hand side. Follow my lead. Turn down the feminine hygiene aisle. Your watchdog won't follow."
"Your teeth...They're-"
"Occupational injury. No Workmans Comp. Ready?"
"Ada-"
"Gosh, I haven't seen you since Chris's last party. What have you been up too?" She tousled Claire's hair. "Still red I see."
"Better red than black," Claire chimed. She reached into the freezer and felt for the suggested tub of Rocky Road. Her fingers brushed something cold and metal set atop a carton. Keys. She scooped them into her palm, deposited the ice cream into her cart, and slipped the keys into her pocket.
They strolled around the corner and headed toward paper products, Agent James hot on their heels.
"So, tell me, are you still dating what's-his-name? The blonde with the melt your heart baby blues."
"Off and on."
"More off than on?"
"Lately, more on."
"Better be careful. Man like that has a gal in every port."
"I have it on good authority he's currently anchored in his home port. He never really cared for Asian offshore."
They turned down feminine products. Agent James followed them half way down the aisle and came to an abrupt stop near the pen section.
"Second Playtex box on the left hand side."
"Are you going to tell me what is going on? What's with the grocery store scavenger hunt? What am I supposed to do with keys and a box of Playtex?"
"Leon's transport mission ran into trouble."
Leon! "What kind of trouble?"
"The Redfield kind. He's pinned down, needs your help, and asked me to point you in the right direction. There is a Mustang parked in the handicap stall in front of the store. Address to his current location is taped to the bottom of the Playtex box."
"Leon's got access to all kinds of backup. He doesn't need me."
"He thinks there's a mole in his department, a well-connected double agent masquerading as a government official. Someone aware of his mission objectives, someone who knew exactly where and when to strike."
"But he trusts you?"
"I'm as neutral as nude pantyhose. I go with everything. He has my number. He dialed it."
"And not mine."
"He's afraid to make direct contact. A call can be traced. No offense, but your three hundred anytime minutes cell phone isn't exactly hack proof."
Fan-fucking-tastic! Like I don't have enough on my plate. Paging Claire Redfield. Mr. Super Duper Awesome Agent needs your urgent assistance. Stupid Leon. And he had the nerve to have me, Me, escorted home. Who's fragile now? Hmmm.
Claire set the Playtex box in the basket. "Just so we're clear, will you be riding shotgun?"
"Not unless I want to eat buckshot for dinner. I work for the same men that have loverboy cornered."
Claire jutted her head in James' direction. "And him?"
"Leave your shackle to me. Dally five more minutes. Pay for the groceries at the checkout stand near the North doors. Wait for my diversion. The rest is up to you."
"What kind of diversion? I don't want anyone to get hurt."
"Then you'd better get moving. Leon and Downing are going to die."
###
Redfield and Agent Idiot grabbed a shopping cart and disappeared through the sliding doors.
Ada toured the store perimeter. There was nothing doing out front. Light foot traffic near the entry, exit doors. Single stragglers on last minute bread and toilet paper runs. The sides and back of the building separated from the surrounding businesses with a concrete block-wall fence. Easily scaleable.
A delivery roll-up door on the North side of the building was open, and a white truck parked on the ramp that led to the roll up. Engine running. A store employee and a jeans-dressed driver shooting the shit near a pallet stack just inside the door.
Ada slow-drove around to the store front and parked her Mustang in the handicap stall. She reached into the glove box and pulled out a handicap sticker.
Here we go. She patted the steering wheel. Don't worry baby. If Redfield puts so much as a scratch on you, I'm taking it out of her hide.
###
Ada adjusted the rear view mirror and gently inserted her finger into the fleshy cavity between her lips and her gums. Pulsing throbs shot foot-tapping pain into her lower jaw.
Never again. The man is a maniac.
She scooped out a blood soaked wad and ran her lacerated tongue over her jagged incisors as she mentally estimated the going rate for root canals and porcelain crowns. Son-of-a-bitch!
Pink tinged fingers tore open a bag of cotton balls. She grabbed a fluffy handful and pressed them softly into and over the holes in her gums where two molars used to be.
The puffed up 'shiners' were going to be a problem. Her eyes were slits, rimmed in a Halloween makeup blend of blue and black, green around the edges. Agent Idiot would have to be taken out up close, instead of neutralized at range.
Ada twisted the cap off a bottle of eyewash solution and leaned her head back. She braced a palm on the steering wheel and poured the entire contents of the bottle over both eyes. Her fidget-foot went into overdrive; pounding the floor mats in a heavy metal, drum solo rhythm.
Closed lips would temporarily hide her teeth. Sunglasses would mask her golf ball sized eyelids.
The front door opened. Ada slunk lower in the driver's seat. Claire Redfield emerged. She and Agent Idiot had a one-minute conversation. The door shut, and surprise, hallelujah surprise, Redfield reappeared a few minutes later with her purse and her jacket.
A stoke of incredible luck on wheels rambled down the Redfield driveway and turned out onto the street.
###
He jammed a finger width tentacle in her mouth. Her head snapped sideways and she spat tooth and blood.
"Are you familiar with the physical penalties that are metered out for justice in third world, foreign countries?"
He coiled the end around her tongue, and pulled.
"A thief, for example, might forfeit his hands so that he should never again be able to take what does not belong to him. A man with a fancy for flight might have his legs amputated at the knees so that he will never again be able to run away from his crimes. A liar might have his tongue cut from his mouth so that he should never again use his voice to deceive."
Wesker yanked her head back. "Tell me, Miss Wong, which punishment best suits you? Are you the thief? The runner? Or, are you the lying, two-bit whore?"
"'lease...S'op...'lease-"
"How low my favored have fallen."
Ada squeezed her eyes shut. "'lease...A'i 'orry-"
"Awwww...She is sorry. As though an apology makes her deception magically disappear. Sorry is an excuse. It is a one-word admission of guilt. Tell me, Ada, whatever could you have you done that requires my forgiveness? Whatever can you offer to rebuild our formerly mutual, trustworthy bond?"
###
He knows. He knows. Think, damn it, he knows.
Calm down. Keep cool. What could he possibly know? Sell it. Keep selling it. Make him buy it.
He knows!
Ada kicked the stall door open and hopped onto a toilet bowl rim.
The latch on the window didn't budge. It was sealed shut. Paint globs stuck to the rusted twist-turn locking mechanism and the casement edge.
Stomach pressed to the tile, Ada slipped her arms out of her jacket and wrapped it around her hand.
She took a deep breath and punched her hand through the glass. Once. Twice. Three times to clear the triangle-shaped shards that remained wedged in the aluminum frame.
Up and over she went, head first.
Her shoulder hit the ground, followed by her backside and her ass.
She scrambled to her feet, and ran...Straight into Wesker's fist.
###
"You smell like gasoline."
"Is that supposed to be funny? I'm not in the mood."
"Merely an observation." He spread his arms out over the top of the velvet-lined booth. "Make all of this...inconvenience... worth my while. I am not amused. Tell me what I want to hear."
Ada slid a manila envelope across the table. "No need to count it. It's all there. I covered my own expenses."
"How generous. Not the answer I seek. Try again."
"Gladly. There were party crashers. Krauser and I weren't the only players running around in the desert."
"In all things be prepared."
"Not for a squadron. What a mess. You could have warned me. I barely made it out of that hellhole alive."
"And Downing?"
"He ran off with Kennedy when Krauser went all shooting galley."
"Did you pursue him?"
"Of course I did. I would have had him too if your destructive protégé hadn't interfered. What part of friendly fire does he not understand? I'm reconnaissance and retrieval, not the fucking Red Baron."
"And where is Downing?"
"How the fuck should I know. I was too busy dodging bullets. Kennedy must have cut him loose."
Lies. Lies. And more lies on top of lies. Someone, Ada, liked her tall tale story hour just a little too much.
His eyes flared orange. "Shall we take a drive? Discuss our problem in a more private setting."
"Absolutely. I'll follow you."
Wesker rose and extended his hand. "Perhaps, we should leave together."
"And my car?"
"One of my men will retrieve it."
"Fine. I need to use the ladies room first. I'll meet you outside."
###
"Hi, I'm Candy, with a K."
Candy with a K sidled up next to Wesker and sat down at the bar.
It was too early in the evening to buy what Candy with a K sold beneath her zip-up mini skirt, strapless top, and false-lash, glitter eye shadow eyes.
The lights weren't dim. He wasn't drunk, and never in his life had he been a pick up a one-night stand in a bar desperate. Candy with a K, which should have been Gold Digger with a GD, or Barfly with a B in bright red rhinestones, was sniffing 'round the wrong tree.
"I've never seen you here before. Are you new in town?"
"Passing through. Waiting for a friend."
"Mind if I wait with you?"
Her ass parked on the barstool made her question moot. Candy with a K seemed quite comfortable.
"What will it take?"
She scooted closer. Too close. "Say what?"
Wesker raised his empty glass to catch the bartender's attention and received a nod in acknowledgment. "What will it take for you to move to the end of the bar?"
Candy with a K laughed as though his refusal were a joke. She nudged his arm with her elbow. "You're funny."
Ada rolled through the double doors like a summer monsoon thunderstorm, sudden and fierce.
She made a beeline for Wesker, threw her arm around his neck, and planted a kiss on his cheek; all the while her gaze concentrated on Candy with a K's face. "Miss me?"
"You are late."
"Hey! I saw him first."
Ada squeezed between Wesker and his admirer. "Beat it, honey. Trust me, he's not interested. Your roots aren't dark enough."
Wesker's spine stiffened. Have I been so obvious? I hadn't realized. Perhaps there had been one too many trips to the two-story, desperately in need of a fixer-up, Redfield residence for Ada.
Although, he gave Christopher props on the state of the art security system. High quality. Military grade. There were lasers and sirens, and enough ear-piercing bells and whistles to wake an Australian. How the neighbors must enjoy false alarms. It was the primary reason his cameras were installed in every yard around the block, except Christopher's. So much as break wind within a mile radius of the Redfield abode and Christopher would definitely know about it.
"Is this your friend? She's kinda' a bitch."
Ada dipped in her pocket and produced President Grant. "Listen lush, there's a liquor store and an adult novelty shop two blocks south. Go buy yourself a fifth and some portable, vibrating fun. My treat."
Candy with a K became Nasty with an N. "Fuck off, bitch!"
Ada's face Alabama Slammed in a Candy with a K wrist flick. Ice chips and a slim, red sippy straw clung to her dripping, formerly windblown, strands.
Ada clenched her fist. "You're going to lick counter, dye job."
While every man loved a good catfight to lighten a mood, the last thing Wesker wanted, or needed, was a scene.
He grabbed Ada by the collar, jerked her away from the bar, and shuffled toward one of the booths in the back. "Now is not the time."
Candy with a K blew her a farewell kiss. "Bye, Bye, Bi-otch."