B-4: Special Agent: B-4: Special Agent

By Jack W. McLaughlin and Harold Lea Brown

Imagine if Dirty Harry had a daughter.  B-4 - Big Boobs Bonnie Brown – was born to be a special agent. Her father, a notorious San Francisco cop, and her rural Nevada mother, a hardened bar owner, with the mouth of a truck driver and fists poised to loosen teeth.

 

In her youth she was given the B-4 moniker by the Battle Mountain Boys while shooting a video. Her mother tried to make her a "Hollywood Star" but she chose the college route instead hoping to become a detective like her father. Against all the odds, she rises to the top of her class as an Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (ATF) Special Agent.

 

At a pistol range, she meets Scott Johnnson--a pilot.  He is a Special Agent wannabe who introduces B-4 to his oversized revolver, Johnnson, named after his Special Agent father.  A friendship forms and he gives her Johnnson for safekeeping. While at Top Gun school, he visits B-4 on his day off.  They are trailed by people suspected to be after Scott's father.  B-4 awakes after a grenade explosion discovering Scott has disappeared.

 

B-4 vows to find the men responsible while working a major case involving a Nevada casino owner, who is really a major crime boss. Her efforts place her and her family in his cross-hairs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harold Lea Brown
• Release date: Jul 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9780993860577

Jack W. McLaughlin

AUTHOR’S BIO Jack W. McLaughlin Screenwriter, Author, Executive Producer After a successful, distinguished, award-winning career as a California School District Superintendent and Nevada State Superintendent, Jack McLaughlin’s desire to use his creativity and write stories about mythical characters and fabled stereotypes in the form of books and screenplays was energized by winning film festival recognition and acclaim. Awards and honors include many official selections at several film festivals, first places including Makeup Man, Best Thriller; King Alphonse, Winner Sci-fi/fantasy; Moonlight Bandit, Best Family/Faith; Three times nominated Best Writer; Double Play and Remembering Sullivan nominated Best Scripts; Sins of Lily Liu Lu, Best Feature; Hog Heaven and Naivete Best Teleplays; Triple Destiny, Best Drama; B-4: Special Agent, Best Teleplay; Please, Santa, Best Teleplay; The King’s Crown, Best Screenplay NOVA. Details of Jack’s honors and awards are on IMDB. Jack also wrote the mR. bERZERKELEY Trilogy and Naivete, A Parent’s Trust Betrayed, is currently in the publishing process. Jack McLaughlin’s stories are unending as is his desire to entertain and provide an enjoyable experience for all those looking for an escape, at least for a few moments. Jack and Harold were named Co-Writers of the Year at the 2019 Action on Film MegaFest in Las Vegas, and teamed up to write B-4: Special Agent as a novel.

Book preview

B-4: SPECIAL AGENT

B-4 Cover March 23 2021

JACK W. McLAUGHLIN

AND HAROLD LEA BROWN

Copyright © 2021

JACK W. McLAUGHLIN AND HAROLD LEA BROWN

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9938605-7-7

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, or any similarity of events depicted herein to real life incidents, are purely coincidental.

First Printing 2021

Printed in the United States of America

DEDICATION

To all the mothers and daughters who never say die in the face of adversity, but choose to take action to make our world a better place.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Special thanks to Sheryl and Jane for their ongoing support of our creative passion as storytellers, and to Mary Jo McLaughlin for cover artwork.

CHAPTER 1

SEARING HEAT WAVES danced across the Nevada desert sand. An oversized off-road Blazer with huge tires leapt over the top of a sand dune at full speed sending a blizzard of sand particles into the air before it hit the desert floor with a thump. The huge tires dug in deep launching the Blazer forward. It sped straight at two old camouflage covered military vehicles pointing back at the dune. A pair of American flags waved furiously in the sweltering wind.

Almost at the same time, a four-wheel drive jeep leapt from the dune’s cap at top speed chasing the Blazer. As the jeep hit the desert floor and bounced the brakes were slammed on immediately to face-off with the vehicles shielding the Blazer that had now spun around behind.

Bullets filled the air as eight men in militia garb hid behind military vehicles firing automatic weapons relentlessly at the jeep. Inside the jeep, in the back seat, ATF Special Agent Bonnie Brown, nicknamed B-4, twenties, brunette, rugged and athletic held on tightly. Strapped in the jeep by a shoulder belt, her large oversized breasts bulged through a thin blue windbreaker.

B-4 had always loved the chase. The feeling of the wind blowing through her hair, the anticipation of that moment when she would draw Johnnson, her large handgun, take aim and pull the trigger.

Special Agent Suzanne Schietz, thirties, African-American and Hispanic mix, black hair, and shapely, sat beside B-4 holding on for dear life. As bullets flew careening off the jeep and breaking the windows, they ripped off their seat belts.

You ready for this, rookie? Schietz yelled over the ear-splitting, deadly noise.

Just like back home in Battle Mountain, B-4 said.

In the front jeep seats, Special Agents Martin, fifties and Garcia, forties, duck low as bullets shattered the windshield and sprayed them with splintering glass.

In the distance, two men watched the fierce battle through binoculars. Jose and Manuel stood in silence as they listened to the torrent of bullets strike the jeep.

This is what they wanted, Jose said.

Suddenly, through the rapid fire, a constant and sharp BOOM is heard and repeated.

What? Manuel said not believing what he was watching. Impossible!

The ATF Special Agents were out of their jeep crouching behind the open doors returning fire.

Through the hail of bullets, B-4 had begun picking off the shooters one-by-one.

In rapid order, she took down the eight men.

The other two scrambled back inside their Blazer attempting to escape.

Bullets ceased as the agents watched the Blazer begin moving. B-4 stood, took aim and fired. Johnnson’s shells shattered the windshield striking both men in the head. The Blazer, still running, edged forward slightly. Martin ran to it, pushed the dead driver over, reached in and removed the keys. He stood with his hands on his hips, looking back at B-4.

That’s that! Ten for ten! B-4 said as she reloaded her revolver.

Weapons raised the ATF Special Agents moved cautiously toward the Blazer. Schietz walked up next to B-4 while Martin and Garcia studied the weapons and grenade launchers in the back of the vehicle.

Nice shooting rookie. Where did you ever learn ...? Schietz asked.

B-4 feigned blowing smoke from the end of her large revolver. Just like shooting jacks!

*****

Nevada’s Battle Mountain, the media declared Armpit of America, off highway 80 heading east from Reno, was home to the weather-beaten Roadkill Saloon and Lilly’s Bordello out the back door. Once inhabited by the Paiute and Shoshone Indians and later by fur trappers, gold and copper mines gave it a growth spurt that had almost dried up. Legalized gambling, Lilly’s and the old saloon gave the town a little of its former life.

A battered pickup truck parked in front of the Roadkill backed up and headed down a crumbling asphalt road.

Forty, rugged and unshaven, Curley drove while the Battle Mountain Boys armed with shotguns rode in the back along with B-4. Kevin age 17, Karlos 18, Kermit 19, Kareem 20 and Kenny 21 were all sons of the prolific Lilly. Their mother had suffered an untimely death at the hands of several housewives. They all had unknown fathers.

B-4 polished her shotgun. She swayed back and forth as the truck rumbled down the road, bouncing over potholes. Except for B-4, all wore cowboy hats and boots, jeans, and long brown trail coats.

The pickup left the asphalt road and headed through the sage on a dirt road. After a few minutes, the pickup swerved into and over the sage.

B-4 and Kevin stood and leaned over the cab resting their elbows as they held their shotguns.

There, yelled B-4.

As the pickup sped up and bounced through the sage throwing up sand and dirt behind it, B-4 aimed her shotgun at a jackrabbit bobbing and weaving at full throttle thirty yards away. Her shotgun blast struck the jackrabbit stopping it dead in its tracks. The pickup threw more sand in the air as it sped toward the fallen jack.

Great shooting, B-4, Kevin said.

I never miss! B-4 said. Look! She pointed at another rabbit. Your turn.

Kevin struggled to steady his shotgun as the truck bounced across the rough desert. He fired. The blast knocked him back as it launched a spray of lead, missing the jackrabbit as it bobbed and weaved out-of-sight.

You gotta know when they are gonna bob and weave! B-4 yelled.

You cheat! Kevin yelled back.

Ha! It’s all in the eyes connecting to my trigger finger. Mamma said my father never missed … and neither do I.

CHAPTER 2

THE COLORFUL, LIVELY and entertaining Las Vegas Strip bustled with traffic and tourists. The heat, bright unrelenting sun, and crowds didn’t take away from the magnetic draw of the Southern Nevada desert. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives was located off the strip, on a heavily traveled boulevard.

Inside the ATF Western Headquarters, forty-year-old Special Agent Silva stared at the outline of a large revolver in the back of B-4’s waistband as she entered his office. He stood, brushed a piece of lint off his tailored suit pants and adjusted his tie. He took a deep breath, glanced down at his tie and pressed it flat against his white shirt.

B-4 made herself comfortable in a chair at a small table as Silva closed the door. He sat on the corner of his desk in front of her. She crossed her arms prepared to defend herself.

Great shooting on your first assignment, Miss Brown ... better than anyone has ever seen around here, according to the others who were there, Silva said. In fact, I think Special Agent Martin’s exact words were, ‘Almost embarrassing.’

Just doing my job, sir, B-4 said. She took a deep breath and relaxed.

You did stop them, Silva said as he began to pace the room. We usually catch and contain, not kill. You need to see the big picture Miss Brown. We got the cache of assault rifles and grenade launchers. We are gonna trace them, but we would have liked the chance to interrogate the bad guys.

B-4 starts to speak, but Silva’s not finished.

But … we can’t because they all had their heads blown off by ...

Me, B-4 said as she straightened up in her chair. Sorry, sir.

Yes ... you and that … cannon, Silva said crossing his arms. He nodded toward her handgun. That’s not standard issue.

No sir ... but I do have an exemption, B-4 said. It belonged to my ... a friend of mine and his father, a former agent.

Former? Silva stopped and stared at her face-to-face.

Yes, sir. B-4 looked into Silva’s eyes. My ... friend was preparing to be an agent before he died in an explosion ... and his father disappeared a while back. It’s named after them ... Johnnson.

Agent Johnnson the Swede, I remember, Silva said. He started to pace again. Sorry about that Brown. However, we have good reason to believe two of the men you killed were part of the Castillo Cartel.

I heard about them in my training, B-4 said as she shifted again in her chair.

Yeah, Silva said pacing. In addition to his casino and drug empire, he’s been supplying weapons to several supremacist and militia groups, and many of our enemies worldwide. Now, we have to continue working intel to find more leads—more of his bad ass guys. It’s our job to stop the madness.

Sorry, sir, B-4 said avoiding direct eye contact with Silva. Guess I was a little aggressive my first time out. A little different from training.

Why did you want to become an agent in the first place? Silva asked. To go around killing people or to do what you can to intelligently—bring the bad guys to justice?

I guess ... I just always wanted to be in law enforcement, B-4 said looking off into space as she tried to remember.

*****

The old battered pickup stopped in front of the Roadkill, sending dirt and dust swirling up toward the sweltering sun.

Curley, the Battle Mountain Boys and B-4 climbed out of the pickup truck box. She carried a stringer with five dead jackrabbits dangling.

They walked inside the Roadkill through a pair of swinging doors.

In front of a wall, and several shelves of booze bottles, former San Francisco detective Bobby Brown, B-4’s father, seventies, rugged, wiped down the bar top. Behind him on the wall hung a gold framed plague with the inscription DETECTIVE BOBBY BROWN, AWARD OF BRAVERY, SAN FRANCISCO POLICE DEPARTMENT. His legacy was topped only by Harry Callahan—Dirty Harry—and his reputation with the opposite sex had no equal as his testosterone level overflowed especially after taking down some bad guys.

Bobby’s fling with an oversexed street-walker, after a deadly Mafia battle, gave birth unknowingly to B-4 and a trip to be in her life in Battle Mountain almost twenty years later. Also unknown to him, a young girl was born a couple years earlier whose parentless life took a different turn, a turn that led to her becoming the young widowed billionaire JJ Wellington. Bobby was blessed with both calling it blind luck many times over, or was he just a lucky drunk? JJ knew of Bonnie’s existence, but Bonnie had no idea she had a sister.

Playing at an island of colorful slots across the room was thirty-year-old Joseph Benneschott. He was disguised as an old man with a grey beard wearing a ruffled dark hat and a loose grey coat. He had quite a story himself—born to B-4’s Mamma a couple years before B-4. After being raised in an orphanage, then trained as an assassin, he eventually found Mamma and B-4 and swore to himself to keep B-4 safe after Mamma’s murder. No one, including Bobby, knew who he was and he wasn’t about to broadcast it. He was B-4’s unknown brother and it was his mission to protect her when he found out she was in mortal danger.

Red, white and blue paper stringers crisscrossed the saloon ceiling. The Battle Mountain Boys walked across the old, slightly warped wooden floor, heading for the slot machines.

Curley plopped down on a stool in front of his favorite bartop slot.

B-4 approached Bobby, swinging the dead rabbits up and on top of the bar.

Don’t mess with the customer boys, Goddammit! Bobby yelled. I told the old man he’s only got ten minutes before the party starts and he decided to stay and now I got to clean up rabbit shit on the bar.

Sorry, Daddy … I—, B-4 said.

Kermit ... time to set-up the projector, Bobby yelled.

This enough jacks for the party, Daddy? B-4 asked.

Should be plenty, with the others you got yesterday, Bobby said as he picked up the stringer with one hand and wiping their remains off the bar with the other. Glad to see you didn’t use your friend’s revolver, this time.

Yeh, it’s not as messy with the heads still attached, B-4 said as she looked at the dead rabbits.

Yeh, no need to be mopping blood off the floor and delay the celebration … just shit and I can handle that since I get a lot of practice around here, Bobby said as he continued to wipe down the bar.

I woulda used it and showed off if Scott were here instead of out trying to qualify for Special Agent training, B-4 said. He said he was gonna show-up.

Scott Johnnson? Bobby asked. I want to meet this guy. If he doesn’t show I’ll go out, find him, hogtie him and—

Like your old Frisco days when you hogtied Mamma? B-4 said.

Hogtied her? Bobby chuckled. I think it was the other way around.

Kermit walked up with a super eight projector. Where do you want it Mr. Brown?

Right here ... where I’m wiping, Bobby said as he finished cleaning the bar. Kevin … get a white sheet from Lilly’s and drape it over the machines and don’t disturb the customer while I clean these jacks, Bobby yelled.

You aren’t gonna show that old movie again? B-4 said as she crossed her arms.

It’s your official send-off, Bobby said as he started to walk toward the kitchen. In a few days you’ll be heading to college—becoming a cop just like your old man.

Daddy! B-4 said,You are impossible!

That’s just what your Mamma said when I met her at the Gold Spike in North Beach, Bobby said with a slight, boyish smirk on the corner of his mouth.

Kermit slid the projector back and forth on the bartop and finally got it aimed at a spot on the wall large enough to hang a bed sheet.

You know the drill, Kermit. Set that Goddamn thing up right! Bobby yelled. We gotta give the future arm of the law a proper send-off. It’s what you always wanted to be isn’t it, B? Bobby said as he disappeared into the kitchen.

CHAPTER 3

INSIDE SILVA’S OFFICE, B-4 reached behind her back and brought out the large pistol from her belt, laying it on top of the small table.

Silva stopped pacing, reached down and picked it up and moved it around to different positions, until he found one that seemed to be comfortable.

Impressive … very heavy, Silva said as he pointed it at a picture of the President hanging on his office wall. He laid it back down on the table.

The office door opened and Ruben, a tall, dark and very handsome young man, entered followed by Special Agent Salisbury. Salisbury’s comb over could not hide the fact he was middle-aged, but it provided a bit of a distraction from his ruddy complexion.

Agent Silva … good to see you again Ruben said, as he held out his hand to greet Silva. And, my God, B-4! He leaned over and hugged her. I can’t believe it!

Special Agents Ruben and Salisbury ... I guess you already know Miss Brown? Silva said, hands on his hips.

Are you kidding? Ruben said. Know her? She’s a legend. We were together at the Academy. Canadian Border Agency was invited to train with ATF. They sent me.

We’re glad you’re here to help with the Las Vegas—Canadian connection, Silva said as he pulled out a chair. We even seem to have some hockey players in the mix.

I see you still have Johnnson, Ruben said as he nodded at B-4’s unique revolver.

Unfortunately she knows how to use it ... eight dead militia and two dead Castillo cartel thugs later, Silva said as he sat down and crossed his arms.

Use it? Ruben said. No one ever had a perfect score on the range until she stepped up and BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Luck, just luck, B-4 said softly.

Agent Schietz walked into the office. Looks like I’m just in time for the party.

Agents ... this is Special Agent Suzanne Schietz from the San Francisco office, Silva said as he stood to greet her.

Ruben, Salisbury, and Schietz exchanged handshakes.

She’ll be joining the task force along with Miss Brown here or is it…? Silva said.

B-4 is the name we called her at the Academy ... something we heard she was called back home in the Nevada outback, Ruben said.

*****

Inside the Roadkill, the Battle Mountain Boys sat at the bar with Curley. Benneschott, disguised as an old man, played slots and watched the activity out of the corner of his eye.

Bobby was behind the bar. B-4 was near Bobby, her elbows rested on the bartop.

Their eyes were glued to a super eight film, with sound, projecting on a soiled white sheet draped over a bank of slots. As the film began to run there was Mamma, dishwater blond, large build, huge full breasts with the mouth of a truck driver, and Petey, sixties, unshaven and wiry on the screen at the front of the bar. Petey was adjusting a young B-4’s white blouse, as she hiked her blue slacks up.

Look! There’s Mamma, Petey and B-4! Kermit yelled.

I know, Curley said. I was holding the camera then.

Yea, B-4’s Mamma! Kareem yelled.

And my dear departed wife-for-the-night, Bobby groaned. At least you coulda brought a clean sheet from Lilly’s.

They were all used, what with the Rotary convention in town, Kevin said.

As the film rolled and B-4’s figure moved slightly left and right Mamma’s voice boomed Goddammit Petey…hold the fucking camera steady. One of you sonsabitches go and get him a shot of Beam to settle his ‘twitchin.’

A few moments later, a man’s hand holding a shot glass appeared in the movie frame. They heard, Thanks I needed that. The screen settled into a steady shot of B-4.

Curley ... get yer sorry ass off the stool and hold the fucking sticks, Mamma’s voice shouted from the screen. Her father’s money may have marooned me in this shithole, but this talent show video will be my baby’s ticket out.

Yes, Mamma, Curley said off screen. Can I have one of those shots too?

You are all motherfuckers! Mamma yelled. Bring the Goddamn bottle.

Curley, walked up in front of B-4. He downed the shot. Thanks, Mamma. Now, what do I say?

Hold the fucking sticks out and say ‘Take one’, Goddamn it! ‘Take One!’ an exasperated Mamma yelled.

Curley stood in front of the camera and held two sticks out. Take one. This is take one.

You do not have to repeat it, you imbecile, Mamma groaned. Come on, honey, at least you know what to say.

Young B-4 wiggled slightly holding a play pistol by her side. Hey, all you out there. This is Bonnie, Special ... Special ... what am I supposed to say?

Cut! Cut! Mamma yelled. Bonnie Brown Special Agent.

From the bar watching the film as it continued to run, Curley leaned toward Bobby. Special Agent. That’s what you were going to be wasn’t it, Mr. Brown?

Yeh, but a little Mafia action got in the way, Bobby said.

In the film Curley held the two sticks in front of a young B-4. Take two, take two.

Goddamn it! Mamma yelled. Don’t repeat!

Hey all of you out there ... this is Bonnie Brown Secret Agent, young B-4 said. She stopped. Damn, Mamma. This is Bonnie Brown ...

Mamma yelled loudly as Petey’s hand shook the camera. Jesus fucking Christ! How many times have we gone over your lines? How can you be a child star and get out of this fucking place if you can’t remember your fucking lines? It’s Special Agent, you know, like those bastard ATF’ers who keep bugging the shit out of me. This is Bonnie Brown Special Agent. Try standing a little off kilter like the sexy pose I showed you ... like your worthless father, the Goddamn Frisco dick.

The camera frame moved slightly as the young B-4 held a play pistol trying several sexy stances. A hand reached in with another shot of Beam.

I needed that, Petey said offscreen. The film frame steadied.

Everyone heard Momma say, This fucking film is gonna break my liquor budget.

Mamma ... can I make a suggestion ... it’s a little one? Petey said offscreen as the film rolled.

You want another bottle? Mamma jousted.

No, no. Petey said. It’s about her name. I mean ... if you want her to be in the movies she needs something a little more catchy.

Bonnie Brown is her name ... my name, Mamma growled. "If it’s not good