Vanessa

By R.B. Hatch

TerraCop field agent Jim has found a lead he hopes will take him to the man who had ordered the deaths of his family, a man known only as the Chief. TerraCop undercover agent Vanessa has infiltrated the household staff of the man who had ordered the deaths of her husband and child, a man known only as the Chief. TerraCops commanding officer John is advised of Jims discovery and intentions and can only hope that two of his best agents, who are about to meet for the first time, wont kill each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514428085

R.B. Hatch

Mr. Hatch writes from a small farm in the Peace River region of northern Alberta, Canada.

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Copyright © 2015 by R.B. Hatch.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-5144-2809-2

                eBook          978-1-5144-2808-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 11/27/2015

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Life is what happens while you’re still getting over the last time it whacked you to the curb.

I’m cold, hungry, exhausted; done, finished, at the end of the line. Eighteen months of running, hiding, stealing what I need to carry on the fight, ends here and now. I’ve tried every trick I can think of to lose the two guys who’ve been following me the last three days, without success. Several times I was sure I’d shaken them off my trail, and then they’d show up again. The bastards finally got a team that knows what they’re doing, and I’m about to join Marcie and the kids.

I tried to ambush them. I had the tall one in my sights and was taking up slack in the trigger when some dippy damn woman pushing a baby carriage got in the way. I couldn’t believe it. The middle of the friggin’ night, colder than a whore’s heart, wind driving snow like shrapnel, and this dumb-ass broad has to take junior for a stroll. I wanted to shoot anyway, but I couldn’t do it. I’ve been fighting the kind of bastards who think nothing of risking or taking innocent lives and I just couldn’t. I hesitated and lost my only chance.

So here I stand, sort of, breathing heavily, empty hands hanging by my sides, watching them approach through the blowing snow. They walk side by side with their hands in plain view and empty. They even have smiles on their faces.

Yeah well. They’re good enough to thwart my best efforts; I guess they’re good enough to be nonchalant at the end of the chase. But something doesn’t seem quite right. They just don’t seem threatening.

They stop about five feet in front of me. I can see their eyes now, sharp and wary, and I’m still not feeling threatened. Am I that tired? That willing to just quit and die?

Hello, Jim, the tall one says. You’re a hard man to meet. I’m Adam, and this is Gus. Let’s go grab a cup of coffee. We’d like to talk with you and it’s kinda cold out here.

This is definitely not what I was expecting. These guys exude an aura of friendship. Unless they’re pure psychos, they aren’t planning to kill me. Or arrest me, which would amount to the same thing. Or am I just so used up that my senses are scrambled? Curious as hell, and too exhausted to do otherwise, I nod. They relax visibly.

There’s an all-night coffee shop on the next block. Adam says.

I nod again and walk down the street between them. We cross an intersection and are in a little better part of town. The buildings here aren’t as run down and shabby looking. The place they take me into is small, neat, clean, and empty except for the single waitress who, judging by her dress and demeanor, has other stock in trade to bolster her income. A row of tables along one wall takes up almost half the space in the narrow room. A counter with a row of stools and a narrow aisle takes the rest.

We take a table at the back of the room. Adam and Gus sit with their backs to the wall, facing the door. That’s where I prefer to sit in a public room. It lets you spot trouble as soon as it walks through the door. The waitress brings us coffee. She’s a fairly pretty girl. Caucasian. Early twenties. Clear eyes. No needle tracks on her bare arms. She looks and smells clean and fresh. She’s in it for the money and I imagine she does a fair business. The place is warm. The heat seeps into my frosty body and is rapidly sapping my final reserves of energy.

Adam starts talking when the waitress leaves.

Are you in?

I stare at Adam incredulously, wanting to believe, but what he’d told me is unbelievable. I’m sure I slept through part of what he said. Maybe I’m still asleep and dreaming. A worldwide organization of people like me dedicated to the eradication of criminals? Totally unbelievable. But these guys don’t seem to be crazy. They’re dead serious. And, oh Christ! With an outfit like that backing me, could I ever raise a little hell with the bastards who killed Marcie and the kids. Could I even have a shot at The Chief? The man who’d ordered their deaths?

I want that with every fibre of my being. It’s all the last year and a half has been about, and I know, now, that alone I’m not going to reach him. Adam and Gus are offering me a place in their TerraCop outfit, and a real chance at The Chief. It’s irresistible bait.

Fatigue fogs my mind. The warmth in here is hitting me like a sledgehammer. Am I just imagining this conversation? I hope not, but I’m out of options. I’ll go along with these guys. Maybe I’ll wake up alive, maybe not. I no longer care very damn much.

I nod, get to my feet, and manage to walk out of the cafe between them without staggering; I think. A late model car stands at the curb, engine running. Exhaust, fog white in the cold air, blows from the tail pipe. Gus steps ahead, opens the back door, and ushers me inside. He gets in beside me while Adam gets in the front. The driver takes us into the sparse, late night traffic.

A hand grips my shoulder. Jim, a voice says.

I pry my eyes open and look around. It’s dawn; that watery sort of light halfway between dark and full daylight. We’re parked in front of what’s obviously a farm house.

Come on, Jim. There’s a meal and a bed for you in the house.

A bed! God! How long has it been since I’ve slept in a bed? And a meal? A whole meal? Not just whatever I can grab and run with?

I stumble out of the car and lean heavily against the door until I’m sure I’m not going to fall down. We walk toward the house. A pretty and slender brunette woman opens the door as we climb the steps and, smiling, ushers us inside. Hello, Jim. My name’s Alicia. Do you want to eat or shower first?

A shower? Okay, I’ve died and gone to heaven. That’s the only answer that makes sense. I’d better enjoy it before St. Peter realizes his mistake.

I have trouble getting my mouth to work. Whichever I do first, I mumble, sleep is gonna be a close second.

Alicia smiles. In that case you’d better eat. You’ll sleep better with a full stomach.

She leads me to the kitchen table and, moments later, sets a plateful of incredibly good smelling edibles in front of me.

I open my eyes. It’s daylight. I lie quietly for a while, letting my memory catch up and tell me where the hell I am. Finally sure of my situation, I toss the covers back, sit up and look around. My clothes aren’t where I dropped them. They’ve been washed, neatly folded and placed on the seat of a chair. The contents of my pockets, along with my knife and gun, are on the bedside table. I stop and stare. They didn’t disarm me! I check the gun. My last bullet is still in it.

The door of an ensuite bathroom stands temptingly open. I get up, go to the bathroom door for a look inside, and the shower stall lures me on in. Shaving gear, toothbrush, toothpaste, a bottle of mouthwash and a hair brush are neatly laid out on the vanity. A big, soft and cozy looking towel, neatly folded, lies beside them.

Temptation like this I don’t even try to resist. Before anything else, I’m going to have a shower.

Feeling human for the first time in Christ knows how long, I go looking for the quiet voices I’ve been hearing. I find them at the kitchen table. They look up when I step into the room.

Good morning, Jim, Alicia says with a big smile. Hungry?

Damn good and! Morning, I answer. Yes.

She gets to her feet and points at a chair as she turns toward the kitchen. Park yourself. Coffee?

Please.

Adam and Gus bid me a good morning and introduce the other man at the table as Oliver. I assume he was the driver last night; or whenever it was. I’m getting the distinct impression that this is the morning after the morning I came here. Did I sleep an entire day away? That would explain why my joints feel so rusty.

Adam gets down to business after I tuck the last bite of breakfast into my pleasantly full belly. You feel up to a bit of travelling, Jim?

Where to?

A little training camp. I can’t tell you where.

Training for what?

What you’ve been doing for the last eighteen months. He grins. Among other things, we’ll teach you how to throw guys like Gus and me off your trail.

I grin. Right now I’m kinda glad I didn’t know how to do that the other night. Alicia, you’re a fantastic cook.

She smiles. Thank you. Want some more coffee?

Please. I turn to Adam. How about going over what you told me in that coffee shop. I think I might have slept through part of it, and I think I might have a question or two.

He grins. You did get kind of glassy eyed a couple times. The grin goes away. I don’t think we can answer all your questions here, but what we can we will. We’ve got a couple hours to kill.

First question. Why me?

Why are we recruiting you?

Yeah.

We have our sources of information. We’ve known about you ever since the cops put out arrest warrants on you. When the underworld put out a contract on you we started checking you out. I dare say you’ve forgotten more about your life than we haven’t learned.

Bullshit, I state.

He smiles. Doctor Frye put sixteen stitches in the fingers of your left hand when you were four years old. That really wasn’t very bright, reaching into that saw like that. Your fingerprints are very distinctive.

I stare at him. I only have two real memories of that. The first is of Dad grabbing me in his arms and running for the house. The other is walking through the snow across the field below the house with a sling holding my bandaged hand up near my right shoulder.

We’ve watched you for eighteen months, Jim. We know what you’ve done, how you did it and why. We know you’re not going to quit before your get The Chief or get killed. What were you gonna do then? You can’t go back to the farm. They aren’t gonna quit looking for you. Not with a quarter million dollars on your head.

If you’ve watched me that long why didn’t you contact me earlier?

We’re rather picky about who we recruit. We had to be sure you’re the type of person we want.

The helicopter settles into the grass in the small clearing in the bush. Adam and Alicia get out of the car with me. We duck under the whirling rotor and step into the windowless body of the aircraft. The door closes and we rise into the air.

A lot of my questions, the ones they wouldn’t answer earlier, are answered during the flight. By the time we land I’m more anxious to get on with it than I’ve been with anything since my first piece of tail. This TerraCop outfit isn’t fooling around. They’re going after the really big time criminals, the ones with world domination in mind.

The door opens, letting the sunshine in. I step out of the chopper and duck out from under the rotor. The door closes and the machine lifts off. A redheaded man, about my own size but better nourished, approaches with his hand out.

Hello, Jim, he says as we shake. I’m Dave. Adam tells me you almost gave him the slip a couple times. That being the case, I’m not sure how much I can teach you. But let’s have a look around and get you settled in first. Time enough tomorrow for getting to work.

Our first stop is at the supply depot. I get a couple changes of new clothes to replace the ones I’ve lived in for Christ knows how long. There’s bedding, shaving gear, soap, towels, and all the other things that make life good. I’m not quite loaded down like a pack mule when we leave there, but it’s gotta be close.

We walk down a narrow boulevard between rows of small, neat cottages. We turn into one that Dave says is mine for the duration. It’s bright and cheerful inside. There’s one bedroom, a bathroom, and the rest is kitchen, dining, living, whatever, area. I dump my burden on the bed and we continue our tour of the camp.

Dave points out the gym, the headquarters building, and we enter the mess hall. The smell of whatever’s cooking makes my mouth water. Food, I’m told, is available 24/7. You can either eat here in the mess hall, or pick up groceries at supply and do your own cooking. We take a cruise past the steam table and come out the other end with fully loaded trays.

I push my empty plate away, drain the last of my coffee and sit back in my chair. God, that feels good! I could really get used to having a full belly again. Dave?

Yeah?

With cooking like this available anytime, how come you’re not all three hundred pound blimps? I haven’t seen a single soul who doesn’t appear to be in the peak of condition.

Dave grins. That’s due to an especially tyrannical sort of tyrant over in the gym. You’ll meet him tomorrow. He pushes his chair back. Let’s finish our tour before you fall asleep.

This place, this ‘training camp’, is a small town with all the amenities. There are some glaring differences: (1) There are no cars here. Any transporting that has to be done is done on foot or with one of the electric trucks from transport. (2) The only way in or out of here is by air. (3)The emphasis is primarily on physical fitness, though there are classrooms and a well stocked library. (4) There are no street lights.

We finish the tour back at my quarters.

We’ll call it a day here, Jim. I think you’re much like I was when I first joined up. Having a full stomach as a regular thing again just plain knocked my socks off. I’ll pick you up at oh eight hundred.

He turns and walks away. I stand and gaze around for a while.

Yup! I have definitely died and gone to heaven. Makes me wonder about somebody’s book-keeping and inattention to glaring facts. Not that I’m complaining.

I go inside and luxuriate in a nice hot shower. Warm, clean, well fed and safe, I settle comfortably into a clean, soft bed. I cup my hands under my head and stare at where the ceiling would be if enough moonlight filtered through the window to see it. I think of the vengeance I’m going to have for what was done to my family and me.

I got the guys who did the actual killing. I made damned good and sure they knew they were about to die. Just like Marcie had before they cut her throat. I did what I had to do to get the name and location of their boss, and his boss. I can’t say I really didn’t like doing it, but I didn’t enjoy it either. It was the quickest and surest way to learn what I wanted, and I just did it. Like taking the garbage out.

I know who gave the order, some guy they called The Chief, but that’s all I know about him. On my own, as I was, I had very damn little to no chance at all of reaching him. That’s changed. I don’t know what my chances are now. I just know they’ve gotten better.

This TerraCop outfit purely amazes me. If it wasn’t for the overwhelming sense of integrity in this place I’d think it was all a gigantic sham of some sort. That an organization could have grown so big and powerful, without the world knowing anything about them, stretches the bounds of possibility and believability right to the breaking point. This John guy who founded and still commands TerraCop must be one hell of a man. I’d like to meet him someday.

They want to teach me how to hunt down and kill criminals? I thought I was doing a fair reasonable job of it, but I’m willing to learn anything that might improve my skills. I want The Chief. I want him bad.

I roll onto my left side and will myself to sleep.

****************************************************

This is almost as frustrating as it is satisfying. I’m as free an agent as it’s possible to be. I’ve been able to eliminate a fair few medium big criminal assholes over the last five years, but I haven’t gotten any closer to The Chief. I’ve learned quite a bit about him, but I’ve no leads at all as to his whereabouts.

I still have trouble at times; believing TerraCop isn’t just a figment of my imagination. They, in the person of Adam or Alicia, have given me a few assignments, but I’ve mostly been free to follow my own star. I assume they’re happy with what I’ve been doing. They made me a roving agent and gave me a pair of two man support teams to use where, when, and as I choose.

Larry, Tom, Pete, and Eddie are damn good men. I’m supposedly in charge, but there’s very little commanding needed. For some reason we click. We work together like finely machined and mated gears. They just know what’s required in whatever situation and do it.

They’ve all been in TerraCop longer than I have, and are certainly mentally sharp enough to run their own teams. I don’t understand why they’re not, but they seem happy with the arrangement and I’m sure hell not complaining. They’ve pulled my ass out of a few tight spots.

They keep telling me I’m going to get myself killed someday, and I have to admit, they’re probably right. But I’ve been with TerraCop for five years now. That’s already on the long side of average life expectancy for field agents. Besides, I died seven years ago with Marcie, Bobby, and Jenny.

Hey, Jim.

Larry’s voice brings me back to the highway we’re cruising down. He and Tom, in the car ahead of me, are in the process of passing a five year old Chevy. I’ll be passing it in a minute, and Pete and Eddie are behind me. Yeah, I answer.

Have a look at the guy driving this Chevy. He looks kinda familiar but I can’t place him.

Will do. I check traffic in the fast lane and move over. I come abreast of the slower moving car, take a good look at the driver, and the face on one of the rap sheets I read last night pops into my mind. Well well! I murmur, just loud enough for the comm to pick it up and transmit to the other cars. Jimmy (Wheels) Baker; in the flesh. Pete, stay behind this guy. We’re gonna have a little fun. Tom, speed up a mite. Go on ahead five miles or so, then pull over and fall in behind us.

I pull back into the slow lane and adjust my speed to very gradually draw ahead while I think things over. I have a code phrase that’s supposed to get me instant and unquestioning cooperation from the local constabulary wherever I might be. I’ve never used it, but I think this time it could be advisable. With three cars we can easily do this ourselves, but it could get messy. This is a fair heavily travelled road and some innocent travellers could get involved. Having a cop on scene would give it an official appearance and dissuade any Good Samaritan from stopping. I ask my comm for a phone number and punch it into my car phone. It rings once and a man’s voice bawls, R.C.M.Police, Bradshaw.

Good morning, Officer Bradshaw, I say. Do the words infinity nine — you didn’t think I’d write the actual words did you? — mean anything to you?

Huh? Infi…, I can almost feel him come to attention at his desk. Yes sir!

Excellent. I tell him where we are, and describe the Chevy, plate number and all. I want him stopped in as light traffic as possible. There’s a chance he could be a mite miffed and I don’t want innocent people hurt. Got that?

Yes, sir. From your description of location there’s a normally fairly deserted stretch about ten miles ahead of you, and we have a car in the area. Will you require backup?

No thanks, officer. There are five of us in three cars. We just need your man to stop him. He may be well advised to duck down once he’s parked.

Do you anticipate gunfire?

Can’t rule out the possibility. Thanks for your help, Bradshaw. I break the phone connection as we roll past Larry and he pulls in behind us. You guys heard?

Loud and clear.

Betcha. That’s Eddie, and knowing him as I do, I know he isn’t finished. You know what I like about working with you, Jim?

Nope. Don’t really care either.

Yeah, I figured that. I’ll tell you anyway. You keep life interesting.

Yeah, Larry says. Who else can turn a pleasant Sunday morning drive into a roadside takedown?

What? I say. Is it Sunday?

Hell if I know, Larry says. Hey Eddie. Is it Sunday?

What? Do I look like a calendar?

Jesus Christ, you guys! I say. How the hell am I gonna put a date on the report if you can’t even tell me what day it is?

Hell, Jim. Just pick one. You can’t be out by more than three.

Good point. Now tell me what mo…

Heads up! Smokey coming up astern.

Badinage forgotten, I look in the mirror and see the police car roll past Larry and draw even with Pete. The driver turns his lights on as he pulls in behind the Chevy. I begin to slow down. Pete pulls out, moves up beside and a touch ahead of the Chevy and hangs there, crowding the Chev to the side of the road. I put on some brake.

We come to a stop with the Chevy’s bumper almost against the rear of my car. I throw my seatbelt off, fire my door open and spin out of the car. Baker has his door open and a gun pointed in my direction. The cop’s head drops behind the dashboard of the cruiser. I pull my .38 as a bullet snaps by in the near vicinity of my head. I put one between Bakers’ eyes.

Pete moves ahead and parks in front of my car. Larry and Tom walk up beside the cop and Larry taps on his window. The officer rolls it down and Larry tells him, Just stay in your car, officer.

Pete and Eddie come back and we go through Baker’s pockets and the Chev, quickly but thoroughly. There’s a hand drawn route map on the seat, naming a roadside diner as the destination. There’s a briefcase with a false bottom that contains some official and high-tech looking papers.

What do you think, Jim? Larry asks.

I look at the decedent. He was just about my size. I do resemble him to some extent, if you don’t look too closely. Those papers didn’t get into that briefcase by accident, they sure hell don’t belong to Baker, and my curiosity is burning real bright. Let’s get his clothes off.

What are you going to do? Eddie asks cautiously.

I’m going to be him and deliver these papers. Let’s get moving.

The diner’s a fair size place with a large parking lot that has several trucks parked in it. I park up close to the building along with a dozen other cars and pick-up trucks. I take a moment to contemplate, and to give the guys time to get into position, then get out of the car and go inside. There are thirty tables in three rows along the windows. A long counter with the cash register on the end near the door and ten stools farther back separates customer area from the kitchen. A large screen TV hangs from the ceiling in front of the stools. Judging from the noise the stools occupants are making one of the football teams playing is a local favorite. Washrooms are at the back of the room beside the back door.

I take the table closest to the rear exit and sit with my back to the wall. The waitress is a good looking girl in a fairly snug white shirt and above the knee length black skirt. I tell her I’m meeting someone and we’ll decide on eating then. In the meantime I’ll have a coffee. I park the briefcase on the table, take some papers out of it and pretend to study them.

I’m on my second refill when a slightly small and exquisitely formed blond girl walks in. All in all, she’s the loveliest sight my tired old eyes have seen in a hell of a while. Being me, my immediate response is a mental movie of her and me in a nice private place with a nice soft bed. I watch her eyes scan the semi-crowded place before settling on me.

I’m a pretty good looking guy — the surgeon who rebuilt my face after a close encounter with a windshield a few years ago did an excellent job — but I don’t think my facial features have much to do with the radiant smile that lights her face and starts a congestion problem happening to the south of my belt buckle. Especially since said smile doesn’t reach her bright blue eyes.

Mine are probably the only male eyes that don’t watch the sway of her hips as she walks toward me. I’m watching her face for the first signs of alarm. She’s obviously recognized something about me. Whether it’s something I’m wearing, or the briefcase I have open on the table, I don’t know.

It’s no real hardship to shift my gaze downward when I notice her watching my face as intently as I watch hers. A woman who looks like she does has got to be well accustomed to every male eye watching her ass or her tits instead of her face. I move my eyes down, but I’m very aware of her face and I see the acceptance growing there that I am who I’m supposed to be.

Hello, darling, she says as she comes to a stop across the table from me and begins to lean toward me.

I see envious looks on the faces of a couple young guys at the table in front of mine as I half rise to my feet and lean across to meet her lips. Hello, my love, I answer. I lower my voice so only she can hear. You’ll excuse my not standing. I’m afraid of embarrassing myself, or breaking something.

She laughs pleasantly and only a little falsely. She’s plainly uncomfortable with the idea of having her back to the door, but she smoothly settles into the chair. You’re Jim? she asks, barely audibly.

That pretty much confirms that she’s the one Baker was coming to meet. I nod, then grin. Honey, I’m willing to be whoever the hell you want me to be, I tell her fervently and almost as quietly. We’re clean.

She relaxes slightly. Have you ordered? she inquires at a normal level of voice.

I’m not sure if her relaxation is due to my assurance that we’re not under surveillance, or if my comment re identity has more to do with it, but either way I’m not complaining. I do not want her suspicious of me.

No, I say. I thought I’d let you decide if we eat now or later.

A look of pure deviltry flashes across her face. Or both? she murmurs.

It’s my turn to laugh. The atmosphere is definitely getting sexual. Now I don’t dare move my hips at all. I’d break it for sure. Or both, I agree.

I spot the waitress approaching our table. Waitress, I murmur, and we fall silent.

She orders a slice of pie and a coke. I pass on both and watch the waitress’s ass wiggle inside that skirt as she walks away. I’ll watch any ass that deserves watching, even when I’m sitting across the table from the best looking one I’ve ever seen. It’s just the way I am. I do it again after she brings the girl’s pie and coke.

The girl eats in silence while I replace the papers in the briefcase and close it. I look up when the door opens and Larry and Tom walk in. I cast a quick glance at the girl and risk a quick nod of my head. Uh oh! I mutter. Opposition.

Yup. The girl’s a pro all right. Her eyes flash up at me with a touch of concern in them, but that’s her only reaction. She finishes eating with no change of pace, drops back the rest of her drink, and looks across at me.

Ready to go? she asks at a normal volume.

Lead on, my love, I answer.

It doesn’t break when I stand up. I even manage to walk almost normally as I follow her down the aisle between the rows of tables toward check-out.

Being behind her there’s no possibility she’ll notice any signal I might give to confederates, but it’s probably her organization that had set up the meet. ‘Cool Jule’, Baker’s boss, isn’t a big enough big shot to handle something as hot as I think those papers are. Baker was alone and unescorted, I hope, but there’s a fair chance whoever this girl’s boss is has some trusted personnel around to back her up. I have to give him/her credit for being a sneaky bastard. It’s healthier that way.

I do slip the guys a signal as I pass their table, but I’m very discrete about it. I pay the tab like a real gentleman and we walk out into the sunshine.

Leave your car here, she tells me.

She leads me to a late model, top-end BMW which is a real step up from ‘Wheels’ Baker’s five year old bargain basement Chevy. We get into the car; she starts the engine then turns to me. As quick as a snake strike, she leans across the car, brushes her lips against mine and withdraws. Hi, Jim. I’m Vanessa.

Hi, Vanessa, I say, rather calmly considering. I’m impressed.

I am impressed, by her and by her car; mostly by her. I busy myself with my seatbelt while she wheels us out of the diner’s parking lot onto the highway. The buckle clicks into place. Now I can relax a bit.

Funny, the way being tossed through a windshield can change a person’s habits.

I sit back and study her while she takes us up to speed, a good bit above the posted limit, and sets the cruise. Not only is she sinfully good looking; she’s bright, cheerful, mentally sharp as a tack, and she handles this car like a NASCAR driver. As an alternative to freezing in fear, I start to enjoy a perfectly good fantasy about her.

She looks over at me. It was those two guys at table five, wasn’t it?

Damn reality! It’s always interrupting my best fantasies. I come back to earth. Looked like cops to me. Didn’t they to you?

As a matter of fact, they did, she says. Her smile vanishes. And so do you.

Her left hand comes up from beside her seat and I’m looking down the barrel of a cannon.

Go ahead, look down the barrel of a snub-nose .38 at point blank range, when it’s held in the rock steady hand of someone you instinctively know has no qualms whatever about pulling the trigger, and tell me it doesn’t look like a cannon.

I laugh. God knows why. I sure don’t. But it’s the right reaction. She relaxes a bit. I know better than to move, so I preen as much as possible while imitating a statue. Just call me Captain Gorgeous, I say, managing to sound casual. It’s come in handy a time or three.

She isn’t satisfied. She’s waiting for something and I have no idea what. She gets tired of waiting. Either that or she’s starting to want a look at the road we’re tearing down.

Password, pal, she demands. What’s the password?

The first thought that crosses my mind is what comes out of my mouth. Oh crap! Nobody’s going to believe that ‘Sam sent me’ bullshit!

She grins, the gun drops into her lap and she takes her first look at where we’re going in what feels like several centuries. I stare at her in total shock. I don’t know what the hell to make of this. Either she’s saving me for someone meaner or God really is smiling upon me today. Two correct off-the-cuff reactions? Back to back like that? They say life is stranger than fiction. Maybe they’re right.

Unthinkingly, I start to raise a hand to wipe the sweat off my brow. The gun’s back in her hand and I’m checking the rifling groves in the bore again. Damn this woman’s fast! I freeze.

Move over, she commands.

There are a couple inches between me and the door and she apparently feels I’m too close to her.

You’re not going to shoot me if I move?

Not if you do it slow and easy.

Promise?

Just shut up and move.

My perverse nature chooses that moment to kick in. I cautiously hitch myself toward her as far as the seatbelt allows.

The gun waves at me and she barks, The other way, damnit!

But…

"Move."

She either can’t, or doesn’t, put the cold authority into her voice that the situation demands and she doesn’t try to hide the growing smile on her face, but I do move back to my original location.

You’re a real smartass aren’t you?

An ass possibly; smart I’m even less sure of. Would you please watch the road? If we hit something at this speed they’ll pick up our remains in the next county.

She throws a quick glance out the windshield, corrects her aim a touch, and looks back at me with a solemnly appraising light in her eyes.

Are you going to try something funny?

At this speed? I demand incredulously. I’m sure some of my terror is coming through in my voice. The funny I’d like to try does not include suicide. Just please, watch the road at least half the time. I’ll behave until we come back below the speed of sound.

She has a real pretty smile. Maybe that’s due to the fact it’s starting to show in her eyes. She drops the gun in her lap and turns back to the road. The tight feeling in my chest finally allows me to partake of some oxygen. It occurs to me that she hasn’t disarmed me and I can maybe turn that to my advantage.

Do you want my gun? I ask, all nice and innocent like.

That gets me my third look down the muzzle of that cannon. I’m a fast gun, but I’m beginning to think Vanessa’s faster.

Don’t shoot. I’m going to open my jacket. As soon as you’ve sneaked another peek at the road.

She does. It’s a very brief peek, but a peek none-the-less. Then I do it. Sloooowly! She spots the gun butt sticking out of my belt before I even get my windbreaker open all the way.

Take it out with your right hand, thumb and forefinger, and toss it in the back.

Have another peek at the road first, I plead. Damn! If she always pays this little attention to her driving I’m never willingly going to let her drive again.

Her eyes leave me for approximately five nanoseconds; then they’re back. I give up. The only way I’m going to avoid dying in a car crash is to shut up and obey. I don’t toss my gun like she’d told me to. It’s kind of an awkward grip and I do not want to fumble the damn thing. Something about the whiteness of the knuckle of her trigger finger tells me that would be a mistake. I reach over my shoulder and let the gun drop.

She hears the gun hit the floor back there and finally, finally, pays attention to where this unguided missile we’re in is going. My heart starts beating again but it’s some time before I can draw a proper breath.

I gather you don’t trust many people. Me in particular, I say when I think I can speak without squeaking.

I can only see the corner of her eye, and the shadow that flashes through it doesn’t waste any time, but I swear I see sadness there along with the cold, hard determination.

You were right the first time, she says quietly.

She kicks off the cruise and lets the car coast. I study her as our speed slowly drops toward sanity. I experience a moment of real sadness that she’s on the opposite side in this war. There’s something between us other than a horny man’s attraction to a beautiful woman. I’m sure we’d make one hell of a team if we were pulling in the same direction.

Want to tell me about it? I ask.

About what?

Whatever made you so sad a minute ago.

Her head snaps around. There’s real anger in her face and her voice. You really are a wise-ass son-of-a-bitch aren’t you?

No. I just tend to babble a lot when I’m scared shitless.

She glares at me a moment longer then looks back to the road. She resets the cruise at only half a dozen demerit points above the posted limit. A couple miles pass in silence.

No, she says quietly.

No what?

No, I don’t want to tell you.

Why not?

That ticks her a mite. It’s none of your damn business, she snaps.

At least the gun stays in her lap and her attention stays on the road; most of it. I’m not dumb enough to believe I can move at all without her noticing. And that cannon is right there in her lap.

It surprises me, a few miles later, when she kicks off the cruise again. There’s no crossroad within sight, no roadside pullout, or any other logical reason for it. She doesn’t touch the brakes. She just lets the speed drop of its own accord and when it’s well below the posted limit she clicks the cruise back on. She hasn’t looked at me once since our last conversation.

Who are you? she asks so quietly I barely hear her. "No. Cancel that. What are you?"

Once again my mouth answers for me. Scared to death, it says.

She turns her head and studies me for a few seconds then turns to the front again. She’s paying more attention to her driving at legal speed than she had been when we were damn near supersonic. Women! What an amazing invention!

If you are what you claim to be, what have you got to be scared of?

I stare at her, incredulous. "What have I… Lady! Are you nuts? You weave this bomb through moderate to heavy traffic at damn close to a thousand miles an hour and never even look at the road because you’re too busy pointing that howitzer between my bushy eyebrows and you ask me what I’m scared of? I have to stop and indulge in some oxygen. I’m scared of friggin’ dying! What the hell you think I’m scared of?"

For a moment I think my mouth’s gotten me another look at the wrong end of that .38, but her shoulders relax and she begins to laugh. The humor reaches her eyes.

I begin to relax. I have, it seems, made it past the first hurdle. Tom and Larry had been left in the diner. They’d done their job. I’m fairly positive we lost Pete and Eddie in those minutes of full throttle flight. But that’s a problem for the future and I’ll worry about it when I get to it. For now I’ll enjoy the drive and Vanessa’s company.

It’s a strange few minutes. Vanessa and I are watching each other closely. We’re both aware of the others’ scrutiny and aware of mutual enjoyment thereof. I have the edge on her there. She’s driving much less suicidally and I prefer watching her to other traffic and the bush along the highway, so that’s what I’m doing. She’s a most intriguing lady and I’m being very obvious about being intrigued. I’m also having some serious second thoughts about her.

She tries to scowl at me, but she isn’t very convincing. She soon gives it up and lets the smile that’s lurking there show. She sits a little straighter in her seat which makes her breasts even more prominent than they had been. If she thinks I think it was accidental, she’s wrong. I don’t figure she does much of anything accidentally.

I don’t believe you, you know, she comments casually.

I don’t see why, I answer. I’m an accomplished congenital liar.

Her head snaps around and she stares at me; then bursts into laughter. You’re a nut! she exclaims. A complete and total nut! Her laughter dies. And you’re not what you claim to be. I don’t know what you are, but I do know what you aren’t.

Sometimes you just get instinctive feelings about a person that defies all evidence. I can easily understand that. I’ve just come to the same conclusion about her.

So how did I fail to convince you that I’m a bad ass dude? I ask. Was it in refraining from throwing you down on the back seat and screwing your eyeballs loose?

You couldn’t, she tells me.

I couldn’t which? Throw you or…

Either.

Why don’t you find a place to park this thing and we’ll find out?

She stares at me so long I’m starting to get nervous again when she murmurs, That would be fun, wouldn’t it? and turns once more to the road.

I don’t know why, she says a few decibels louder. But I like you. I don’t believe you, but I do like you. I’m going to let the Chief make up his own mind about you.

The Chief? Unholy exhilaration courses through me. All the years of futile searching for the son-of-a-bitch, and now, when least expected, I’ve found him. I begin to consider my armament. My .38’s on the floor in the back seat, but that’s pretty much a give-away item anyway. Give them something to find and most of them will stop looking. My principal armament consists of several neat little gadgets that you’d never suspect were weapons. They include two gizmos that are excellent for shooting people. Other than the .38, the only thing I have that’s recognizably a weapon is the beautifully balanced throwing knife that I carry in an arm rig.

Vanessa turns off the highway onto a secondary road and instead of picking up speed, she looks over at me. Pick up your gun, she says.

I glance at her lap and realize that while I was contemplating my firepower, she’d returned hers to wherever she’d gotten it from. I switch my gaze to her face, trying to read a motive there.

Pick up your goddamn gun, she orders impatiently. I’m not going to shoot you. Or anything else.

I believe her. I release the seatbelt and squirm around to kneel on the seat and reach the .38.

Mmm. Nice abs, she says.

I crank my head around and see her looking at me where my jacket and shirt have rucked up, exposing my bare midriff. I grab my gun, plunk my butt back in the seat, and start putting me back together again.

Yeah, I say. Mr. Universe has nothing on me.

And so modest.

Hey, if you got it, flaunt it. If you don’t got it, flaunt it anyway. Half the idiots in the world won’t know the difference.

She studies me long and hard. With the engine at an idle we’re rolling along now at two or three miles an hour and I’m not too concerned about her inattention to our course.

Wanna tell me about it? she asks.

About what? I counter.

Whatever it was that’s made you so cynical?

I look her square in the eyes. Maybe someday. Not now.

She returns my look steadily. Okay, she says, and gets us moving again.

Do you have any idea what you’re getting into? she asks a bit later.

I grin at her. No, but I know what I’d like to get into.

Damnit! she says impatiently. Get your mind off my ass and pay attention. If you get yourself killed you’re never going to.

Better confirmation of mutual sexual interest a guy does not get. I’m all ears, I say.

She makes sure I’m watching her before she lowers her eyes to my crotch. That had damn well better be bullshit too. Like everything else you’ve told me. Now shut up and listen. We’ve only got another couple miles. There’s a chain link fence around the place…

Our destination is not your typical summer vacation cabin in the woods. Said fence, Vanessa tells me, is eight feet high, topped with three strands of barbed wire, contains one gate, and encloses a twenty acre piece of ground upon which no tree stands and no blade of grass is allowed to be more than a couple inches tall.

Only a one acre patch adjacent to the rear of the main house has plants tall enough to conceal a trespasser. There, a few shade trees offer relief from the sun when one is tired of swimming in the Olympic size pool. A few hedges, rock gardens, and flower beds provide rather pleasant scenery and privacy from the two barnlike structures behind it. One of said structures serves as a barracks for the thirty or so soldiers, male and female, who provide protection and grounds keeping staff for the Chief. Half of the other building, the east one, actually is a barn wherein lives the Chief’s thoroughbred horses. The other half houses his cars and a couple pick-up trucks. A pair of guest cottages to the west of the barracks completes the list of outbuildings.

The main house itself, just a tiny place with twenty bedrooms and a dozen baths, sits in the center of the grounds. From the many windows in its three story height the entire acreage can be brought under fire in case of an attack by an unfriendly competitor.

The gate’s guarded 24/7, and six soldiers roam the grounds on a similar schedule. Within the house resides the Chief, his mistress of the moment, a butler, a couple of valets, a terrific chef, and a squad of maids.

All personnel are armed at all times, and all are fairly proficient in the use of said arms. All told there’s enough firepower on the estate to hold off an army.

And they say crime doesn’t pay!

Sure you don’t want me to drop you off here? Vanessa asks when she finishes describing the place.

I don’t honor that stupid question with any kind of answer. Where do you fit in? I demand.

I’m his head go-for. I get to drive visiting vips around and fetch others whom the great man wishes. I’m on call 24/7 and live in the main house. She looks over at me. And no, I’m not, never have been, and never will be, one of his mistresses.

I think I’m rather pleased about that but I’m not sure. We’ve rounded the last bend in the road, the gate’s dead ahead of us, and I’m busy matching reality to the picture her description’s drawn in my mind.

You want him real bad, don’t you, Jim?

The soft concern in her voice brings my eyes back to her face. She’s watching me intently. Now I don’t mind a pretty girl watching me, especially with that particular expression on her face, but this girl spends altogether too much time watching me when she’s supposed to be watching where she’s aiming us.

She turns away from me and brings us to a gentle stop. Good luck, she says as the guard comes out of his hut.

I take advantage of the chemistry between us, reach over and plop my hand on her leg about mid-thigh. I squeeze gently, feeling the smooth, fine toned muscle. She places her hand on mine and holds it there. I deeply desire a full face view of her, but she’s looking straight ahead, watching as the guard unlocks the gate and swings it open.

With a final squeeze of my fingers she puts her hand back on the wheel. I remove my hand from her leg, and we enter the lion’s den.

We roll up the paved driveway to the house. Two tough looking guys stand on the sidewalk by the front door waiting for us. Their hands disappear inside their suit coats as Vanessa pulls to a stop. If