34: Sapphire Compromised

Ginger was surprised at Rosewood and Taggert's arrival. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"The Johnsons said you wanted us here."
Ginger's face cooled as she understood the Johnsons' motive. "Oh. No, but whatever. If they want to put in the extra time, fine."

Cooper was alarmed. He knew exactly what the Johnsons were up to. He and Burnett had ogled the two Barrett women plenty while on surveillance, but Johnson and Johnson had an ugly history of going way beyond that. Cooper remembered the last time they'd worked surveillance on the same job... looking for some leverage against a high-ranking official in the Canadian Mint, they'd been monitoring his daughter's activities at band camp...

"Johnson & Johnson are animals. They would have broken into that house and raped the two of them every night if they thought they could get away with it. Now you're leaving them alone with the mom? That's just sick. I don't know why you even have them around."

Ginger was dismissive; their extra-curricular activies were none of her concern, so long as the mission was accomplished.

"Because they're very good at what they do," she said.
"Which is what, exactly?"

"Whatever I tell them."

"Ohhhh..." Gladys heard herself moan. It had been so long since she'd been touched that way. Since she'd been treated like a woman.

Her eyes opened to find Mel leaning over her, his rugged face cracked in a tender smile.

Gladys felt the gentle but insistent stroking again, big meaty fingers so unlike her own... god, she was so horny. This wasn't like her. It wasn't like Mel, either. Gladys had assumed it would never happen, that the big beefy cook just couldn't open up to anyone.

But here he was, in her bed at last...

...just as she'd imagined him. The coarse salt-and-pepper chest hair, that little scar on his right side she'd seen when she'd accidentally barged in on him in the back room as he was changing. Those strong arms.

She must have had too much to drink. Way too much. She couldn't even remember where they'd gone out... Her whole body felt warm and gooey beneath him, sweetly sleepy and exhilerated all at once. He looked down at her with a look of caring and possession that made her melt.

Gladys gasped in surprise when he entered her in one swift thrust. "Ohh!"

"Why'd you have to dope her up? You know I like it when they resist." Agent Johnson noted with disappointed satisfaction the way his engorged prick slid easily in and out of the waitress, slick with her juices. She was still pretty tight for an old broad who'd had a kid, but all syrupy and out-of-it like this it was almost wasted. Almost.

"Remember Montreal?" the other Agent Johnson said, sitting in the chair next to the couch, flipping channels. "That bitch almost ripped my balls off. After seeing what this whore's daughter can do, I'm not taking any chances."

"That's just the sapphires, man. This one's harmless." Agent Johnson reached forward to cup the woman's tit. He pinched the nipple just hard enough to elicit a gasp -- and a pleasant contraction around his dick. He didn't normally like them over thirty, but this wasn't the average teenager's mom. There was no middle-age spread here. This woman had a great body, just soft enough to be squeezable. If she'd actually been aware she was being raped she'd probably be quite the handful. It was too bad he probably wasn't going to get another chance at her. Oh well, her daughter could make up for it. He'd make sure she was stone-cold sober when he took her...

"Hey, we don't know *what* it is. Besides, don't you like it when they enjoy it?"
"She's barely even here. A good blowjob requires more interactivity." Fucking was one thing, but nothing showed absolute power over a stupid cunt like a forced blowjob. Johnson's member twitched at the mere thought of it.

"Like the girl in Cancun? Did that ever heal right?" What a shitty cable system. They didn't even have Playboy TV.

"Her sister made up for it."
"Her sister didn't clean the splattered brains off my shoes."

"Maybe you shouldn't spend so much on your shoes."
"Maybe you shouldn't engage in high-risk sex."
"If you're not livin' on the edge, you're just takin' up space."
"Quit talking and finish fucking."

Johnson slowed and pulled out, backing up off the couch. The woman's brow furrowed; he heard her whimper. "I've had enough. She's too out of it. What'd you give her?"
"Failed agency psychoactive from the 80s. Subjects got too loopy for interrogation, but as you can see the program isn't a total loss. She probably thinks she's home fucking her husband."
"She's a widow."
"She wasn't always."

Agent Johnson retreated to the bathroom. The other Agent Johnson snapped off the TV, stroking his dick through his underwear until it stood at attention. The black Calvin Kleins pooled on the floor. He stepped between the semi-conscious Barrett woman's legs, flopped lewdly apart on the couch. Hands grabbed her thighs, pulling her toward the edge of the couch and onto his shaft. He lifted her pelvis up off the couch slightly, fairly pumping her up and down on his cock, little more than a sex doll to be used for his pleasure.

Concern broke through Gladys' sexual high. It felt good, but... No... this wasn't right. Mel wasn't like this. He had a tough exterior, but inside he was a teddy bear. They'd never gotten past a few hesitant and uncomfortable dates. If anything, Gladys had scared him off by being too aggressive. Mel wouldn't be like this... so selfish. So... rough.

"No..." she said weakly. He only drove into her more harshly; his free hand dug into her breast. She tried to push him off, but her arms wouldn't move...

Johnson came out of the bathroom, grabbing his pants off the back of a chair in the corner. He noticed the unwilling look on the woman's face, eyes clamped tight, brow furrowed, head shaking slowly back and forth, "No, no, no..."

"Figures she'd start putting out for you," he said with mild disgust.

Gladys woke up to voices. She felt groggy, but the memory of her abduction brought her mind into sharp focus. She was sitting. Her wrists and ankles hurt; something stiff and sharp-edged bound them to the chair. She expected to be blindfolded but was not. She opened her eyes cautiously. She was in a small room, like an office; in front of her was an open door with sickly flourescent light streaming in from an open area beyond. A round table sat in the middle of the next room. A man walked by; she quickly closed her eyes and feigned unconsciousness. If they thought she was still out of it, maybe she could learn something about her captors.

Voices. She opened her eyes slowly. Two men sat at the table, one with his back to her, the other to one side. A woman leaned up against the far wall, just within Gladys' view. Her clothes were expensive, if a little tarty. Her arms were crossed. She was pissed.

"Cooper, you want Chinese?"
"Yeah. Gimme some Ginger Beef."
Everyone snickered. The woman, clearly in charge, shot them a look. Her name must be Ginger.

"Hey, boss, you want some Chinese?"
"Cantonese, Mandarin, Schezuan, or Hunan?" The question was phrased as if being asked of a lazy child.
"I don't know, Chinese."
The woman rolled her eyes. "Well, is it *good* Chinese?"
"Well, yeah. They even print stuff on the little boxes."
"Thank You."
"You're welcome."
"No, they print 'Thank You.'"
"How'd you know?"
"Because every little shit Chinese restaurant buys the same fucking boxes, you moron."
"Well I never really had Chinese much. All those weird vegetables and spices. But Taggert turned me on to some stuff that I liked."
"Lemme guess, sweet and sour pork."
"Yeah; you like it too?"
"Rosewood, you are the dumbest, most backwater motherfucker in the entire agency. How the fuck did you ever get hired?"

Gladys couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Hey, boss, I think she's waking up."

The woman in charge stood in front of Gladys. She was immaculately dressed. Expensive. And slutty.

"Relax. You're not going anywhere for a while."

"What do you want with my daughter?"
"This isn't Amateur Hour. I'm not some cardboard villain from a Bruckheimer movie. You're the hostage, I don't have to tell you shit."

"If it's money you want, we don't have any, except for the house." For some reason that elicited a snicker from two of the men -- Cooper and the dirty-blonde one in the retro-fashionable summer suit. Ginger shot them a look.
Her reply to her captive was curt. "I'm not talking to you."

"She has something you want." She remembered earlier that day at the diner. "A priceless Chinese artifact." A flash of recognition crossed Ginger's face. "Why didn't you just take it from her?"
"You know, I could still gag you."

Gladys raised an eyebrow. Of course. "You don't know where it is."

A loud disembodied voice suddenly filled the room; Summer Suit had turned on the television.

"An explosion rocked the sleepy development of Heartwood Gardens earlier today-"

Ginger screamed, "turn it off! Turn it off!"

Her scream startled Summer Suit, who dropped the remote. It clattered to the floor, a plastic Crack! followed by a bouncing and rolling sound.

"At shortly before 11 A.M., the home of Gladys Barrett, a waitress at a local diner, exploded and caught fire here on Valentine Drive..."

"Turn it off!" Ginger kept screaming. Cooper and his startled companion both dove under the table at the same time, knocking heads. One of them found the remote, holding it up above the table and stabbing at buttons, to no effect.

"Fire investigators pin the cause on a leaky valve that caused explosive gas to accumulate in the house until a spark ignited it. Neither Mrs. Barrett nor her daughter Angela were in the house at the time; no bodies have been found."

"You lost the batteries," Rosewood offered cheerfully. "I think I heard them roll over there under the fridge."

Summer Suit scrambled across the floor, a cream-colored cockroach chasing down the batteries.

"Police are investigating the claims of one witness that before the explosion there were at least two men who attempted to enter the house and exchanged gunfire with someone inside. Investigators refuse to confirm or deny evidence of a shootout at this time."

"Fuck the batteries, pull the fucking plug!" Ginger barked. She stepped through the doorway and out of sight.

Rosewood jumped up to comply, but his foot got tangled up in the legs of the chair. He went straight to the floor with a loud Smack! His hand sought something solid to help him up, and found the edge of the makeshift tablecloth. Beer cans, playing cards, ashtrays, and old pizza crusts went flying.

"The witness went on to say that the wanted fugitive Sapphire, also known as the Avenging Angel, was seen fleeing the scene, but this has not been confirmed. Neither Barrett woman could be reached for comment, and their whereabouts are un-"

Twin explosions marked the television's death by handgun.

Ginger brought the weapon to rest in front of her chest. "If you all don't get your *shit* together the TV won't be the only fucking casualty around here."

All the men froze, cowering in place. Gladys could see Cooper through the doorway, still under the table; he looked like a hunted animal, hoping he wouldn't be found.

A metallic click marked the ejection of Ginger's clip from her weapon; Gladys heard rhythmic crunching glass. A moment later, Ginger returned, pressing a round into the top of the clip, perfectly-manicured bright-red nails at once contrast and complement to the deadly projectile. Ginger snugged the clip behind her into the waistband of her expensive-looking skirt.

Gladys looked up at Ginger. These people had blown up her house. They could have killed someone. They were clearly *willing* to kill someone to get what they wanted. They might kill her. They might hurt her daughter.

A hot flash of fury burned through her. "Listen, I don't know who you people are, but if you do *anything* to hurt Angela, I swear to God I'll make you pay."

Summer Suit piped up from the next room. "Hey, lady, if we were able to hurt your daughter, we wouldn't need you, now would we?"

Ginger's face turned red; she practically leaped for the doorway. "Shut up! You fucking idiots!" She looked back at her captive, trying to read from her face the damage the comment had caused.

Gladys' eyes narrowed. "You don't know where *she* is, either."

She looked down in a moment of reflection before holding Ginger's gaze again. "So what is this 'package'? And who has the rest of it?"

Ginger's face turned red; her eyes narrowed into a scowl. She called over her shoulder, "You were *supposed* to hang up when I started talking!"
"We tried, boss, but the button on the phone was sticking."

Ginger pulled the gun out of her skirt. Gladys got a good look at it this time. It was large and chrome and masculine, no doubt chosen more for its intimidation than its utility.

"I don't think she heard the part about the stones or the super-"

Ginger stalked to the doorway and pointed it out toward the voices beyond. "Shut. The *Fuck*. Up. The only reason this door is open is so you dumbshits have a clean shot in case her overachieving daughter tries a rescue."
"Now who's giving the hostage information?" one of her men taunted.
Ginger retrained the weapon, singling out a target. "Just because I need you now doesn't mean I won't kill you later," she spat.

The pregnant silence suggested the comment might not be an exaggeration.

"Rosewood." Ginger waved her piece upward. "Go relieve Taggert on the roof."

Gladys' mental gears spun; facts began to coalesce around a fantastic truth.

"Have you noticed your daughter acting strange lately?"
Her daughter's recent taste in more revealing clothes.
"Has she been unusually withdrawn?"
Spending all those extra hours at work.
"I can't tell you, mom. It's... private."
The constant sewing. Ripped-up garments in the trash can.
"And yet I never see you wearing anything you've made."
"I think you know your daughter's been up to something."
Angela out all hours of the night.
"I wish I could tell you what's going on, but you wouldn't understand."
The QuickMart. "Promise me you won't go there anymore."
The World News Weekly: GOD SENDS ANGEL TO SAVE QUICK MART
"You'll always be my little angel."
"You're right mom. I need to get out there and do something."
AVENGING ANGEL STRIKES AGAIN!
"It would just break my heart to be watching the news and see my baby's name..."
The morning news: "I'm standing here in front of what's left of GB's restaurant, which witnesses claim was the site of a clash of titanic proportions between the Black Widow and the Avenging Angel known to some as Sapphire..."
Angela didn't come home last night. "I had kind of a long night..."
The house this morning: "...wanted fugitive Sapphire, also known as the Avenging Angel, was seen fleeing the scene..."
"Please just trust me when I say I'm all right."
Spending so many nights out on the patio.
"...a gaping hole in the roof of police headquarters, where unofficial witnesses claim Sapphire broke out..."
A guard on the roof.
"...in case her overachieving daughter tries a rescue."
"If we were able to hurt your daughter..."

Tears began to well up in Gladys Barrett's eyes.

"Sapphire. Oh, Angela..."

"Congratulations." Ginger's exasperated sarcasm was directed at her co-conspirators as much as her captive.

"My baby's a superheroine."
"Your baby's a big pain in the ass. And if she continues to be a pain in the ass, you'll be kissing yours goodbye."

"Why are you doing this?"
"Isn't it obvious? Your daughter stole something from me. I want it back. Do you honestly think a power like that is best used stopping suburban convenience store robberies and purse-snatchings? It's a *gift* to humanity and some teenage bimbo is squandering it!"
The sarcasm of Gladys' retort was palpable. "The world is *so* much better off putting power like that in the hands of someone like *you*."
Ginger kneeled suddenly, her face inches from that of her hostage. "Look, *Gladys*," Ginger said with dripping contempt, "we're on the same side. Do you want your sweet little girl gallivanting about half-dressed late at night with the unsavory elements of society?" She paused, letting the disturbing image sink in. "If Angela does what she's told, before you know it you'll have your baby back on track with junior college and dates with nice boys. Everyone wins."

Gladys felt crushing guilt for pressuring her daughter to share her secret. Why didn't Angela tell her? The zip-ties digging into her wrists and ankles were her answer. Her angel had been trying to protect her. Protect her from this woman...

"So you're the Black Widow."
Once again, the peanut gallery provided wise-ass intel. "She wishes!"
Ginger fired a warning shot, the big gun shaking the walls with the force of its report. A meek voice answered, "Sorry."
"The Black Widow is just a crazy bitch with a revenge complex. I don't even need a hostage to make her give it up. She'll be dead in an hour. That just leaves your daughter."

"She won't give you what you want. She won't be party to creating a monster. Not even for me."
"She already created a monster. The Black Widow wouldn't exist if your daughter hadn't been careless."
"That's not true."
"Like you'd know. You didn't even know your daughter was playing superhero. But you do know your daughter will give that up if she thinks it can save you."

'If she *thinks* it can save you.' This woman wasn't going to let Gladys go. Or Angela. Now she knew why they hadn't bothered with a blindfold.

"You're not going to let us go."

Ginger sneered. "You're smarter than the average waitress. Too bad you didn't pass it on to your daughter."
"You monster," Gladys choked back her emotion. "Angela will figure it out. She'll never give in. You might as well just kill me now."
"What, and throw away my leverage? I'm not as dumb as your daughter."

"Angela is *not* dumb!"
"Oh come now, we both know your daughter's not smart. Not book smart, not street smart. She's just a stupid little girl from the suburbs. She gets all her wisdom from Britney Spears and Li'l Bow Wow."
"She may not be book smart or street smart but she knows a rat when she sees one."
"A *rat*? Where's the truckstop waitress? Even now you can't let loose with a little profanity? I'd hoped you might have toughened up your prissy little daughter just a little bit. Don't you know good girls don't stand a chance in this world?"

Gladys snarled. "My prissy little daughter is gonna kick your skinny ass."

Ginger was taken aback; she thought Gladys would never crack. "You think so."

"I know so. Angela Barrett comes from a long line of tough broads."

Ginger noticed a new glint in Gladys' eyes. There was some fire in the Barrett family after all.

"Well, she's gonna have to wait. I've got some ass-kicking of my own to do." She turned and walked out.

"Boys, sit tight while I'm gone."
"You want us to-"
"I want you to sit your asses down and wait. I hope you don't find a way to fuck *that* up."

The echo of Ginger's heels marked her departure.

Eric Lockwell pulled his weapon and released the safeties. Deep breath...

Crash! The deadbolt spit fractured toothpicks on the floor; Eric stepped into the crummy apartment with frightening mechanical precision.

"Hands off the keyboard. Off the keyboard! OFF THE FUCKING KEYBOARD!" Eric yanked the back of the chair, sending Chuck flopping over on his back; Mikey, hands up, stood up and backed himself against the wall. Eric swung his weapon quickly toward Andrew, locking his sights between his former protege's eyes. "Location of the hostage. Now."
Mikey spoke up. "Dude, we can't tell you that. Ginger will kill us."
Eric swung his weapon quickly, lowering and firing a single shot; the weapon was again between Andrew's eyes before Mikey had begun to scream.
"Ow! Fuck! Fuck! Oh, shit!"
Eric never took his eyes off Andrew. He pointed a chiding finger in Mikey's direction. "Shut up or the next one's between the eyes." Mikey bit his lip; his breathing became continuous stiff grunting gasps through clenched teeth.

"Location of the hostage."

There was a long moment of silence as the three datahounds mentally grasped at straws.

"I know you geeks've been sharing this apartment for weeks; I know all three of you know where Ginger's got Gladys Barrett. That means two of you should be dead already." He feinted a pivot toward Mikey, who inhaled sharply in response; then feinted down toward the recumbant Chuck, who flinched; then back to Andrew, who stared stone cold at Eric.

"I know you're just data hounds. You two," he tipped his head away from Andrew, "didn't even get field training for weapons or interrogation, so I know you're not signed up to die for the mission. I could explain how Ginger's gone rogue; I could explain how she's setting *you* up to take the fall," he nodded at Andrew, "I could explain that I'm going to kill her; I could explain that if you live through the next two minutes you can pack up your shit and disappear and live long, fulfilling, productive lives." Eric's eyes never left Andrew's as he swung his pistol down toward Chuck, who squirmed feebly; a dark stain grew over his crotch. "Or I can kill two of you before you talk and one of you after."

"Okay, okay, okay!" Chuck squealed. "Eighty-fourth and Brasco. What else do you want to know? I'll tell you anything, just please don't kill me."

Eric raised an eyebrow at Andrew. "Someone understands."
"How do you know we won't warn Ginger as soon as you leave?" Andrew asked cynically.
"I didn't say I'd let *you* live. I know *they* won't say a word. Because in the next sixty seconds they're going to tell me everything they know about the location, the personnel, and all the resources. And after I'm gone they're going to spend ten minutes thanking whatever God they thought they abandoned because they're still breathing. Then they're going to realize that I'm the best-trained most-experienced baddest motherfucker on this case with all the intel I need. Ginger's team has a zero percent chance of killing me before I hunt down and kill you and your entire families if you fuck with me."
Long seconds of silence passed. A dark stain grew over Mikey's crotch.

Chuck spoke. "Let me up and I'll give you everything on a Compact Flash."
Eric stepped back, keeping the weapon trained on Andrew. Chuck got up and started typing furiously. Two minutes later he stopped typing and started clicking. "I'm downloading now. [pause] Done." Eric heard a mechanical click as the memory card was ejected. Chuck slid it to the corner of the table and withdrew his hand slowly. Eric picked it up and pocketed it.
"Give me the executive summary," he commanded.

"In addition to us three, Ginger's got Johnson & Johnson, Burnett & Cooper, and Rosewood & Taggert. They've got a surveillance van, white Econoline, magnetic logos for a bunch of local utilities and installers. Run out of the business office and warehouse at Eighty-fourth and Brasco. I don't know where the guys are staying. Ginger's driving a white DeVille rental, shacked up at the airport Holiday Inn."
"She's slumming," Eric said dryly. "When's your next contact?"
"Ten A.M. tomorrow."
"Are they all at the warehouse with the hostage?"
"I don't know; Johnson & Johnson and Rosewood & Taggert have been trading twelve-hour shifts; if they keep to that, Johnson & Johnson will be coming on at midnight. Ginger said she'd be back by then. Burnett & Cooper were running errands for Ginger; I don't know what, but they're probably back at the warehouse by now. Ginger wanted 'em there while she was gone in case the girl tried anything."

Eric stepped back toward the door, keeping the gun locked between Andrew's eyes. Andrew tried to show no emotion. "Thank you," Eric said with genuine appreciation. "You two go home."

Eric pulled the door open behind him. He stood there, eyeing Andrew critically for what seemed an eternity.

"So are you going to kill me or not? The Simpsons is on in five minutes."
Eric cracked a smile. "I always knew you had balls." He lowered his weapon and stepped out into the hallway. "Now show me you have brains." With that, he was gone.

Andrew crossed the room, passing the now-wailing Mikey to the bathroom. He opened the cabinet and pulled out two towels, tossing them at Mikey. "Apply direct pressure. Did it go through?" He checked the wall. "In and out; just a flesh wound. You're lucky."

"Lucky? He *shot* me!"
"In the arm. You're lucky you're not both dead." Andrew turned to Chuck. "What did you give him?"
"You heard me."
"I heard you spill it straight. What'd you give him on the card?"
"Same thing, basically, plus phone numbers, Ginger's room number, all the van's plates that I could remember."
"No, I mean, what encryption?"
"Encryption?"
"Virus? Worm?"
"Fuck you, Andy. This is Eric Lockwell. I'm not fucking with him."
"Fuck! I knew I should have sent you two home."
"No need. That's where I'm goin', just as soon as I can pack my shit and get a flight. You do what you want."

Andrew plopped down on the couch. "The Simpsons are on in four minutes. If you're not both out of here by the time Bart hits the chalkboard, *I'll* kill you."

Mikey looked worriedly at the back of Andrew's head. "What are you gonna do?"

"I went out for beer. When I got back, you were gone. I don't know nothin'."