35: Sapphire Isolated

Gladys launched herself at the stunned henchman, sending him toppling to the ground. The woman barely broke stride, lunging for the bar latch on the front door and slamming it open. But halfway out the door she felt a bear-like grip around her ankle that sent her crashing to the ground. Gladys kicked and dragged and clawed her way out the door, but the grip on her foot was unrelenting; whatever it was was following her outside.

"Gimme a hand!" she heard Taggert call out, "I can't hold her forever!"

Despite her frantic struggles, Gladys felt herself dragged slowly back toward the door. "Quit kicking!" Taggert barked.

And then suddenly he let go. Gladys heard a loud Crack! And she heard Taggert scream.

"Aauugh! Fuck! I'm hit! I'm hit!"

Gladys scrambled to her feet, but she froze in mid-stride at the sight before her. A man, running toward her from the sidewalk, bright flashes of yellow-white light coming from each hand, punctuated by a violent Crack! Crack! Crack!

"Run!" the man screamed at her. "Run!"

Gladys didn't have to be told twice. She ran to the man's right, bare feet feeling concrete and then grass. Bits of grass and dirt seemed to leap up at her to her right; the man dove to his left. Someone was shooting at him. But Gladys Barrett didn't care. She just ran while a hail of gunfire erupted behind her.

Eric dove to his left, rolling over onto his back as he slid into the grass, twin Glocks pivoting skyward. There, on the roof. He fired two rounds before his body came to rest on the lawn, forcing the rooftop shooter to duck for cover. With one eye on the front doorway, Eric kept both weapons trained on the roof. The rooftop shooter poked his weapon over the side, angling for a shot; Eric squeezed off two more rounds, spitting concrete inches from the shooter's position.

Eric rolled to his feet, running for the door, still held open by the writhing Taggert. Eric pounced like a cat, kicking Taggert's pistol away with one foot, bringing the other foot down squarely on Taggert's injured hand. One pistol swiveled down between Taggert's eyes. "Don't move," Eric commanded. He punctuated his order by grinding his heel into the palm of the prone man's hand. Taggert yelped weakly.

A shot came from inside. Eric snapped off a round in response, instinctively homing in on movement at the end of the hall. His other pistol swung up to join its partner. Eric stepped forward into the doorway. A muzzle flash identified a man and his weapon crouched in the last doorway on the left. Eric pinned the man down with a half-dozen rapid shots; his opponent withdrew. Eric fired two warning shots at the next-to-last doorway on the right, the most likely position of a second opponent.

"Stop, or I'll shoot!" The voice came from behind him. Eric ducked to one side of the hallway and looked down; it wasn't Taggert. Taggert was rolling around, holding his bloodied hand and grimacing. No, it was the rooftop shooter. And he wasn't talking to Eric.

Oh, shit.

Eric juked back out the front door, feeling the hot wind of shots fired from behind him. Safely outside, he pivoted and trained his weapons skyward, scanning the edge of the rooftop for the shooter, backpedaling for a better angle.

There, almost directly above him, a rifle barrel and a steadying hand leaned over the building's edge. Pointed not down at Eric, but out toward the street. Toward Gladys...

Eric looked with horror over his left shoulder, toward the street. Gladys Barrett, wearing nothing but a bra, had crossed the deserted street and was sprinting down the sidewalk toward the main boulevard.

The rifle report echoed off the street and neighboring buildings. A puff of shattered concrete burst just ahead of the fleeing woman. Eric's head snapped back up, drawing a bead on the rifleman's cradling hand. The side of the left pistol's grip steadied the base of the right. Vision narrowed, zooming in on the target. Trigger finger squeezed. The Crack! of the shot coincided with a burst of blood from the rifleman's hand. And with the louder report of the rifle. The rifle barrel retreated back from the edge of the building, disappearing from view.

Eric Lockwell's legs never stopped pumping, backpedaling away from the building, right pistol still aimed at the roof, left pistol ratcheted down toward the front door, moving away from the warehouse and toward the woman he'd come to save.

But his ears no longer heard the panicked footsteps of a woman running for her life.

He glanced over his shoulder. Gladys Barrett sat/lay on the sidewalk, legs splayed, both hands gripping a thigh. Even from this distance, Eric recognized the disoriented look of someone who'd just been shot for the first time.

"Don't move! I'll come to you!" he yelled over his shoulder. Eric backed up quickly, his eyes constantly scanning back and forth between the rooftop, the front door, and the near side of the building.

There were scuffling sounds, but no shooting. They were running.

Eric knelt next to the injured Gladys. Her hands weakly tried to stem the flow of blood coming from her thigh.

In the distance, an engine roared to life and slammed into gear. They were either coming to get them or beating a hasty retreat. The assassin-turned-rescuer crouched over Gladys, shielding her as best he could while drawing a bead on the near side driveway. There was nowhere to hide on the empty street. But he wasn't going to just leave this woman here. Not even if it meant dying here next to her.

A white van bellowed out from behind the building, bouncing on its wheels as it hammered into the street. Eric's trigger fingers begged for permission, but Eric held them in check for an instant, letting the panic-driven van make the first move.

The van yanked its front wheels to the left, kicking the rear end out in a barely-controlled fishtail before hooking back up. The van took off away from Eric and Gladys. Weapons lowered. The reformed killer looked into Gladys Barrett's eyes for the first time.

Gladys bore a look not of fear, but of resignation. Already Eric could see the color draining from her face. His hand reached down toward hers, brushing them to the side gently so that he could take a look at her wound. Blood gushed from her inner thigh. The growing pool of blood looked sickly black under the orange glow of sodium street lamps.

"Damn." Eric whipped off his belt, slipping it around the injured woman's leg, sliding it up toward her hip, wrapping it a second time, and drawing it taut. Gladys moaned and grimaced in pain.

She felt dizzy. Cold.

Tired. So tired.

This man had tried to save her. She wouldn't have escaped the fat one's grasp at the door if this man hadn't come along. It wasn't his fault that she'd been shot. But his face showed the immense weight of responsibility unmet.

"I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I'm so sorry."

How could he explain all this to her? The sapphires, her daughter, Ginger's plan? How could he make her understand why she was laying in the street bleeding to death? Why was everything so complicated, so tragic, so stupid?

But she looked neither confused nor afraid. She knew all she needed to know.

"You know my daughter."
"Yes."
"She sent you."
"Shh. Save your strength." For what? There was so much blood...

Gladys Barrett's eyes looked off into the distance. "I always knew she would do good." She smiled.

Eric Lockwell could only sit there helpless, a dying woman's head cradled in his lap.

"I love her so much."
"I'm sure she knows you do," he stammered. Anything he said sounded so worthless.

Gladys suddenly regained focus. Her eyes locked onto his, entreating him to deliver her final message.

"Angela can't give up."

She knew she was at the end.

But Gladys had won.
Angela was going to be all right.
Nobody could hurt her baby now.

Club DeiGlo.

This was it. The last stop before they headed to the airport. Ginger practically trembled with anticipation.

The car continued past the club entrance; Ginger was about to tap on the glass to get the driver to pull over when the black DeVille turned sharply into an alley. Must take "deliveries" in the rear, she mused. Her suspicions were confirmed when the car eased to a stop next to a flickering neon sign that marked the club's back door.

The driver scanned the alley ahead. This was familiar -- and uncomfortable -- territory. This was where the bodies of four of Bates' most trusted fellas had been found, beaten to death. They'd gone after the Black Widow, and they'd paid the ultimate price.

The driver flicked on the radio to quell nerves.

Now listen up
She's razor sharp
If she don't get her way
She'll slice you apart
Now she's cool cool black
She moves like a cat
If you don't get her game
You might not make it back

She's got the looks that kill
that kill

Ginger was about to rap on the window -- the sudden sound of thrashing guitars wasn't what she needed right now -- when a sinewy figure stepped out of the shadows, the sick green light of the Club DeiGlo neon backlighting the figure with an eery halo. Was this the Black Widow? The figure extended a hand holding a small envelope. No, this was just Bates' tribute from the club. Ginger inched the window down; the figure slipped the envelope into the car through the crack. As Ginger grabbed it she couldn't help but feel dirty. Here she was, collecting for a mobster. She was better than this. Ginger reminded herself why she was here. Nabbing the Black Widow was worth a little whoring.

As she reached for the switch to raise the window, she heard the figure offer salutations. "Have a safe journey," the figure bowed.

Waitaminute, safe journey? Was Bates' security that shoddy, or was that...?

Ginger leaped out of the car. "Hey, you, get back here!" she called after the figure, but he simply faded into the shadows. She took a step to give chase, but her better judgement halted her. As far as Black Widow knew, Ginger had the object of the killer's affection inside the car. Best to stay close to it. After all, Ginger *was* in unfamiliar territory. And unless she counted Bates' driver, backup was minutes away.

The car stereo leaked out of the open door, cutting through the night, booming in the narrow alley...

Now she's bullet proof
She keeps her motor clean
And believe me you
She's a number thirteen
The church strikes midnight
She's lookin' louder and louder
She's gonna turn on your juice, boy
Then she'll turn on the power

The stereo suddenly went silent.

"I think you should get back in the car." The voice came from behind her. Ginger spun around. From inside the car. She ducked her head to look inside the dark interior. On the other side sat what could only be the Black Widow. The brilliant sapphires around her neck sparkled under the dim opera lights of the Cadillac's interior.

This was it.

Ginger got in and closed the door.

Before the solid thwump! sound of the door had faded, Ginger found herself pressed back into the seat by a well-polished stiletto blade gently poking her neck. She swallowed hard.

"I bet you're wondering where Gerald Bates is."

"Not really."

The vigilante's answer surprised the agent. "How did you-" Her question was cut short when something landed in her lap. Afraid to move lest the blade puncture her skin, Ginger tried to identify the object by feel. The driver's hat.

Valerie Strain smiled. "Not bad for a girl who doesn't even have a driver's license, if I do say so myself."

Ginger strove to regain her composure. She reminded herself that it didn't matter how Black Widow got here, only that she got here. She put her hand on the vigilante's arm and gently pushed the knife blade away. "If you wanted to kill me, I don't think you need the knife, do you, Black Widow?"

"Ugh, I hate that fucking name." Val threw herself back against the front seats, visibly pouting.
"Would you prefer I called you Val?"
"I'd prefer you get to the point. You took a hell of a risk coming here. I figured you wanted to meet me so bad, I should find out why."

Ginger massaged her throat gently, the memory of the blade still sharp. "I was hoping you might be more than the mindless killer the press makes you out to be. Besides, I heard you only kill men."

"I'm willing to expand my horizons if you don't get to the point."

Ginger took a deep breath. "Look, your time is up. They're coming for you. They know more about the stones than you ever could. They're professional. They know what it takes to stop you."
"So why are we talking? Go ahead and stop me."
"Listen, it doesn't have to be that way. Give me the stones-"
"What, lady, do I look retarded?"
"Hear me out. Give me the stones, I'll make it look like you're dead -- I've got a dead body that'll pass for you in the trunk -- everybody wins."

"Fuck you, 'everybody wins.' I don't win. Bates is still alive, and I'm fucked. How do I know you don't just kill me? I think I like my chances better on my own." Val leaned on the door, reaching for the handle. Ginger boldly grabbed hold of her lapel.
"Look, in another day or so your precious sapphires are going to run out of gas," Ginger let Val brush the hand off her lapel, "and then you'll just be plain Valerie Strain again, except that you'll have everyone in the country looking for you."
Val's eyes narrowed. "You're lying." But behind the bravado, there was a hint of concern...

"You don't believe me? Fine. You're the expert. Why do you think I'm here? Why do you think Sapphire came after you? Why do you think she failed?" Ginger paused for dramatic effect. "Who do you think Sapphire works for?"

Concern became doubt. But Val's face quickly hardened again. "Well if I've only got a day or so I should be going; I've got a lot to do." Her hand was on the door handle. Ginger leaned across the car to put her hand over Val's. The contact started off rough but quickly softened, almost to a caress. Val looked at Ginger quizzically.
"Don't be naive," Ginger warned, "it's only a matter of time before they find you."

"As long as it's a matter of more time than it takes for me to kill Bates, I'm okay with that."

Christ, this girl was fatalistic. And focused. Ginger remembered a time when she was younger when she was that fatalistic and that focused. In fact, now that she considered her present situation... Maybe she and the Black Widow weren't all that different.

"Dammit, you'll never get close to Bates!"
"Maybe, maybe not. But I'm close to you right now." The threat hung in the air.

Ginger shrugged, showing exasperation. "It won't matter; it's over." Her expression said, 'go ahead.' "I'm offering you a way out; why won't you take it?"
"You wouldn't understand."

"I do understand." Ginger's hands went to her collar. She quickly undid the buttons on her blouse, reaching into her bra and ripping out a small microphone.

"What the fuck?" Val backed off as far as she could within the confines of the back seat, pressing her backside against the passenger B-pillar.

"Listen to me, we don't have much time." Ginger's voice was hushed, urgent. "I can give you Bates."

"What?!" Val was incredulous.

"I can give you Bates," Ginger repeated. "Tomorrow, after the Party, after I return the sapphires, after everyone agrees you're dead and packs up and heads home. I can tell you where he'll be and how to get to him."

"Why would you do that?" Val was a heartbeat from bolting. Invulnerable or not, this chick was freaking her out.

"Because I know why you want to kill him." Ginger leaned closer. "I know what he did to you."
"Congratulations, you've got a good research team." Val was nonchalant but clearly affected.
"They don't know anything about it. But I know." Ginger's look was serious, intense, but compassionate. "I know because he did the same thing to me, almost fifteen years ago." Ginger congratulated herself on subtracting five years from her age.

Val looked at this mysterious woman with mistrust. Funny, I figured her for *late* thirties. "So *you* kill him," she finally replied.

"I can't. They're watching me all the time." She pointed to the dead wire. "I can't get close to him. But you can."
"So tell me where he'll be and I'll be on my way."
"You don't understand," Ginger pleaded, her desperation and anxiety obviously growing with each passing second. "If they think you're still at large he'll be gone, in an FBI safe house clenched tighter than buttcheeks in men's prison. If I don't walk out of here with the sapphires in hand, you'll never see Bates again, and you'll be in custody or in a body bag by Labor Day." She glanced over her shoulder, through the back window of the car; her eyes said Please, there isn't much time... "And my only chance for revenge will be lost."

Val's rage boiled; her fists clenched. Memories of that night all those years ago. Of the safety Rubio had promised. Of the violation she'd endured. Of the way Bates had looked at her, not with the eyes of a man, but with the eyes of a beast. With the eyes of pure evil.

For five years she'd fought to keep those memories buried. And two days ago, she'd been shocked to the core by the news that Bates was again free. Free to forget what he'd done to a frightened fourteen-year-old girl. Free to hurt another.

"Why should I trust you?"
"Because in another sixty seconds it'll be too late."

Indecision tortured the girl's face. There was clearly so much she didn't know, about the sapphires, about Ginger, about Bates... if what Ginger said was true, she probably could have killed Val already. Or at worst, would soon be able to. Val's expression finally cracked.

Making Gerald Bates pay was more important than anything. Even her own life.

"So tell me how this works."

"There's a body in the trunk that'll pass for you. There's ten pounds of C4 strapped to it. You give me the stones, you escape down the manhole around the corner, I blow the C4 once I'm clear." Ginger looked out the back of the car again. A pair of headlights bounced in the distance.

"They'll buy that?"
"We don't have time for this; trust me, I've got it all worked out. This is your only chance. Thirty seconds until the remote team arrives." Ginger held out her hand hesitantly, almost afraid to take what this girl had.
"Okay," Val said with a 'what the hell' sigh. Her hands went behind her neck, unclasping the sapphire choker. She dropped it into Ginger's hand. An instant later she'd pushed the door open...
"Wait, take this," Ginger beckoned, holding out a small vial in her other hand.
"What is it?"
"You've inhaled a poison. This is the antidote."
"You bitch!" Val jumped back into the car, the knife once again at the older woman's neck, ready to slice it open. But Val hesitated, rolling the vial back and forth in her slender fingers.

"I had no choice; one way or another I had to end this." Ginger gave Val a 'down-the-hatch' motion. "Quick, take it, you don't have much time."

Val leaned back against the B-pillar, popping the cap off the vial and tossing the contents against the back of her throat.

When she looked back down, she saw something large and hard and gleaming aimed at her chest. "Sorry, honey; I really liked you."

Val cringed instinctively. A blinding flash and crushing sound hit her. She looked down at the borrowed driver's uniform; a dark red stain grew over her chest. Her legs gave out underneath her; she slid down on her haunches, one leg across the transmission tunnel, the other tucked up against the base of the seatcushion.

Something landed in her lap. Valerie Strain looked down dully. It was a bracelet of large sapphires. Like hers, and yet not like them at all. They felt cold to the touch. She felt cold.

Ginger got out of the car on the other side, peeking back in. "Don't call us; we'll call you."

Impeccably-manicured nails clicked back and forth over the cut facets of large blue crystals. A silhouette strutted away from the Cadillac, toward a van halfway down the alley.

Ginger Hartwick pulled a small transmitter out of her jacket pocket, holding it up over her shoulder, next to her ear. Bright red nail depressed bright red button. Glossy black Cadillac exploded, sending a blast of hot air through curled shoulder-length hair. She could feel the admiring and awed looks of the van's occupants.

"That's right, boys, I'm the alpha bitch."

i used to be so big and strong
i used to know my right from wrong
i used to never be afraid
i used to be somebody
i used to have something inside
now just this hole that's open wide
i used to want it all
i used to be somebody

Andrew's phone buzzed. He muted the stereo. This was where the shit hit the fan...
"Yeah, this'z Dean."
"Where are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?" Ginger's voice pierced all the way to his brain stem; he dropped the phone involuntarily. Fumbling fingers brought it back up to his ear.
"Back at the apartment; why?" he cringed.
"Where the *fuck* are you?"
Andrew managed not to drop the phone this time.
"I went out to get some beer. I'm on the way back now."
"What'd you do, wait for them to brew it?"
"What's with you? Did Miss Muffet's meeting with the spider not go according to plan? I told you you should have let me drive."
"Lockwell killed the hostage."
Andrew momentarily lost his cool. "Shit."
"Shit is right. How close are you?"
"I'm pulling up now."
"Pull the files and get out of there. I'll send Johnson & Johnson over in... twenty minutes to clean up. Don't wait for them. Eric could be coming back for you."
"I can take care of Eric."
"Don't kid yourself. Eric'll grind you into paste. Personally, after this latest fuckup of yours-"
"This isn't *my* fuckup!"
"You should have been there."
"If you wanted a babysitter, you should have left Johnson & Johnson. I'd just be paste," Andrew shot back nastily.
"I'd kill you myself if I didn't need you. Now shut up and get out of there. I'll call you in two hours." Click.

The restaurant.
The police station.
The cannery.
The Barrett house.
Gerald Bates' Cadillac.

The city was fast becoming a war zone.

And just when you start to figure out the players, somebody new joins the game.

Noel pulled up in front of the diner. It wasn't really his kind of food, but he used to come here for lunch anyway back when he was a Uniform. Most of the guys on the force got together at the coffee shop around the corner from the station, or at Happy Donuts if they were assigned to Twisted Oaks. But that's why Noel had liked to come here, to get away from the shop talk for a while.

This was the first time that work had brought him here.

Well, not work, exactly.

"Hi, I'm looking for Angela Barrett."
The man behind the counter grunted indignantly. "She left."
"She left? I told her to wait here for me."
"She left."
"Do you know where she went?"
"Took a cab. Dunno where she was goin'."

Noel looked around. There were no customers.
The man behind the counter -- his nametag said 'Mel' -- answered the unasked question. "Holiday weekend. Place has been dead all day. I'm the only one here -- waitress left early."
"Angela's mother."
"That's right."
"Did anyone visit her here? Did she leave with anyone?"
"What's it to you?"
Noel flipped open his badge.
Mel snorted. "Angela's in trouble, isn't she?"
"Did anyone visit Mrs. Barrett today? Did she leave with anyone?"
"We had a few customers this morning, but nobody askin' for her specifically. An' I didn't see her leave. I went out back to check the produce, when I came back she was gone."
"How long were you out back?"
"I dunno, ten minutes, maybe fifteen."
"Did you hear or see anything suspicious?"
"Not really."
"Not really?"

Mel stopped wiping down the counter. "Well, Angela came in here after her mom left all freaked out and distracted, and what little she was wearin' was all ripped up. I thought maybe she was on something. Really pissed me off because her mom works hard to give her a good home, and the girl doesn't seem to appreciate it. Oh, and Gladys left without her purse."
"May I see it?"
"Angela took it. Figures. Probably off buying drugs somewhere. Listen, when you find her, do me a favor and scare some sense into her. If you're not gonna throw the book at her, at least let her spend the night in jail. It's not right what she's doin'. It's disrespectful to Gladys."

Noel shook his head. Mel had no idea. "She's not on drugs." Well, not exactly. Come to think of it, Noel didn't really know how Sapphire was what she was. But it wasn't like Mel thought. "She's just mixed up with some bad people. I'm trying to help her straighten it out."
"She needs *somebody* to straighten her out."
"Look, you don't know what she's going through. She's a good girl."
"Good girls don't dress like that. Good girls don't worry their mothers when they don't come home at night."
"I know how it looks, but you don't know her."
"I know she's been sneaking around doin' stuff behind her mom's back. I know Gladys finally put her foot down this morning. I know if Angela was such a good girl I wouldn't be talking to a cop trying to find her. I know enough. I know Gladys deserves a better daughter."

"Angela is a better person than you'll ever know. So just back off." There was an intensity to his response that deflated the larger man. Mel took a step back, hands up. "Okay, sorry."

"The trouble she's in isn't her fault." Not exactly. "I can't tell you any more than that."
"Is Gladys involved? Is she okay?"
Noel looked around. "Does Gladys have a locker? Where does she put her things when she's working?"
"In back." Mel motioned for Noel to follow.

Noel studied the small room with a critical eye.
"Could she have come back here while you were, um, checking the produce?"
"No; the bathrooms are right there." Noel raised an eyebrow. "'Checking the produce' means I'm goin' to the can." Noel understood. "Notice the floor right here squeaks. You can hear it even better in the bathroom. If anyone comes back here while I'm in the john I know about it. I did hear the front bell a couple of times though. She woulda been up front the whole time, and left through the front door."
"I see. Do you have surveillance cameras?"
"Naw. I ain't never been robbed or had any kinda real trouble here. Knock wood."
Noel imagined a man of Mel's stature quelled most thoughts of trouble before they started.

Noel sighed and made his way back out to the dining room. Mel followed, going back behind the counter.

"So now what?"
"I don't know. I need to think." Noel took a seat at the counter. "Can I get a coffee?"
"Yeah, sure."

Mel stood watch over his only customer, worrying for Gladys. As moments passed, he began to recognize the slender man deep in thought before him.

"Hey, aren't you the guy on the Black Widow case? What the hell happened last night? I heard she and that Avenging Angel teamed up and almost took out Gerald Bates. Is Angela mixed up with that somehow?"
"This doesn't have anything to do with last night." Not exactly.

"You'd tell me if there was anything I could do, right?"
"Of course." Gladys had worked here for a long time; Mel was understandably concerned about his employee.
"I mean *anything*. Gladys is more than an employee. She's a... friend."
Noel noticed Mel's face soften. "I understand."

The phone rang. "I'll be right back."
"Take your time."
"Mel's Diner. [pause] No, Angela's not here; who's calling?" Mel waved Noel over. Noel reached for the handset. The voice on the other end was unfamiliar.

"Who's this?"
"Who's this?" Noel replied.
"I'm looking for Angela Barrett. It's urgent."
"Who's asking?"
Mel whispered anxiously, "Ask him what he knows about Gladys." Noel shooed him quiet.
"Who I am is unimportant. Do you know how to get in touch with Angela?"
"What's this about?"
"It's about her mother. Something's happened."
Noel didn't trust the mysterious caller. "Go on."
"Listen. You've got to tell her not to give them the stones."
The stones? The sapphires.
"What happened to Gladys?"
"Did you hear me? She can't give them the sapphires. She may be the only one who can stop them."
"What happened to Gladys?" Noel repeated, anxiety raising his voice.

There was a long pause. Then:
"Gladys Barrett is dead."

Noel went pale.

The voice on the other end prompted, "Are you still there?"
"I... I don't understand."
"She tried to escape." There was a reluctant silence.
"What happened?"
"They shot her."

Noel felt the room spin. His stomach turned. This didn't make any sense! Who kills their hostage?

"How do you know this?"
"I... I was there. I found out where they were keeping her."

Loss and frustration boiled over to anger. "You tried to rescue her? Why didn't you call the police? You got Gladys Barrett killed!" Forgotten was the fact that this mysterious voice was at the moment his only lead, his only link to Gladys. Or to Angela.

"I didn't get there in time. She'd already escaped. It shouldn't have happened. I could have saved her."

Eric's heart left leaden in his chest. The image of Gladys Barrett gripped him. Gladys Barrett, looking so much like her daughter, her head cradled in Eric's lap, looking through him with that thousand-yard stare of a person lost on the brink of death. And then suddenly focused, fear vanquished, staring straight into his soul with tragic understanding. Her final words. "Angela can't give up." Not a plea, not a command, but a will, as if merely speaking would make it so.

Noel had no words. The voice in the phone seemed far away...

"You've got to tell Angela. You've got to find her and tell her she can't give up. Gladys sacrificed herself to save her daughter."

It was over. He felt hollow. Angela would be crushed. The poor girl had been through so much, but it was nothing compared to this.

"She didn't want Angela to lose the purpose she'd found. She wanted to give Angela the freedom to do the right thing. She wanted what was best for her daughter."

Noel looked sadly up at Mel. The big man was shattered; tears streamed down his face. He shook his head, "no, no," over and over.

"Listen," the voice on the phone said, "I have to go. The people who did this are still out there. I've got to try to stop them."
"Wait-" Noel protested weakly.
"Find Angela. Tell her what happened. Protect her."
Protect her. It was an absurd request, considering what she could do, but it made sense nonetheless.
The voice continued. "Angela can't give up. That was the last thing Gladys said. 'Angela can't give up.' You have to tell her. You have to tell her her mom said she can't give up."

Ginger sat fuming. "Fuck! I can't believe you idiots fucking killed the hostage."
No one dared comment.
"And you just left them there? You just let Eric walk away? Didn't it occur to any of you to kill him?"
Burnett's answer was matter-of-fact. "It occurred to me that if we tried, he'd kill us all."
Ginger knew he was right. And that made her all the more furious.

"If Eric gets to his little girlfriend and tells her, we're fucked."

"Why? You got the stones from the other girl. You should be a match for her."

Cooper gave Taggert a didn't-you-know? look. "Ginger already tried them on; they don't do shit."
"Shut up, Cooper." She shot him a look that could kill.
Rosewood sprouted a goofy grin. "You mean the Black Widow pulled a fast one on the mighty Miss Hartwick?"
"No, she just didn't tell me how they worked. I'll figure them out, I just need a little time." Subterfuge simply wasn't conceivable. Ginger had stared Valerie square in the eye; only hate and fear had looked back. The stones were real; Ginger just hadn't found their secret yet.

"Besides," Cooper continued, "you saw what the geeks dug up on the restaurant fight. Sapphire kicked Black Widow's ass. I doubt boss here would fare better on such short notice."

Ginger shot Cooper another death look. She agreed, but she still didn't like hearing it.

"We wouldn't be talking about this if you incompetent shit-for-brains ass-monkeys had been able to follow my simple instructions. 'Don't do anything.' How do you fuck up 'don't do anything?' How do you fuck that up?"
"By doing something," Rosewood offered.
"It was a rhetorical question," Taggert chided.

"What about the police? They've found her body by now."
"They'll think it was gang related," Ginger dismissed. She had more important things to be furious about. She got up and began pacing.

Taggert wasn't buying it. "High-powered rifle shots from a rooftop across the street? That's assassination, not collateral damage. Are the police here *that* incompetent?"
Cooper explained. "A pound of cocaine in the warehouse will be enough to cloud the issue. Johnson & Johnson made a buy when they first got here."
"As a contingency or for their own personal use?" Taggert sneered.

"Shut up!" Ginger's face glowed red with rage. "I can't fucking believe you fucking idiots killed the fucking hostage!"

"I just shot her in the leg," Rosewood whined.
"You hit the artery. She bled out."
"It wasn't on purpose." He held up his bandaged hand.

Ginger's fists slammed down on the table. "Lesson One: Don't Kill The Hostage!"

Dan Burnett poked his nose over the top of the latest World News Weekly. "Lesson Two: When in doubt, get more than one hostage." He closed the paper and tossed it on the table, then turned around and began surfing the web.

Ginger bored through his back with her furious stare. So nice of you to join our little chat. "No shit, Sherlock. But she has no other family. Unless you've uncovered startling new evidence that she's Bat-Boy's brother."

"Better."
"What?"

Burnett spun around on his chair, keyboard in his lap. He gestured to the tabloid on the table.

"That dope-dealer kid killed in front of the QuickMart. The first sighting of the shadow guy?"
"You mean the Chinese agent."
"Whatever. He sold his story to the World News Weekly-"
"The agent?" Rosewood asked.
Taggert kept his partner in line. "No, the dope-dealer kid, you moron."
"Right," Burnett continued, "but they smelled it for the crock of shit it was from a mile away and didn't run it. Stiffed the kid, too, not that it mattered. Then he and all his teammates get killed. World News Weekly goes digging for shit, and-"
Ginger tapped her foot impatiently. "Get to the fucking point."
"This shadow guy's been following the two girls around, finishing off anybody they, um, touched."
"Is that the point? Get to the fucking point."
"Turns out shadow guy missed three of Sapphire's leftovers. One's in the prison hospital, FUBAR. The other two were kids that Dirk Hurley and his buddies were always pickin' on-"
"Dirk is who again?"
"The kid who sold his bullshit story and then got killed. This is what happens when you skip to the point."
"Why do I care about these two kids?"
"Remember the website? Sapphire Exposed. The story about Sapphire bullying the bullies. The way it was written, it was obvious this kid's ga-ga for her."
"You'd be ga-ga too if your wet dream girl came to Earth and beat up your bullies. So, The Point."
"Well now thanks to the finest tabloid in the country we know who that kid is."
"The point? If I have to ask again I swear to God I'll ram that keyboard so far up your ass you'll type with your tongue."
"You wanted more leverage, now you got leverage. The kid's her boyfriend."
"I thought her boyfriend set up the original website. He's already dead. Hardly leverage."
"No, that's her ex. Her boyfriend is the kid who runs the website. His dad is the first cop put in charge of her case. Noel Aquino. Kid's name's Ricky. Dad won't let son see girl, so the kid pours his heart out on his website."
"How very Romeo and Juliet," Ginger sneered with dripping sarcasm. "She probably doesn't even know this Ricky kid exists."
"She walked right into a trap to save his friend."
"So? Maybe she's sleeping with his friend."
"His friend is gay."
Ginger still wasn't sure about this boyfriend angle. "I think hundreds of innocent lives would be better leverage. She is Miss Goody Two Shoes."
"Mass hostages makes a mess. This cleans one up -- both Ricky and his dad must know who Sapphire is, and probably know about the stones too. And come on, you said it yourself. Romeo and Juliet. Young love is the most powerful and misguided force in the universe. She'll do anything to save her first true love."
"Fine. Kill the cop. Grab the kid."