Revenge Ch. 02

By the time Captain Laria arrived, all other witnesses, except for the bouncer, had been released. The police had no reason to hold the customers, who had nothing significant to report. The girls also had nothing to say. As was usual with gang killings, everyone claimed they did not see or hear anything. The crew who worked in the club claimed they did not even know Don Giordano. Nobody noticed the woman who brought him into the VIP. The investigators knew they were lying, but did not care too much about the death of a hoodlum.

Of course, Giordano's bodyguard and three lieutenants knew their boss had been assassinated. But they were not about to work with the police. All law enforcement could do was to arrest her and lock her away. They would find their own way to deal with the situation. When they get their hands on her, she'd curse the day she was born.

Cody Laria ducked under the yellow tape. He stepped over Giordano's body, the Texas boss of the white slavery ring. Cody had known all along about the disgusting business of his gang. He just did not have sufficient evidence to nail the cocksucker in a court of law. None of his informants in the criminal underworld were willing to testify in open court. Even if one of them was somehow foolhardy to do so, the jury would not believe witnesses who had rap sheets as long as the length of their forearms.

The bouncer was the only exception. Aware that he was being watched, he did not say anything at the scene. But later he called the captain. Captain Laria took careful notes of what the bouncer had to say. Later, he followed up with a detailed interview of the bouncer at police headquarters.

A week later, close to midnight, Cody stood inside the arrival hall of the Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport. He was alone. The next day was his day off. Hours before, he had just completed the investigation of Giordano's death and filed the report to his superior. The only pertinent information came from the bouncer. All he could tell was that she was tall, blond, and athletic. Nobody else could or would provide any other information.

The sketch artist had worked with the bouncer to produce a generic picture that would narrow down the search to several million women in the country with German, Swedish, or Norwegian descent. Law enforcement personnel in Minnesota and the Upper Midwest had been notified. But since the victim was a suspected crime figure, it had been considered low priority. Giordano would soon be another cold case.

It was her habit to spend a week in the Caribbean after each job. Most of the jobs were strictly business, with clients paying top dollar for her unique skills. One huge advantage she possessed was that few people in the American criminal underworld were familiar with her. She had lived her previous life in Australia and had been trained there.

She had three rules. The client had to be a U.S. government agency. The target must be a criminal element. And women and children were off limits. She would call off the hit if innocent bystanders were present. Collateral damage was not acceptable to her.

It was never about the money, although it certainly did not hurt. For her, it was the adrenaline rush that kept her in the profession. And with Cody, she worked purely for altruistic reasons. It did not hurt that Cody was interested in the same interests outside work.

Cody had a list of criminals involved in sadistic and heinous ventures. Many of them could not be brought to justice using the legal system. Every year, she would perform a pro bono deal for him. Sexual deviants were the animals she detested the most. Kidnappers and arms dealers were close runner ups.

Cody drove her BMW to the airport, parking it in the long-term parking lot some distance from the airport. Although he had switched the plates, it was still risky to drive her car to the airport. Someone from the club might recognize it. He could have driven another car. But like her, Cody was an adrenaline junky. It was what had attracted them to each other. It was what had sustained the strange relationship they had.

Cody saw her at the back of the entire crowd from the 747. She preferred to be the last passenger to clear customs. She was wearing a white tube top and low-slung skinny jeans. The bikini lines on her bare shoulders were obvious.

They embraced hard. She was strong, tightening her grip until he felt slightly difficult to breathe. Then she eased up and smiled. In the airport shuttle bus, they looked at each other knowingly, although no words were spoken.

The shuttle bus driver glanced at the rearview mirror and saw the appearance of a loving couple with their hands all over each other. If he hadn't known, he would have guessed that they were a honeymooning couple. But they had no luggage. And it was rare for someone who could afford a shiny new BMW to park in the economy lot. The driver waited until they entered the BMW before he fished out his iPhone and made his call.

As soon as the BMW left the parking lot, her head was between his legs. He drove with one hand, the other struggling to remove the belt around her tight jeans. She unzipped his jeans with her lips, taking in his manhood. Then she pulled down the one-inch zip holding up her jeans.

His driving was erratic, but he knew there were no cops on this stretch of State Road 75, heading north. When they pulled over at a gas station, they purchased a box containing twenty-four cans of Budweiser.

An hour later, they were in a Motel Six near Sherman. He knew she liked the rough sheets and hard bed. The tobacco-soaked walls and soggy pillows seemed to turn her on. The dirtier the place, the more she felt and behaved like a cheap whore. Cody wondered what she would be like in a urine-soaked back alley in his native Miami.

A video screen popped into his imagination. His arms were around her, walking on the nasty streets of Miami. They turned a corner and was surrounded by a gang of eight men. A gun was pointed at him. Her top was yanked to her waist and her jeans pulled to her knees. He was forced to watch as they take turns violating her.

But Motel Six would have to do tonight. It was only a week since the death of Giordano. The streets were still buzzing with talk of the ninja lady who did it. Cody felt safe here because he knew the owner, an ex-con he had helped to obtain the necessary business licenses.

Ripping off each others clothes and tumbling into the hard bed, they quickly satisfied each other. Then they inhaled cheap beer and fucked their brains out again. They went to the bathroom, threw up, repeated the cycle again and again, until they lost count and passed out.

The next morning, she was still sleeping when he left to buy her favorite big breakfast meal from McDonald's. While he was gone, a dark Mercedes pulled up to the motel. Three masked men dressed in black emerged. The driver remained in the car, the engine running.

The men knew the exact room number and headed directly to the door. Two of the men pressed their backs against the wall on either side of the flimsy wooden door. The third man took a moment to quietly remove his tools. Kicking down the door would be faster, but they did not want to alert her. They had been warned she was armed and dangerous.

Megan Rush, highly trained by the Australian Special Forces, and currently one of the few contract killers working for the government, heard the unmistakable clicking sound of lock picking. In the stillness of the morning, she could also hear the breathing of the three men. Three against one. Bad odds. Escape to fight another day would be a better option. But there were no back or bathroom windows. The only window, facing the front, was next to the only door. Breaking through the window would only bring her into the laps of the three men.

Think and focus. Decide and commit. Then execute.

Quietly, she rolled out of bed, covered the pillows with the sheets to make it look like a person sleeping inside. Relying on the faint street lighting from the gap under the door, she crept on her bare knees and hands to a position behind the kitchen counter. She opened the kitchen drawer and retrieved two forks and a frying pan. Her eyes fully adjusted to the dark, she scanned the room. Cody was not in the room. Good. There would be no collateral damage in this fight.

She was alone and she was ready, wind up like a spring. The door knob turned.

The three men entered in single file, closing the door behind them. They stood on three sides of the bed, ready to pounce. The leader, standing at the foot of the bed, held a Glock with a silencer. The other two men had long knives, long enough to penetrate the vital organs. One of the men also carried two pairs of handcuffs.

From her small makeup mirror, she saw the three men. Only one of them had a gun. She mentally marked him as target number one. She also saw the handcuffs hanging from the belt of one of the men. Good. They were here to kidnap, not kill. She exhaled through her teeth, feeling her odds had improved.

The blanket was removed, revealing the pillows. "Where the fuck is she?" The leader's voice boomed.

"The boss would not be happy if we fucked up." The man with the handcuffs said.

"Especially when we boasted about how we're all going to take turns fucking the cunt." The man shook his knife to make the point.

The leader suddenly put his index finger on his lips, glancing at the attached bathroom. He inched toward it. The two men followed. When the leader stepped into the narrow doorway, his back facing the kitchen, she leapt out, went under him, and stabbed his scrotum with both forks. He doubled over in pain, dropping the Glock into the toilet bowl. When he instinctively turned around, Kat hit him squarely in the face with the frying pan. Target one was out of action.

Two against one. Much better.

She ducked just in time when she heard the jingling sound of handcuffs from the man behind her. Although he had a knife, he was trying to hit her head using the heavy metal cuffs. When he missed, she spun around and swept his ankles from under him. He fell hard on top of the leader. He turned around on the floor and saw the circular image of the frying pan flying at the speed of light. His nose broke as it made contact. Another one bit the dust.

One against one. Finally, a fair fight.

The third and last man rushed her, only to be slammed on the face by the bathroom door. Dazed, he lost his grip on the knife. When the door opened again, he saw a blur of movements and felt a kick in the gut. Next thing he knew, she was behind him, smashing his head into the mirror. He tasted blood and cussed. The frying pan again. All three man knocked out. Temporarily.

She had just enough time to hop into her skinny jeans and front-hook bra. The men were stirring, clumsily getting to their feet in the bathroom. Flee and run, she repeated aloud to herself.

The door knob turned again, this time with a key. Cody stepped in, blood flowing from his nose and lips, hands on his head. A semiautomatic was behind him, the red laser pointed at the back of his head. The motel owner held the semi. They had been betrayed.

The fourth man stepped in, both hands on a 1911. Without being told, she held her hands high above her head, the open palms facing the man with the revolver. He walked around her, taking his time. She saw from the corner of her eyes that Cody was now on his knees, cuffed and gagged. The motel owner swung the semiautomatic to her. The red circle rested between her breasts, on the clasp holding the two cups of her bra together.

Hair in a man's hand, she was kicked from behind her knees, one at a time, forcing her down to her knees. Her wrists were jerked behind and handcuffed. Her elbows were forced together until they touched before they were also cuffed.

Doubly cuffed, one bra strap hanging off her left shoulder, she was thrown head first into the trunk of a gray Ford Taurus. They were taken back to the strip club, in separate cars.

*****

to be continued...