Ebb Tide Ch. 04a

Odds were I'd fractured his ocular orb. His nose exploded in a shower of blood, cartilage and skin. I wasn't going to shed a tear over his blindness, or serious need of reconstructive surgery. The angle of my blow and the height he'd reached meant he almost ~ almost went sailing over the back of the sofa. I don't advise turning your back on an active opponent either.

Professionally, I would have popped the office door open, crouched in the doorway and fired three-round burst into the lot of them. I wasn't operating under my normally loose rules of engagement, fuck it all. I let the torque of my 'thumper' spin me around in a full 360 degree. #1 was suffering from his opening position of being both seated and starting with his back to me.

The 'thumper' caught him in the C7 vertebrae, rupturing it. Unlike my earlier spinal impact, this one was intentional. He could still breathe and his heart would still beat, yet that was pretty much the extent of his mobility. Until he got a spinal adjustment, he was paralyzed from the neck down. Honestly, I'd rather take birdshot from a 12 gauge than be hit by this thing, it is that nasty a weapon.

Nerveless, #1 stumbled forward to the ground unable to arrest his fall. I finished up the 360 kneeling as I fired two more bullets into #3. The concierge's mouth opened in shock, her lungs inflated and someone coughed to my right. I kept my eyes on the two of them; #3 was trying to focus on me while she looked toward the noise and found a masked Kip pointing a submachine gun at her.

"So much as a peep and this goes from an assault no one is going to talk about to a mysterious case of multiple murders," I menaced. Charisma and tone are more important than the actual words spoken. The guy looked like he was going to say something, so I tilted my pistol's aim so that he was staring down the barrel. "Nod slowly if you understand."

"Please don't kill me ..." she got out before she realized her mistake. That was okay, I wanted to club #3 like a baby seal anyway. I may have dropped him by 20 IQ points and, again, I didn't care. She squeaked as blood shot out of his nose then he slowly slumped over.

"Ssshhh ..." I cautioned her. Now she was whimpering.

I did a quick plan reassessment. The concierge was a selfish cunt. I could use that. I removed her Bluetooth then waved Kip over. He began the bondage routine starting with the paralyzed asshole.

"Roll over," I whispered my command.

Her eyes begged for mercy, mine were pitiless so she turned around on the sofa, face on the cushions and her knees on the floor. She gave a startled 'eeep' when I stabbed her in the butt with a small 'flu' syringe.

"I have injected you with a slow acting toxin. In ... 18 minutes from 11:24 pm your lymphatic system will break down the benign compounds in your blood, releasing Arsenic into your system. After that, you will have about five minutes of agony before your heart stops."

"No," she groaned as she looked over her shoulder at me.

"I have an agent in the lobby with the antidote. They don't know you and I doubt you know them. Unless I show up in the lobby before your deadline, it's Final Judgment time for you. Do you want to live?"

"Yes," she begged.

"Understood. Go with my associate here. Go to the sauna, gather up the girls, get them something to wear, take them to the elevator, help them get on, get on yourself and then wait for me. Oh ..."

"Yes," she gulped.

"Pray for me. If your boss kills, or delays me, you're not long for this world," I let my eyes transmit my upcoming joy at her painful demise. She nodded.

"There is a pool table upstairs," she volunteered. "Those two often play a game when they've got nothing better to do ... Mr. Gris likes to be left alone ..."

I didn't give her an award for treachery. Of all the staff, she had to be the most cognizant of her employer's true nature. I assisted Kip in securing the latest haul, broke down their pistols before sending Kip and the woman on their way.

"What about ...?" he inquired quietly. I shook my head - no talking.

"Don't let her look, or get in the elevator. Tell our cohort to change clothes as well," I directed. They left. Before I headed for the third level, I did a spinal adjustment on the #1 guy. Leaving him in that helpless state would have fed into my sadistic impulse.

For my plan to reach the End Game, Gris had to have enough people capable of hustling the rest of his ensemble to his private plane so he could split town without drawing attention from the police. I mapped out the location of the pool table in the game room from the map in my mind. The elevator was a 'no-go'.

The main staircase dumped me out in the atrium on the third floor, which had an open view of the game room. That was too much distance to cover for hand to hand. I had no idea if the 'physical trainer' had body armor, or not. Hitting a moving target with partial cover wasn't my best option since I'd have to hit the final bodyguard first.

There were three alternate routes; two fire escapes and the access from the kitchen to the Master Bedroom's side room. There was undoubtedly a serious security device between the room and Mr. Gris. The cook's keycard would handle that nicely. Other security measures were unlikely.

All Gris' flunkies knew to leave him alone during his 'private time', even when that private time included 'guests'. Most door locks are meant to stop surreptitious entry, not brutal force. I didn't have to take on the last two. I'd grab Gris and force their acquiescence. I retraced my downstairs for the large saucepot.

Coming up the backside, I put the pot on a service tray, put the gun on the left side and my 'thumper' to the right. On the down side, I couldn't make out any noises from the Master Bedroom. On the plus side, no one else not in the room was going to hear what I was about to do. There was a small dolly which would make a wonderful platform.

I slid the cook's key card in. Had the door not opened, I would have swung the HK416 around and shred the area around the lock ~ cutting it out with lead. It worked, I pushed the door open and let my senses soak up the sounds and smells. I detected muffled sobbing and the scent of sweat, urine and the particular odor of fear.

"I requested to be left alone, Jean," came this cultured male voice.

I could sense the reek of this sicko's charisma and confidence without laying eyes on him. Since I was laying eyes on him, I was able to see his mask go from coldly cruel to authoritative disapproval and then to an irate cool. He wasn't afraid; he was simply far too invested into his 'I am the Master of my Universe' to give-in to something that rational.

Had he done the smart thing, he would have dismounted the California king-sized bed away from me instead of toward me.

"You have made a very seri ..." he threatened as I grabbed the deep saucepot and propelled its contents at his bare face and torso. He did have some truly fashionable tailored slacks on - no socks or jewelry.

The near-boiling salt water was on the mark, right between the nipples of his well-defined chest. He was model-sexy, with a physique meant to entice every woman he sought after; he would then deny them the pleasure they anticipated. For whatever reason, Corona had rejected his psychological and physiological mystique. That was why she was sitting in a chair off to my left. She was unbound ... by any physical restraints.

Behind him, on the bed, was a very black, black-girl, tied naked and spread-eagle on the bed with a ball-gag strapped to her head. Her flesh glowed like hot embers from the thrashing she had taken. It was her terror, piss and sweat that permeated the room. I had taken extra care, taken that extra step, to make sure none of my improvised weapon splashed a single drop upon her ravaged flesh.

"Ah," he gasped. He was hissing through his horrific pain instead of crying out. Chrétien Gris kept his wits about him. Screaming was pointless as he'd rendered himself friendless in a room with high tech sound-baffling construction. His confidence hadn't allowed him to even consider locking his doors. Now his willpower drove him to stagger for the main door and the help beyond.

His eyes were stinging - he'd brought up a warding arm to take much of the pain. Had he been thinking, he would have shut his mouth too. The three, or four seconds he needed to recouped that air and clear his eyes were two more than he had. I swung my 'thumper' so that it connected with his right kidney. When he fell to his knees, I gave his left kidney the same treatment.

Both blows were designed for debilitating pain and permanent damage. The only pity was that he'd be able to buy a black market replacement a few years down the road if his ego let him live that long. I was on the clock ~ I'd earmarked three minutes devoted to him for intense trauma to his internal organs and major muscle groups. No broken bones for him.

"Corona, untie your friend," I urged her with steady, strong words. "Your ordeal is almost over." Chrétien was in too much agony to interfere. Corona remained glued to her chair. I didn't press her, opting to work the bastard over instead. "Free her, Corona," I kept with the soothing tone. "It is time for you to say good-bye to this pathetic creature. Your running days are over."

Fifty-two seconds in, she got up and stared at him. I let Chrétien look at her, form the words to countermand me, then nut-shot the cretin. I'd mangled my share of testicles in my career. Mr. Gris' odds of making little 'Gris-lettes' was plummeting toward zero with ever wack of the 'thumper' that was applied to his groin.

The penis is a muscle as well and every erection he was going to have over the next two weeks was going to bring him back to this time and place. My years spent with disreputable people doing unspeakable acts in the name of freedom and democracy was paying dividends for my fellow citizens now.

At 103 seconds he finally managed to eke out a question.

"Why?"

He didn't get an answer. Dehumanizing your victim - Chrétien was going to be left with no doubts that he was my victim tonight - could be accomplished in a variety of ways. Not using a person's name was one tool.

Not talking to them at all was better. Going about your task with the same enthusiasm you show while shoveling some else's walkway for $5 was better than the first two choices. I was convincing him that he was a nameless, faceless task to me. Three of the four people in this room mattered and for the first time in his narcissistic life, he was absolutely the odd man out.

Corona was the key. As she threw off the shackles he had been creating in her mind, she had reduced him in her mind ... and he knew it. His investment in her was being squandered by another man who didn't give a damn about him either way. At 180 seconds, I stopped. Now it was time to get Corona and Coal out of here. The main exit was the double doors, teak and solidly built.

They'd make excellent shelter for the girls if the two men outside got stupid. Corona had Coal standing, but the black girl would have collapsed if she let go. I secured my 'thumper' behind my back to my haversack. I retrieved my pistol, applied duct tape over poor, long-suffering Mr. Gris' mouth. Once I had hefted him up with an arm around his waist I signaled Corona to make her move.

The portal swung open and I shuffled into clear view of the people outside. They were right where the concierge said they would be - playing pool. Their looks went from attentive to ... the physical trainer face showed horror; the final bodyguard showed steely resolve. I had my purloined pistol pressed against Chrétien's temple and was using him as a human shield.

"This side of the table - face down arms behind your back, or I start shooting at you," I commanded. "En commençant par vous, de Parachutistes d'Infanterie de Marine," I directed to the Frenchman.

[French] "Team, Delta," the man muttered into his Bluetooth.

I shot him in the left hand, between the thumb and forefinger and traversing his palm before exiting out the other side. Had it been something bigger than a 9mm, the bullet would have torn his hand in two. You have to be a fucking Iron Man to shrug that kind of wound off. He didn't.

Before he could react, I shot him in his right hand as well, putting the round a centimeter up from his middle finger into his palm. He was about to find out if his health insurance was sub-par.

"Your move," I pointed the gun at the physical trainer.

"I don' think ..." he started his own cautionary tale to me.

I shot the bodyguard in his right foot. It was that whole Savate thing - I didn't want to mess with that arrogant prick trying to reverse his fortune.

"What! Why did you ...," the man just wouldn't shut up and do as he was told, so I shot him (the physical trainer) in the shin. He screamed and fell over.

"This was easier than I thought it would be," I told Corona.

"Get some clothes for Coal and make your way to the first floor of the penthouse's elevator. Everyone will be waiting for you," I explained. "I'll be with you in roughly two minutes. Go." I smashed the butt of the pistol against the back of Chrétien's right ear in a manner designed to rupture his inner eardrum and disrupt his equilibrium for the next few days - a parting gift as he slumped to the ground.

The physical trainer was suitably cowed. Wrapping him up was easy. The ex-military Frog attempted to be more difficult. He glared hate my way, but I ignored him. I took his gun and knife, 'thumped' them both unconscious, and made my way to the elevator. Kip was attempting to be a warrior, so I called ahead so he wouldn't accidently shoot me.

To his credit, he didn't talk. By this time the concierge was frantic. She had less than two minutes left on her supposed deadline.

"Let's get going," she pleaded. I sucker-punched her. That made Kip edgy.

"I gave her a strong dose of Narcozep," I explained. He almost spoke then mouthed 'roofie'? I nodded. I broke down the last of the firearms. "Let's go."

As soon as I shut the doors, Sara reactivated the elevator and down we went - one floor. She looked at me with fear filled curiosity. Five of the others looked fearful. Coal was still semi-comatose.

"You seven will get out and go to your room. No talking and no names. My associate and I will leave," I explained.

"Wait fifteen minutes and take another elevator down. You should be okay from here on out," I added. I wasn't planning to wait that long. I wanted to give them something to concentrate on - the clock in this case. They filed out reluctantly, Sara in the lead. I held one (my) piece of luggage back. I shut the door, then began stripping out of my wet suit. I then redressed in the clothes I'd been seen arriving in. Kip followed my lead.

The only thing left to do was cover up the evidence of our elevator tampering, remove the vibrator egg and spray a reagent on the electrical tape. It would fall off in about ten seconds. The door shut behind us as we made our way to Sara's room, suitcase in hand. Sara actually answered before my second knock.

"Funny meeting you here," I smiled. "Ready to go?"

"Now?" she sighed with relief.

"Sure."

"Ladies," Sara looked over her shoulder, "time to go." Sara was back to being ecstatic, reveling in the criminal conspiracy that, on her end, equated to little more than vandalism. The rest of the hookers were befuddled, yet eager to leave.

The moment they saw Kip, Magnolia and Natalie rushed and hugged him. He winced but took his punishment like a man. He shot me a look. I nodded.

"Ladies, it is good to see you," he greeted them. Kip had held his tongue until I gave him permission to speak - smart and disciplined for a pimp. I had to decide if that was a good thing for Dabney, or not.

We brought two elevators up this time. Sara and I would take the first one down. Ten seconds later, Kip and the call-girls would follow us. Sara was incredibly jumpy.

"Are we going to get away with this?" she whispered.

"Thanks to you, Sara," I replied smoothly.

"You not only helped with the technical side of things, you made sure we can separate those ladies from any trace of the crime. If those bastards clean up the scene, any criminal case won't hold water. Juries and DA's hate rich people prepping a crime scene before the public servants show up. All you have to do is go back to your original room at the Wynn," I outlined for her.

"Later tonight, I'll send someone to pick up your luggage around 4 am. Then you will be gone. If anyone flashes a badge, double check their ID. If they ask you about the girls, 'you met them in the elevator, you didn't ask where they came from, the group of you went back to your room, then you agreed to meet with them later at Caesar's, but they didn't show, so you went back to the Wynn."

"Repeat it to me." She did. I made her do it five more time until she was calmer and I was sure she could pass a curiosity police check. The door opened. "You wait outside. I will make sure the others leave, then I'll drive you back to Wynn's."

"Is ... is this it?" she stammered. I studied her. "I mean is this the end ..."

"What do you want to do?"

"I ... I don't know. This has been ... ah, more exciting than I thought it would," she panted. "I was ..."

"We will talk in a minute," I directed her toward the door as I spotted Rothschild, dressed in her distinctive LVMPD garb. I went her way, keeping my perceptions alert for Kip's crowd trying to move from the elevators to the exit.

She spotted me, saw my head toss in Kip's direction and off she went to intercept his group as the Venetian security guards were moving their way as well. Normally a call-girl, or three could pass unmolested. This group already had a history - the brutalizing of the pimps - and the security team didn't want to be embarrassed. As the closest two stopped Kip, Rothschild made her move.

Casino & Hotel types didn't like the LVMPD treading on their turf, but the Law was the Law. Rothschild turned on the rational that she couldn't countenance the private cops holding seven people without due cause. They couldn't confess that they'd let some billionaire bully boys dump some battered panderers in their lap before sending them to the hospital. Things like that happened all the time. It didn't make it legal.

I meandered ahead of the group while keeping close enough to double back if anyone got antsy. No one made an issue of Rothschild's random appearance, so the final stage of the operation ended smoothly. She would stick around for fifteen more minutes 'looking for someone' who wasn't us.

Kip and the ladies got in the van and drove off. I flagged down a taxi and 'offered' to share it with the lady I'd met at the Venetian.

"Where to?" she, the cabbie, asked. I had to nudge Sara.

"Oh ... um ..." she mumbled. I clearly have developed the ability to drive women mad. That was my only explanation for Sara Patel 'deep-sixing' my 'I don't know her - she didn't know me' plans. "We are going to your place ... um ... a ... Mr."

"Vardanyan," I confessed. Cabbies are notorious for noticing everything and nothing. "Up to the North Vegas line. We'll walk that last bit and get to know one another."

"I knew it," the cabbie laughed. "You kick ass ... Vance?"

"Yeah, I prefer to use first names. Call me Vance. I found Sara here wandering around horny, alone and in dire danger of falling for one of our dangerous urban predators," I lied to our driver.

"I'm going to take her home and spank her kitty for the next three days," I kept going. "You know ... bondage ... S&M stuff ... all those things out-of-towners come here looking for." Our driver, Ebro, laughed so hard she snorted.

"I love you, Man," she chuckled. "I wish I could talk to tourists like that."