Jessie Ch. 18

I hung up on him and it felt good to vent some of the anger in violent action. I was drunk and getting drunker. That was good. I need all the liquid courage I could get for this next call.

Did I even need to make it? I held up the bottle, stared at the cranberry-colored bird on the label. "I don't need to do this, do I?"

He didn't answer, but I felt like his stare was judgmental. "Yeah," I said softly. "Yeah, I do."

I tilted my head back, blew smoke at the metal ceiling of the rockets nose cone. The alcohol wasn't calming me down. Neither were the cigarettes. That didn't mean I should stop though.

It wasn't like I was gonna get spanked for drinking too much, smoking too much. My body tingled, ached at the thought of approaching Gary again, bending over his knee, the sting of his hand, the electric spark of pain and erotic energy jumping through me... And the body-suffusing pain of the knowledge that I probably wasn't going to do that ever again.

I regulated my breathing, fought the tears that blurred my vision. "Fuck..."

Everything was pain.

I could understand what Gary had said in the park about wanting to be done with hurting. And this next call would hurt even more.

I pulled up the number in my contacts. Ancient number. I wondered if she still had it. Maybe she wouldn't and my night would be a be little easier.

No. I NEEDED to do this.

I tapped the contact, waited through interminable rings. My heartbeat hammered harder and faster with each one.

Finally, another sleepy voice answered. A woman. "Hello."

The voice sounded older. Or maybe that was the sleep. No, she was actually older. "Misses Rigg?"

A moment to process. "It's Adams now. Who is this?"

"It's me, mom. Jessie."

"Jessie? What? I'm... It's like two in the morning. Why are you calling now? I haven't heard from you in - "

Her voice trailed off and I did the math. Nearly fifteen years.

"I just...I need to talk to my mom?"

"Really? Its been a decade. What is it NOW?"

"Wondering how you dealt when dad died."

Silence. "Call me in the morning. We'll talk then."

I couldn't control the tears. The hurt. Why the fuck had I called her? She didn't care. She never had. My pain and frustration and loss escaped as a moan, and I rocked forward, put my head on my knees and sobbed into my jeans.

"Jessie? Jessie? What's going on? Jessie?" I could hear my mom's voice, tinny and tiny from the speaker of the phone on the floor of the rocket.

I picked it up. "A car bomb, right in front of me. My husband got caught in it. He's probably gonna die soon."

"Oh Jessie, I'm so, so sorry."

###

The motorcycle buzzed underneath me as I drove slowly down the Main Street. A lot smaller than Milwaukee had been. Here the tallest building outside of the courthouse slash government offices was three stories. I pulled into a parking spot in front of the grocery store, a red brick storefront in a blocks-long row of them.

The bell on the door jingled as I walked inside, and I pulled off my motorcycle helmet, set it on the counter. "Jessie!" The shopkeeper seemed excited to see me. "How are you doing? How are the kids?"

I'd known Mrs. Gowanski for years, she and her husband had welcomed us to town with a quarter of a cow. That was the kind of gift you gave out here apparently.

"Doing good. The hospital is doing good. The kids are," I smiled. "Rowdy as ever. I imagine right now they're... Probably picking corn. Or wheat, one of the two."

"Is there anything I can get for you? Anything you're looking for today?"

My boots clomped on the ancient hardwood floor as I headed back to the refrigerated section. The shelves were looking kind of sparse these days, deliveries slowing down. The freezer was even more sparse. People had enough to eat around here, but the trucks weren't bringing in a lot of nonessentials. "Looking for ice cream for the kiddos."

Only a few boxes from nationally-known chains, but there were a couple of Tupperware containing pink ice cream that sparked my interest. I picked one up and carried it to the checkout. "What is this?"

Mrs. Gowanski beamed. "Nifty, huh? Dale Lefave is making ice cream now. Milk from his own cows, homemade beet sugar, and some homegrown stevia."

I looked over the Tupperware, not seeing a label or any nutritional information. "I bet the effdeeaye really loves this."

"Haven't seen that man in two years. Can't say I miss him. I think the kids will like that though. Its got a pretty unique flavor."

I walked into Gary's hotel suite. The hot Florida sun shown through the windows, illuminating a slept-on bed, paperwork scattered about the desk, a clean and neatly organized kitchen unit. I'd had to convince the clerk I was the girlfriend - and throw in a feel of my tits in the office - to get him to give me a room key. I remembered his palms on my nipples, and they ached to be touched.

Kissed.

My whole body ached. I wanted Gary's hands on it. I wanted him to fill me, to use me, do whatever he wanted to me. All I wanted was to be skin-against-skin with him, again, after so many months. Whatever he wanted, I would enjoy doing, just for that treat. That privilege.

The bathroom was as clean and tidy as the kitchen, and I left the door open. I took a hot shower, scrubbed the day's sweat and grime from my skin. Ate a candy bar while I dried off, did my hair, applied detailed, perfect makeup. Brushed and flossed my teeth. Rinsed with mouth wash. I applied perfume and lube, then went out into the main room.

How would Gary want to see me when he got home? What would turn him on? I got down on my elbows and knees, arching my back and shuffling my legs apart. When he walked in, the first thing he'd see would be my cunt and my asshole, me waiting to be mounted.

No. Too porny. Too forward. Too gross.

The thought of Gary being inside me, whatever hole he wanted, turned me on, and imagining the act, the feel of him against me, on me, inside me, doing porny, forward, gross things to my body made me want to crawl up onto that bed and spend some quality time with my fingers between my thighs.

But I didn't want to throw that at him. Not right away.

Maybe he'd like that. Fuck. I couldn't decide. He was forceful, liked to be in command in bed. What would he like?

In the end, I knelt. At the foot of the bed. Legs apart, hands on knees, palms up, head down. My heart beat faster with every tick off the clock. I couldn't wait for the door to open.

I heard the key in the lock.

I shook my head, coming awake.

Something had woken me up from a great dream. Some noise, some vibration, some change somewhere had intruded into my memory of meeting Gary in Florida.

My call with my mom had ended and I'd drank more. Smoked more. Slumped to the metal floor and put my head on my arms and cried myself to sleep.

But now I was awake. The alcohol in my veins had my body feeling fuzzy but I was alert, straining for the sound, the motion that had pulled me regretfully into consciousness.

There it was. Talking. I peered out and down, between the bars of the rocket. A group of people. Three. Making their way down the street towards this house from a van parked at the curb down the block.

Our house sat on the side of a dead-end. Not a lot of reason to park and come down this street.

I crept down the ladders and platforms of the rocket slowly, silently, thankful that I weighed almost nothing, the ancient but solid metal making no noise as I passed.

I moved quietly around the pool, taking cover behind the corner of the house and peeking out as they moved up the driveway and tried the side door. Good luck, motherfucker. My man installed doors you couldn't fucking blow off with dynamite.

My heartrate climbed and my mouth tasted sour as I watched one of them get out a pick set and began working the lock. I should call the police.

Or I could deal with this myself. I had a baton, a forty-four, and a really pissed off attitude.

Then one of them stepped into the moonlight and I definitely decided against calling the police. Black hoodie. Red bandana over his face, another one tied around his arm.

Yeah, I was gonna fuck them up.

I moved stealthily around the house, approaching them from the street, coming towards the knot of assholes around the porch and driveway. My phone's flashlight blinded them when I held it up, and a big blonde guy with a goatee blocked his eyes. "The fuck?"

I recognized that face from my porch. From waking up during a shootout. From a month ago. Morgan Skolnich. He crossed the space quickly, took a swing at me, and even drunk, my actions were reflexive, faster even than I could've decided.

My baton clacked twice as it opened, wove its way under his arm, twisted and bent, and I kicked the back of his knee out as I wrenched his shoulder. What was it Gary had told me years ago, if you're holding a gun on someone, don't touch them with it? I grazed the back of Morgan's head with the snubnosed Anaconda in my left, pulled back the hammer close enough to his ear that he could recognize the unmistakable sound. "Hi," I whispered.

Morgan winced and yelped when I twisted the baton at his testing of my grip. "Good thing there are only four of you," I hissed.

"She's only got four rounds!" He shouted to his men, and I cranked down on the baton.

"Not what I said. I'm gonna shoot your guys in front of you, and then use the last three bullets taking you apart."

He turned his head, and I wished it was my Skean Dhu in my hand rather than a gun. I would've cut a slash through his eye. "You pull that trigger and Gary dies, tonight. Along with your friends, and probably a lot of other people on that hospital floor. I've got a team there right now. Guns and a bomb. You're a nurse, Jessie, think about the patients." His voice had taken a mocking tone.

"How many of your shitheads are you willing to lose trying to get him?"

"As many as it takes." He lowered his voice so just I could hear. "I want that flash drive."

It took all my strength not to tease him with my knowledge of the contents.

"What flash drive? Gary told me you asked him about that twice."

"Sienna has it. Stole it from me. Its got important documents on it, literally it's all I want. Ain't leaving here without it."

"Yes, you are." I twisted the baton and he sucked in air through his teeth. "You can't get into my house without tearing it down, and I ain't letting you in."

"Then we kill Gary in his hospital bed."

I steeled myself. I couldn't betray how much that thought made me want to scream. "Then you die right here. Or are permanently disabled, disfigured, maimed, whatever. You can live without your flash drive, you've done it for a year now. How long do you think you'll live, how long do you think you'll WANT to live, with no flash drive, sitting in a wheelchair, shitting in a bag for the rest of your life? You're not getting in."

"Bitch," he muttered.

"That's me, sweetie," I said breathily. "Tell your goons to get back in the van."

He paused, waited a moment, trying to figure out the next play. "Guys, head back to the truck."

"Boss, we -"

"Go."

Morgan howled as I twisted him around to put his body between me and his departing soldiers, and I watched them trudge down the street.

"What now?" he asked after the last door had slammed.

"Now I'm really thinking of blowing your small intestine all over my driveway."

"You call the cops, you pull the trigger, my guys wipe out a floor of the hospital getting to Gary. And we WILL get him."

"Maybe. But you're still dead. Or enjoying really fucking decreased quality of life, while sitting in prison."

"Your call. Make the trade if you want."

"Good trade," Gary had said.

He'd want me to do it. His life for the head of a terrorist group. His life for MORGAN'S life, for Sienna's life.

His LIFE.

I pulled the baton away, stepped back up the driveway holding the Colt on Morgan with my left hand. At this distance, which hand I used didn't matter. If he tried anything, I'd blow a crater in his torso.

The big man glared at me as he rose, rubbing his shoulder. "Wasn't expecting that. You won't ever do that again."

I gestured with the revolver. "No, I won't."

"Give me Sienna and this all ends. I don't care about you. I don't care about Gary. I don't care how many of my men I have to sacrifice. I want Sienna and that flash drive."

"You're not getting her."

"You saw what I did to her, you know how many people I'm willing to kill to get what I want. Do you really want to die for her?"

"Good trade," Gary had said.

"If I have to," I told him quietly.

Morgan shook his head. "You would've made a good Marine with that attitude. Tell you what. I'll give you a couple of months to think it over. I've got pressing business... Elsewhere. People to blow up, people to shoot, you know how it is." His hand dipped into his jacket pocket and I nearly shot him right there. He came back with a business card, which he flipped at me. It bounced off my chest and fell to the driveway. "Call the people listed there. Ask for Handsome Jack. They'll know how to get in touch with me."

"Handsome Jack?" I snorted.

"You don't call that number before I get back, I'll make the decision for you. You might be willing to sacrifice your life, but I bet you won't give up others so easy. I'll make the highway look like a birthday party."

I swallowed hard. I still had nightmares about that. "When will you be back?"

"In a while. Earlier if you call me." Morgan turned and strode away into the night, oblivious to the gun pointed at his back.

"Hey, Morgan."

The tall blonde guy turned back. "Yeah?"

"Next time we meet, I'm gonna watch you die." I didn't know how I was gonna kill him, I just knew that I had to. I needed to.

He laughed. "You had your chance, and you weren't able to. You won't get the drop on me again."

I held his eyes for a long time, until he shrugged and walked away.

I watched until the van's lights flared and pulled away, and then I bent and picked up the business card. The Brotherhood Of The Red Flag had business cards. A physical address for their protest group.

I should take this to the police, tell them this legitimate political group could reach the most wanted terrorist in the country.

No.

Morgan was connected. If he ever saw the inside of a jail cell, probably some trenchcoat convention would descend on the precinct with suitcases full of Hollywood cash and he'd be out before he could say "Hi" to his cellie.

Fuck that.

I'd handle this. I'd figure out how to handle it.

I'd figure out how to stop him. To make sure he didn't hurt anyone ever again.

I took a few deep breaths, realized how tired and weary I was. How drunk I was. I swayed in place as it seemed like my strength wasn't enough anymore to keep my legs straight, and I lowered myself to sit cross-legged in the driveway.

Oh, Gary.

I wish you were still in this house.

It's only been two days, and I don't know how I can live without you.