The Last Reflexive Ch. 09

By: Col. Brunhilda 'Iceberg' Buriman, ret.

Sorority Sister of Pi Loda Cum

Chapter Nine: Wha' da' f*@k?!

The words of the priest caused Harriette to think, and provoked a torrent of concern. She was stunned by what she'd learned on top of one damn good orgasm from her now-favorite vibrator. She squeezed back tears and resentment, along with her thighs, and let go of Father Costanzo's hand to begin pacing once more, until stopped. Harriette looked around and out onto the city, seeking that which the priest saw, but quickly returned to face him. She nodded her head and listened, still hinged to some disbelief. She felt like a little girl being let in on a family's darkest secret, a secret so terrible, others died upon learning of it.

"You know George Martinelli," Father Costanzo asked rhetorically, and Harriette grimaced. Everyone knew the 'alleged' underworld figure, the guy who purported to have the largest cock this side of the Pacific. She'd wanted to fuck, nail and jail that macho-Mafiosi for years, but he had the best lawyers in the City, and entire East Coast. He also preferred bimbos, the dumber the better.

"Jesus! George Martinelli, Padre," she repeated incredulously. Her tears evaporated to heat produced by the name, and by her imagination. "Georgie the Boa? Georgie Big Balls? That same Martinelli?" She murmured under her breath. She caught herself and calmed down with a sigh and gritted teeth. "Of course, but..." The door erupted without warning, sending wood splinters spraying everywhere as four armed gunmen dressed as clerics burst in.

"What the fu-" Harriette started, whipping her .357 from its holster without thinking. Between several bullets sent her way in a spray she dodged, she drew her magnum and fired off a round, catching one shooter between the eyes, sending his brains in a spume onto the wall behind him, in an abstract design not unlike that produced by Jackson Pollack. Before she could squeeze off another round at the assailant now in her sight, her shoulder exploded to a bullet ripping through it. The blast threw her off balance and back, her head careening off a table's edge. While spiraling into unconsciousness she yet heard voices.

"Got him, and, wow... will you look at her," the owner of the voice yelled out, stopping to stare at Harriette. Then he shouted to the others. "She looks just like..." Harriette heard him yell, and then, all went black. "That's not what you're here for! Keep your focus on the mission," another voice boomed, cutting off the first.

When Harriette regained consciousness, things were quiet, too quiet, and her shoulder was afire. She looked down to find her jacket red with blood and shook her head in disappointment.

"Damn, is Sven gonna be mad," she said, jaw clenched from pain. Her hand found the table and she struggled to stand. "All alone once again," she growled to herself while looking around. "What the fuk happened here," she railed, seeing the office ransacked, things strewn everywhere. Harriette could hear sirens nearing, a lot of sirens coming her way. Harriette picked the phone up from the floor to dial the Chief but dropped it, figuring he was on his way by now. She picked up and holstered her weapon, but couldn't see the forty-five. She shook cobwebs from her head and then something more important came to her. Where's Padre?

"Faaaaaaa-theeeer," she bellowed, while staggering through the splintered doorway to look around. Finding no one on the second floor left her with an uneasy feeling. The voices she'd heard earlier were still in her mind. With the banister's help Harriette slid down the steps to the first floor, and was met by Sister Catherine's lifeless form. For a long moment she stood there in a shock that soon turned to rage. Her legs gave out as she fell to her knees beside the nun, to feel for a pulse, for a sign of life, and found none. The poor girl's skin was cooling to the touch, her mouth, from nose to chin coated in chocolate and blood. Harriette did all she could to hold her temper, to bite her tongue. "You mother fukers," she barked huskily. Her eyes darting up and about, looking for the priest.

"Father," she whispered expecting the worst. She struggled to her feet and ran toward the vestibule. "You sons of bitching bastards," she cursed the unknown assailants roundly. "Each and every one of you," she snarled like a savage seeking escape from within, dreading what she may next discover. Harriette heard the shrill of sirens drawing close, but paid little attention. Where in the hell is Padre, she wondered in thoughts frantic as her searching. She ran into the apse and yelled for him, but there was no response. She saw people milling around the entrance, afraid to enter, driven by curiosity. Harriette shouted and waved them away. Then she remembered; the rose window!

Harriette staggered up the steps, tripping along the choir loft and into the bell area and there stopped in front of where the rose window was, where it should be, and stared through a gaping hole. Here was another shattered dream? Suddenly the insightful hand of intuition upon her shoulder bade her turn, and there he was, in an even more mind-numbing scene then of Sister. It was her beloved Padre. He was hanging upside down from one of the bell ropes, hands bound behind him and a bullet through the base of his skull. It was obvious he'd been tortured before he was killed. Harriette's eyes traveled the crimson flow of blood to the floor below, and fell to her knees before yet another lifeless form. She looked up at a testament to his words. The tears that erupted were those from a ruptured dam she could no longer hold back, tears she had little desire to stop, or mask.

"No, fukin' no, no, no, no," she wailed. "FFFFUUUUUUUKKKKKK Noooooooooooooo!" Harriette felt the hand on her shoulder and made to go for her gun, but a hand on her arm stopped her.

"Harriette, it's me, Dude. Take it easy, you've been shot," Dude said in a low commanding voice. Harriette blinked her eyes clean and slowly peered through her lashes, as Dude tried checking the wound, which Harriette shrugged off. Another nightmare, another chapter begun in the book about her gruesome life, written in warm blood and cold death, and lots of raw sex too. She refused to give up, saw no reason to. And backing down was out of the question, though she's going to start wearing panties around Dude. She swore silently to find the guilty and make them pay. She looked to Dude who didn't seem interested in how high her skirt had ridden up her thighs, exposing her pussy to him. She simply sneered when he went for her wound again.

"Good eye, Dude, telling me I been shot. A regular master of the obvious," she muttered, shrugging him off again. Dude let out with a 'tsk' and leaned back.

"Harriette! An ambulance is on the way. Tell me what happened," he asked, again reaching to aid the wound.

"Fuck OFF," she hollered, pushing him away.

"Harriette," Dude said, dropping down beside her. He looked at the Padre, whose life's blood still dripped from fresh wounds. He wanted to put his arm around Harriette, but somehow couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't dare. A person like Harriette would never accept comfort from a stranger.

"Get the hell away from me. This all began when you showed up," she said through gritted teeth, pressing her thighs together and scooting up a bit so her skirt slid lower, covering her little princess. Emotional turmoil roiled her ability to reason, slowing her thinking process. She knew it was all hogwash, the cause and effect crap. She'd been in this business too many years, and without Dude's help she may never find the assailants.

"Harriette, tell me what happened? It's important," Dude tried again in a more authoritative voice, their eyes meeting. The skirmish was short and swift, Dude's voice and the growing pain taking Harriette back to childhood.

Harriette recognized the tone in Dude's voice, it was that of the Sergeant. She figured Dude wasn't really a bad guy, just someone who'd brought her grief, grief she didn't want, but somehow needed? She considered what Padre told her, relenting to the bizarre tale he'd begun. She steadied herself, took a deep breath and began recounting the experience in bits and pieces of what she remembered. Dude came up with a cloth that he folded into a wad and pressed against the wound to slow the bleeding.

When Harriette finished going over what had happened, she seemed to see Dude in a new light. She needed time, but saw the same urgency in Dude's eyes as she'd seen in the Padre's just before he was murdered.

"Harriette! Have any idea of what it was these people wanted, or were after? Except for the window," Dude asked, looking over to the hole.

"NO! I don't, damn it," she stated angrily.

"I'd hoped the priest told you," Dude said.

"Well he didn't. But your name came up, and you'd better, or..."

"Okay, I'll level with you. But let's get that wound tended to. Everything will be okay, Harriette," he said.

"Hey, tell that to my Padre," she sneered as she nodded her head toward the corpse. Rage overcame her again, and she lashed out at all the pain. "You got all the answers, eh, Dude? Right? Leave me the hell alone. I'm tired and need my pussieboys. Maybe I'll wake up from this nightmare to find Litle slaving away between my legs, and Sven serving me his famous liver and wild mushroom pate on crackers, and I'll be gulping down strong German beer..."

Harriette was close to passing out and a bit delirious, pale from shock. She'd been dealt a double blow, both physically and mentally. Finding real friends like Sister Catherine and Father Costanzo brutally slaughtered could push even the strongest to the edge. Dude needed to rein her in swiftly in order to accomplish his mission. He had to continue chipping away at Harriette's hardened exterior. He had to make Harriette understand that it was important she hide before the hit squads made it this far East. The Organization needed her, and so did he. Everything was arranged, their mission of course had your average comic book adventure story goal: save the world. Dude spoke gently as he took her hand in his. He looked into her eyes and saw the pain.

"Harriette, stay with me. The Chief is here," he said to encourage. She shook her head and closed her eyes, but they shot open when she heard her name bellowed by the Chief.

"Harriette! Dude, how is she," puffed the Chief as he came rushing toward them, remnants of a chili dog on his chin, and stains on his trousers from what his sloppy under-desk secretary couldn't hold in her mouth. Another detective ran up to stand beside Harriette as Dude stood to face the Chief. Harriette shook her head at his silver shark-skin suit and blue suede shoes, with matching velvet tie. If anything could take her mind off pain it was this bigger pain, Boyle.

"She'll survive, Chief," Dude stated confidently. "It's not a bad wound." The other detective beside Harriette whistled.

"Well now, here's a first! Who'd ya let hit you," he asked, looking her over from above with a smirk and bobbing head. Harriette frowned and immediately responded gruffly to a male she lacked any respect for, the self-proclaimed lady killer.

"Shut the fuk up, Boyle," she hissed, pressing her thighs together tighter. Then she looked past Boyle to the Chief. "I'm okay Chief, just not quite myself. Haven't disturbed anything... But wanna know who did this, and I wanna know today!"

"OK, OK. But what the hell happened, my little creampuff, are ya strong enough to walk," asked the Chief.

"You mean your biggest splined butt-plug, Chief," she answered with a sneer, looking to grin. Harriette looked from Dude to the Chief, and mustered all her strength. She took a deep breath and with Boyle's unwanted help, stood, shooing him away help after that. She staggered and was unsteady, but stayed on her feet to face them. Her pain was obvious, though veiled.

"One lost his head, Chief," a voice in the distance yelled out. "Good shot, Harriette!"

"Oh not again, Harriette," sighed Boyle dramatically, who was now studying the priest's corpse, careful to avoid getting blood on his shoes. Harriette glared at the detective, a menacing expression on her face.

"May the headless horseman haunt your every fukin' dream, you perfect asshole," she snarled. Boyle was obviously not her favorite person and their antagonism was ever evident. The Chief was becoming quite animated as his crew scurried about searching for clues, bringing him bits of information.

"Boyle, shut da hell up," the Chief warned. "Where's that got-damn ambulance? It was right behind us!" Harriette went on speaking with the Chief while grabbing another wad of cloth from Dude, to press to her wound.

"Sunday's collection goes to the bank right after last Mass, so no money to steal. I dunno. I just don't get it! Why the rose window... Why Sister Catherine? And above all, why my Padre's execution? I just don't fukin' know, just don't fukin' know," Harriette's tone ending in a bellow. There was something Father Costanzo said about Dude that caused her to omit referring to what the priest had given her. Someone hollered up to the Chief that the ambulance had arrived.

"That's enough for now, 'til after we get you to the hospital," the Chief ordered. Harriette grimaced.

"Jesus, it's a simple wound, and I had a tetanus shot last year! All I need is a beer, cigarette, and randy go round," she croaked, putting a crooked grin on Boyle's face, which Harriette happened to catch. "Not with you, ass clown. Not if you were the last iota of cockroach shit left on the face of the planet!" Harriette was now semi-conscious and resumed more pleasant thoughts. "Yep. Lager, smoke and my boys, oh yes, my boys!" A team of paramedics came over the top step with a stretcher and ran up to Harriette.

"Look boys, I'm breathing, I got a pulse, and I'm conscious," she growled at the fellows as they neared with the litter to place beside her. "Just get me to the fukin' hospital for a high-priced band-aid and then I'll swing back here. In no way am I done with the bottom dwelling pond scum bastards who did this." They nudged the stretcher closer and with Dude's quiet whisper to Harriette, the medics helped her ease into it, excited for the opportunity of getting their hands on the famous detective.

"I think I could have done it myself," Harriette droned wearily as she peered into their eyes, with a wink, "but thanks." The medics descended upon her like a pair of hungry vultures, adjusting and re-adjusting her body before covering and strapping her down. Then they lifted and moved her away. "And which one of you pa-ra-medics will ride in back with me? You're both so handsome..."

"Harriette, I've got your forty-five," Dude said quietly, just before they moved her.

"Check," she replied with a smile, raising a thumb in salute.

The Chief stood close to Dude, watching Harriette carried away. He faced Dude directly and took a sturdy stance. Motioning to the others that he wanted to be alone, he began speaking in a muted tone.

"Look, Dude. Maybe I ain't in your league, but you're in my town and somethin's not right about all this," the Chief said. He looked down, around and back to Dude. He then nonchalantly reached down to adjust his balls behind the baggy material of his slacks, making it obvious he needed his under the desk secretary. Just as suddenly, as if seeming to catch himself, he slipped his hand into his pocket to pull out a few stale potato chips. "I've checked you out and you're who you say you are, but..." he said, opening his mouth wide for the chips. He stared at Dude hoping the stranger would let him in on what was happening. It was a frustrating endeavor, but a familiar one to cops. If nothing else, the Chief felt compelled to explain his point of view. Dude understood the Chief's frustration, and allowed him to express it.

"You meet with my detective in private, then coincidently wind up here. Now, in less than five hours, I got one of my crack detectives shot-up, a dead priest, a dead nun, another dead body in the street, and plenty of blood and brains in the parlor that no one claims to be missin'. It all comes full circle Dude, with me finding you here before anybody else. So how's about leveling with me or at least lettin' me in on what the hell dis is all about?"

"If you must know, I was at a tavern down the street, a five minute walk from here."

"In a bar?"

"Nice place. I believe it's named Mister G's."

"Yeah, I go there for the peanuts, they're imported. Best fukin peanuts ever."

"Next time you're there, say hello to Guiseppe."

"Listen, Dude," the Chief began. "If ya don't want me ta..."

"Come on Chief," Dude interrupted, motioning for them to leave. "I'll drive. Let's get to the hospital, and on the way I'll let you in on a little something." As the pair made their way down the steps and to the door, Dude stopped a photographer and crouched down near the body of an intruder shot dead by an alert armed citizen. He scraped a bit of gray matter and blood into the plastic bag he pulled from his coat pocket. The Chief looked at him in a strange way and the Dude shrugged.

"For analysis," he said to the Chief. The Chief exhaled loudly, and shook his head. As Dude sealed the samples carefully, he spoke to the Chief from over his shoulder.

"Ever hear of The Gonif?"