No offence Intended - Barbara Seranella (31 page)

"Second," he said, ignoring her, "I
know the Bureau has deep pockets when it comes to their informants.
The man you set up—the man who was killed because of the lies you
fostered—left behind a little girl. Her name is Asia Garillo. I
want a trust fund set up for her."

"He was warned," Vanowen said.

"Shut up, Jared," Claire snapped.

"You can make the check out to Miranda Mancini
after you square things with her probation officer. Be creative. Tell
Olivia Scott that Mancini helped you with your case."

Claire arched an eyebrow, but, to her credit, faced
Blackstone coolly "You said there were three things."

"I want the credit for tonight's bust of the
Gypsy Jokers to go to local law enforcement. You'll thank Sheriff 's
Deputy Tom Moody for his excellent police work."

She visibly paled. He'd hit a nerve.

"I won't ask you how you came to your
conclusions," she said. "The obvious question is: If we
don't do as you ask, what then?"

"I'll go public with all that I know."

She said nothing. He could almost hear her gears
spinning. She was a bright girl. It wouldn't take her too long to
realize that she was out of options.

Finally her posture slumped.

"All right," she said.

He checked his watch. A little under ten minutes had
passed since he'd knocked on the door. Jared started to say
something, but she quieted him with a hand signal. "I'll give
you what you want."

"Do I have your word?" he asked.

"Would that suffice?"

"Sure." He lifted up the table lamp and
showed her the bug. "If we don't have trust, what do we have?"

She smiled then. "You're very good. Have you
ever considered a career with the Bureau?"

"I don't think so," he said.

"Did you want to accompany us on tonight's
operation?"

"You don't know it," he said, "but you
need me and my team."

"Your team?"

'Yes, I have a guide to lead us up the mountain.

She was up there earlier with one of the biker women
and knows where the trip wires are."

"Trip wires?"

"Connected to illumination grenades as of this
morning. Your teams would be sitting ducks. You were planning to go
up the south side, weren't you?"

"How do you know that?" she asked, and then
looked at the lamp. "Of course." She looked at the
telephone, then back at him. "All right, fine, let's bring her.
What's one more? This whole operation has been a circus from the
get-go."

"I know," he said. " was part of the
dog and pony act, remember?"

She actually blushed. That made him feel a little
better. He didn't think she could fake a blush.

"Was it all an act, Claire? Was deceiving me
amusing?"

"The hardest part," she said, smiling
almost playfully "was memorizing all those chess moves."

He shook his head in disgust. This was all a big game
to her. The phone by her bed rang.

She answered it with a curt "Donavon." By
the third "uh-huhh," the color had drained from her face.
"You've got to stop them," she told her caller.

"Well, try"

"What's up?" Blackstone asked.

"We've got problems," she said. "Our
support team got their orders scrambled. They're out of radio contact
and going in now."

Blackstone jumped to his feet. "You're going to
have a bloodbath."

Claire worked frantically over a portable shortwave
radio. "Team Alpha, abort, do you copy?"

Static filled the hotel
room. Blackstone grabbed his hat and ran for the door. He could only
pray that they'd get there in time.

* * *

"Did you bring us a woman, prospect?" a big
fat biker with Prez over his pocket asked.

"I sure did," Munch's escort said.

"Do you have hair on your ass, prospect?"
the prez roared.

"Fucking right," the guy responded.

Munch looked around her, searching for an avenue of
escape. She didn't know where this guy was going with this line of
questioning, but she didn't want to be there when he arrived.

"Show her."

The prospect pulled down his pants and mooned Munch.
She looked out into the sea of impassive faces before her, trying to
catch some sympathy But any eye contact she made was returned with
dead, cold stares. She remembered the article she had read on the
plane about Communicators and man's evolution as such. Judging from
the raw emotions emoting from this crowd, she was in serious trouble.

The prospect pulled his pants back up and walked over
to her. He held out a handful of Quaaludes.

"Here," he said, "It'll go easier for
you if you take these."

She stared at the pills for a long time before
replying, wondering if this was how God was choosing to answer her
prayers.

She used to love Quaaludes.

Maybe this was the only help she could hope for. If
she took the offered pills, they would render her unconscious and
then perhaps whatever these bikers planned to do to her body would be
easier to live with after. The FBI would find her when they conducted
their raid, but that was still hours away She heard Ruby's voice in
her head saying,
We don't use no matter what.

"I don't use drugs," she said, but the
words came out too softly for anyone else to hear.

"Prospect," the prez's voice thundered out.
"You showed her yours, right?"

"That's right," the crowd murmured.

"Now tell her to show us hers." The
prospect reached up to Munch's belt and pulled the tongue from the
buckle.

Its up to You,
she prayed.
I've tried to do
my best, but theres no way I'm going through this sober If this
happens, I'm getting drunk.

And then she saw him. James. Their eyes locked in
recognition.

"Wait a minute," he said. "This has to
be voluntary." Then to her. "Is it?"

His question stunned her, but she recovered quickly
He had given her an out. "No," she said, fastening her
buckle and pushing past the prospect.

"It's not. It's definitely not. No."

She walked as quickly as she could without running,
somehow sensing that if she ran, if she showed fear, they would
descend on her like a pack of hungry wolves and tear her life apart.
James escorted her from the room, saying loudly to his brethren, "We
need to talk, darling."

Laughter followed. James leaned over and whispered in
her ear, "What are you doing here?"

"Where's Asia?"

"I dropped her off." He glanced back over
his shoulder.

"Dropped her off where?"

"With Deb's neighbor, the broad who always
watches Boogie."

"How could you do that?"

"She's—"

"I'm talking about Sleaze. How could you set him
up like that?"

James stared at her without expression. "You
better get out of here while you still can."

Munch found Deb still on the couch in a clinch with
her Prince Revolting and yanked her to her feet.

"Come on," she said, "we're leaving.
Now. Give me the keys."

"What's the matter with you?" Deb asked.
"You're no fun at all anymore."

Munch half dragged, half pushed Deb back to the
truck. "We're getting out of here."

"All right, all right," Deb agreed sullenly
"What are you all mad about?"

Munch looked at her friend, realized she didn't have
a clue. "Just get in the truck."

They drove down the dirt road as quickly as she
deemed safe and then a bit more. She had to use all her concentration
to keep them from sliding down the bank. How do people do this drunk?
she wondered.

"Where are we going?" Deb asked. .

"I'm taking you home, then I'm going back to
L.A."

"I love you, man," Deb said. "You're
my sister. I'd die for you. You know that."

"What does that mean?" Munch asked. "You
say that. But it doesn't mean shit. You leave me for the first man
who wags his dick at you."

"I don't need to be hearing this shit," Deb
said. "Not from you."

Roxanne lifted up her head and said, "Yeah,
pardon the fuck out of us."

"Another country heard from," Munch said.

Deb slumped over and rested her head on Munch's
shoulder. "I'll miss him too, you know."

Munch put a protective arm around Deb's shoulders. "
know," she said. " know. Let's get out of here." She
rounded the blind bend in the road. Her foot hovered over the gas
pedal, planning to floor it as soon as the road straightened out.

When she came around the corner, she hit a wall of
chrome and blinding headlights. She slammed on the brakes. The pickup
fishtailed and skidded.

Nothing she did with the steering wheel made a
difference. Deb and Roxanne slid under the dash. The eight-track
player came loose, fell down at her feet, and jammed against the gas
pedal. The truck leapt forward, then made a crunching thud as it
smashed into the grille of what she now realized was the front end of
an eighteen-wheeler.

Deb pulled herself up from the floorboard and peeked
over the dashboard. Something in the way she said, "Uh-oh,"
made Munch's blood run cold.

The angry man swinging out of the cab of the semi
looked like a cross between a pirate and a lumberjack. It had to be
Tux. He was just the type Deb would go for—that both of them used
to go for—rough and ready A dark goatee accentuated the angles of
his jaw, a gold loop dangled from his right earlobe. He was a big
man, well over six feet tall, and not happy at all.

"What the fuck is going on here?" he said.
"And who the fuck are you?"

Deb's head popped out the passenger window. "Hi,
baby" she said. She released the door catch and tumbled out.
"I've missed you so bad."

It was just then that the first grenade lit up the
sky.
 

28

TWO MORE GRENADES went off, turning night into day.
The stars disappeared under a haze of white smoke. It smelled like
the Fourth of July. Tux grabbed Deb's coat sleeve and shoved her
roughly into the cab of the eighteen-wheeler. From his waistband, he
pulled a gun and pointed it at Munch's face. "Who the fuck are
you?" he asked. She held her hands out, palms facing him. "Easy,
I'm Deb's friend."

They turned when they heard sirens approaching up the
highway Overhead, the first faint beats of helicopter blades could be
heard.

"It's over, Tuxford," a loudspeaker
announced. "Drop your weapon."

Tux reached forward and grabbed Munch, using her body
as a shield as he backed towards his truck A spotlight from overhead
shone down on them. He dragged her with him as if she were no more
substantial than a rag doll. Her feet barely touched the ground.

"Drop your weapon," the disembodied voice
repeated.

His grip around her chest tightened. He gave her body
a jerk that pushed the air from her lungs. They had made it back to
his semi. She felt his body twist as he made ready to climb aboard.

Above the sounds of the helicopter and of screeching
tires, Munch heard a familiar sound. It was a cross between a thunk
and a plink—the sound of the thick bottom of a bottle connecting
with a skull.

She and Tux fell together. The weight of him crushed
her, but somehow she managed to push him off and roll away Deb stood
on the running board of the truck, a green Thunderbird wine bottle
clutched in her hand. Her eyes glowed with excitement.

"I can't tell you how long I've wanted to do
that," she said. "He really was an asshole, wasn't he?"

"Put your hands over your heads," came an
almost hysterical scream. Men in dark parkas and ski masks streamed
out of the surrounding woodlands. One of them jerked Munch's hands
behind her and then pushed her to the ground. Another found Roxanne
in the pickup. He dragged her out and dumped her next to Munch. Deb
received the same treatment.

Blackstone pushed his way into the melee and pulled
Munch to her feet. "You all right?" he asked, brushing her
off.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Agents cuffed Tux where he lay and dragged him off,
still unconscious. Deb and Roxanne were shoved against the front of
the pickup. "Hey go easy" Blackstone said. "Save it
for the guys up there." He pointed up the hill.

Moody emerged from the sleeper portion of the cab
carrying four burlap bags. He opened one and pulled out a stack of
bills.

Claire Donavon, in full SWAT attire, jogged up the
road. "I'll take those," she said. She motioned for two
similarly dressed agents to take over. "Thank you for your
help."

"Sure, darlin'," he said.

She walked over to Blackstone, casting a wary glance
at Munch. "What's the situation?"