Deadly Paths

by Jack Parker

  Victoria thought it strange, of the four weddings being held, it was the Japanese non-Christian that wanted the formal looking Christian style wedding in the main Chapel of the Grande Chapel hotel. It also meant this wedding promised to be the longest of the ceremonies. Star Wars, Middle of the road Protestant in a courtyard, and a Celtic style wedding all would probably be over within a half hour, whereas this one . . .

  Victoria glanced at Robin, seated in the pew next to her, who was acting as her date, then scanned the Chapel looking for the third member of their team. The main chapel hall looked every bit the part of the grandest of Gothic architecture, with high pointed-arched ceilings and rows of giant stone columns on either side of the main chamber. These columns were adorned with large bronze candle holders that held real candles. A magnificent circular stained glass window dominated the central dais, with more stained glass designs along both sides of the chamber. Beautiful, but the architecture just felt dreary to Victoria.

  Charlie was right where she was supposed to be, towards the back where she could make a quick exit ahead of the other guests headed for the reception. Charlie had the key role for this mission, which was to reach a secure hotel office during the wedding reception and hack a MANTA server that had a cargo manifest and travel itinerary for high tech weapons. Knowledge of this manifest came from Carlo Bennedetto during his staged interrogations with those that completed the previous mission.

  If Victoria had been a true contender in the game show, she might have been very concerned by the fact she knew she was forced to be on this mission with two players that had decided to become MANTA agents. In fact, she was fairly certain her partnership was not just the terrible luck of the draw during the mission briefing, in which the Avatar had explained that since there were four weddings to cover the twelve remaining against would be divided into teams of three, and that teams would be assembled in a secure location.

  Victoria's normally scheduled report back to Langley had been incredibly brief, and she had not bothered to wait for a reply, for fear someone might get the bright idea that she should fake death or take drugs to induce a terrible illness that would eliminate her from the show. Whatever Jake's noble sacrifice had bought her, it was only going to be one more round. If she was going to complete this mission, it was now all or nothing in the next twenty four to forty eight hours.

  If the entire mission still rested on getting close to Carlo Benedetto, she would have been in trouble. He would be managing the grand opening of his hotel, and while meeting with investors to show off the weddings, he would not be directly involved in them. There was no way to get near him now without completely going rogue from the game, and Victoria suspected the bastard wasn't going to remain in country past these weddings.

  She could have followed up on the Montoya lead that she had gotten from the late Raymond Kim, but there was no need to now. Her biggest lead was standing at the altar not more than a hundred feet away in a splendid white wedding dress that made her look to Victoria like a big stupid walking cauliflower. Jessica would know Victoria was here and would no doubt be ready for when she tried anything. It was going to be very difficult to go after Jessica and find out Carlo's plan from her without putting anyone else in danger, but if she could make her move while Charlie and Robin were busy in the fake hotel office for the game, she might be able to get to Jessica before she and her new funny little husband left the reception. Victoria was still working on a plan for exactly how to get Jessica alone and get her to talk, but this time she was bringing a gun to the knife fight.

  The weapon was concealed well behind a tear away padded section of her dress on her hip. Once torn, Victoria could easily discard the entire dress if she needed to. The fancy looking heals of her shin high boots passed for dressy, but were padded like combat boots and the long heels could be removed with a twist, turning her boots into more effective footwear complete with traction. In each removable heel there was a two way earpiece communicator, designed for when she was on an Op with a partner CIA agent.

  Victoria welled up some crocodile tears as the Fukazashi stood on his tip toes to give his new bride a kiss. As everyone gave light applause, she leaned towards Robin, a handkerchief dabbing her eyes.

  "Oh, I just love weddings," she sniffed.

  * * *

  Jake was supposed to be stalking Victoria. Watching out for her, he mentally corrected himself. And that is what I'm doing right now. Technically.

  It was just that he was on the other side of the city from Victoria now. Jake had to admit he would rather be watching her back at the Grande Chapel Casino, rather than in a place like the Dreamland Gentleman's club, but he knew Victoria could take care of herself. Besides, it wasn't as if he would actually run and tattle on her if she broke away from the game again. No, there were much more important things he could be doing—like finding Julio Montoya.

  Jake tried to make himself comfortable on the second floor of the club. The music was loud, the disc jockey fancied himself the strip club version of Wolfman Jack, and though there were numerous stages, they were so small that all the space around them was cramped and crowded. He hoped to God that he was not wasting his time in such an environment. The things he was putting himself though for some woman he hardly knew.

  When Jake had asked Victoria what the ill-fated assassin Mila had meant when she had said that "Montoya was in Dreamland," she had told Jake she didn't know but not to worry about it. Victoria could be stubborn in her determination to handle things alone. Granted, had he been just anybody, she would be very correct not to insist Jake stay out of things from now on. He might have even listened to her, let her be kicked of the show, play the game until the end, or denied Steve's deal and just gone home. However, there was a lot CIA know-it-all Victoria Kingsly did not yet know about Jake Joyner, like the fact that he had been one of the finest undercover cops the Seattle Police force had ever seen, until that day when he had fucked up . . .

  There was just still something inside Jake, he supposed, that could not bear see the bad guys get away with it. And Victoria had those eyes . . . the ones that had seen the same horrors that Jake had seen. He knew by looking in those eyes that, like him, she had watched a friend die because of something she did. The last look she had given him after they had left the Producer's offices had told him everything he needed to know.

  "Be safe on your trip home," she had said, hugging him tightly and then kissing his cheek. But those eyes . . . Had she also suspected he was staying?

  A different set of eyes, the eyes of a female predator looking to seduce for cash, stared at him as the stripper crawled forward on the small stage toward him. She was a blond, or her hair was painted like one, and her naked breasts stayed unnaturally perky while hanging. Jake reached across and put a few dollars on the stage as the woman rolled onto her back in front of him and clapped her ridiculously large clear platform shoes together above his head, jiggling her thong covered ass.

  Ugh. Why do they have to wear those things, Jake thought, feeling quite bored. There was no reason to be impolite and make the dancer feel unwelcome. Sometimes, dancers knew a lot more than what one would think. She turned around to face him again, bidding him to stand with a gesture as she gathered up his crumpled bills into her thong. He obeyed, a allowing a small bemused smile to creep onto his face.

  "Hey sexy," purred the stripper as she leaned forward to steady herself on his shoulders. "What's your name?"

  "Jacob."

  She bracketed his head with her breasts and proceeded to barrage either side of his face with them. In a moment she let him up for air, and he thanked her with a dazed happy expression. Before she wandered off to the next customer, Jake asked the all-important question.

  "Say hun, do you know if Julio Montoya is one of the owners or shareholders of this place? I was really hoping to get ahold of him for a job."

  Jake was here on a hunch. "Dreamland" could have meant anything, even just the delusions of a psychotic assassin with a
busted shoulder, but the dancer's face at the mention of the name told him everything he needed to know. He was in the right place.

  "Umm, I just work here when I'm passing through Vegas honey, they don't tell me that kind of thing."

  "Well maybe I could speak to one of the managers?"

  She gave him a polite shrug but sauntered to the other side of the stage to entertain another tipping customer. Jake sat back down and waited. It would only be a matter of time now before . . .

  A heavy paw clasped his shoulder firmly.

  Well that was fast, Jake thought with a roll of his eyes. He'd only asked about Montoya twice. Either the first stripper was a huge tattler, or the audio on the security cams in here were quite proficient.

  "Sir, we're going to need you to vacate your seat for someone who is going to tip," said a raspy male voice. A chain smoking bouncer perhaps/ Jake turned in his seat t regard the man. Men. There were two of them behind him. One was a stout and ugly man with long dark hair who looked like he might be Native American, and the other a bald bruiser with a goatee. Both wore stern expressions. Several patrons sitting around Jake threw several bills up on the stage as the next dancer took her place swinging around the pole to avoid Jake's apparent fate.

  "But I am tipping!" Jake made a show of protesting as he slowly stood. As he walked between the two men, one of them pushed him.

  "Not nearly enough!" the bruiser growled.

  With Jake further away from the stage the darker man caught him by the arm.

  "Follow us nicely or we'll have to rough you up and make a show of throwing you out."

  Jake followed the men through the crowd and back down a spiral staircase from the second floor to the first. Twice he had to avoid the flirtatious maneuverings of exotic dancers looking to score a sucker for a few lap dances. As he followed the two men in suits behind the first floor main stage and into a small business hallway, Jake readied himself for anything.

  The larger, bald man opened a door at the end of the always and gestured Jake through. Walking on the balls of his feet with his gut low and ready, Jake stepped through into a room with magenta carpet and purple tapestries. It was hazy and filled with some type of sweet smelling incense. A pair of Asian exotic dancers sat on a lavish sofa on the left side of the room. They stopped making out to look at Jake as he entered. One of them flashed him a coy smile. Jake nodded at the woman, but his attention was focused on a bearded Hispanic man in his early forties. This man turned rotated his swivel chair to face Jake from behind large, lavish wooden desk.

  The man propped his feet up on the desk and leaned back into his chair as he squinted at Jake through the gloom of the room, showing large crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. Jake waited as the man flicked the ash from and took a big puff on a half-smoked cigar, and then blew out a large ring of smoke before speaking. His accent was soft, more like that of a Spaniard than a Latino from Nevada.

  "So my friend, tell me, just who are ju?"

  "My name's Jacob Riley. Julio Montoya I presume?"

  The man snorted and coughed, the smoke pouring from his nose and mouth like a dragon sneezing. He waved the smoke away and gestured for Jake to come forward and sit in one of the large purple velvet chairs in front of the desk. Jake approached but kept standing, glancing over at his shoulder at the two goons still standing by the doorway.

  "People don't usually come calling on my brother without first having a referral," said the man. "I'm Juan. But I don't know ju from Adam. How did ju hear of my brawther?"

  Translation: Are you a cop? The nice thing was, this time, Jake was not.

  "Word on the street is he was looking for men with certain skills," Jake said evenly as he glanced at the bouncers behind him again. "And not the kind for bouncing in a titty-bar."

  The crow's feet appeared again as Juan tapped ash from his cigar into a small tray. He glanced over at the women on the sofa and gave them a small sharp whistle.

  "Ladies. Time to go."

  The women stopped rubbing on each other and obediently got up to leave. One draped her fingers across Jake's chest as she went by and gave him a pouty, somewhat mock sympathetic look. Jake just smiled at her and watched them both go. Juan put his feet down and leaned forward over the desk, resting on his elbows.

  "Now then, where were we? Oh yes..."

  Juan snapped his fingers and the darker bouncer took two steps forward.

  This is going to hurt, thought Jake, who very much wanted to avoid and counter the abuse he knew was coming. Unfortunately, properly defending himself might hurt his chances of learning anything else at this point.

  Jake turned toward the man enough to avoid the kidney shot and take most of the blow on his lower abdomen. He allowed his body to fold around the dark man's fist and rocked back on his heels enough to dissipate some of the force, bur the air still fled from his lungs in a painful rush.

  Jake steadied himself on the desk as he coughed and gasped for air.

  "Ju are going to want to be more specific about things," Juan said softly. "Who exactly on the street gave you these words you speak of?"

  "I didn't know him well," Jake said, the truth coming easily since his only contact with Ray Kim had been to knock him from his motorcycle. "Some Korean punk. Look, does the work exist or not? I didn't come here to get beat up."

  "Maybe," said Juan, a dangerous edge entering his voice. "If ju weren't so rude, ju wouldn't get beat up. Ryan, Patrick, teach our guest some manners."

  This wasn't just going to hurt, Jake realized as both men advanced this time. This was about to be a beating. Jake could not allow that. If he couldn't still find out about the job by asking nicely after dealing with these two, he'd have to find another way.

  The big native man moved to grab Jake and hold him so his partner could pummel Jake. He let one wrist get pinned to his side before moving. There would be no way he could outmuscle a man this size and turn the way he did, but the nice thing about having human attackers is they were all susceptible to needing balance on two legs, and the force of gravity.

  A simple turn with a slight bend to his knees made the native stumble forward. The man flailed with his arms for balance, including the one grabbing Jake. Jake used this arm like a lever, locking his own arms around it as he drove the man face first into the desk. Something crunched and blood sprayed as the man cried out. Jake pivoted on the balls of his feet, sending the man with a broken and bloody nose stumbling into his bald partner.

  The bald man pushed the stunned and bleeding native out of his way, and growling, drew a knife from inside his coat. The man was very clumsy with the blade, and Jake simply grinned as he took a paper weight in the form of a large green diamond off the desk, avoided a wild slash with a small step to his left, and knocked the man unconscious in one smooth turn.

  The dark man bellowed and charged with intent to tackle Jake. All he had to do was toss the paper weight gently, and the big man reacted as if Jake had thrown the object full force twisting his body to the left at an awkward angle. Jake was on him before he could recover, catching the man from behind in a vice grip choke hold. After a few moments of useless struggling, the dark man passed out from lack of oxygen to the brain.

  With both bouncers lying unconscious, Jake turned to grin a Juan, who was gaping at him, his cigar dangling from his lower lip. Jake took a step toward him and the man recoiled slightly before taking his cigar and snuffing it out. After a moment the club owner looked at his men lying on the floor again and laughed.

  "Certain skills ju say?" asked Juan rhetorically. "I think we shall have a place for ju after all. Be at this address I will write for you in an hour. It's a warehouse where we have some very lucrative business going on, and it needs . . . protection."

  "I'm looking forward to it," Jake announced, offering his hand for a shake.

  As Juan hesitantly took it, Jake thought, and to finding out exactly you and your brother are doing for Carlo Bennedetto.

  * * *

  "Wh
ere the hell is he?" Grace growled, taking off her headset and stopping herself just short of spiking it into the ground. Steve had very uncharacteristically missed the entire series of weddings, and still had not checked in.

  Several stations looked up to her as she walked to the front of the control room. Grace knew she should probably put her headset back into place, but she needed just a few moments of silence as she studied the four flat screens on the wall before her.

  Each one held several different camera views of each of the four wedding receptions that were about to begin. Grace had not been worried at first, as the weddings themselves were nothing more than a bid to get more female viewers watching the show and required little producer attention other than to make sure the cameras were rolling. Grace had relaxed and read a romance novel from one of her favorite authors, and hadn't even noticed until that obnoxiously long Catholic wedding had finally reached the exchange of rings that Steve had not come in. Had something happened to him? He had been acting very strange ever since their two murder suspects had been questioned. Grace had been convinced after talking to Nova and hearing Steve repeat her same story from Jake that there was no foul play involved and the show would be in the clear. In fact, the detectives had not even called again, much less returned.

  Yet Steve had been strangely aloof from the planning of this next mission sequence, had spent the whole mission briefing on a phone call from the network, which wouldn't have been that odd except for the timing of the call, and he had visited set construction in the office suites of the Grande Chapel hotel three times—and he hated going out to the sets, even if they were in the same place as the control headquarters. Maybe he was still dealing with the detectives after all. Maybe he had another secret girlfriend or worse, was married. It would be just her luck to finally meet a nice guy and . . .