A Dangerous and Cunning Woman

by Ethan Johnson

  Diane and the second operative abandoned their hiding place and joined the lead operative. Diane got a good look at the room. Two dead hostiles laid in the center, both shot in the head. The lead operative kicked their weapons out of reach anyway. She wondered what was in the crates. Thignoids? She figured they were. The briefing room stated he had been receiving large shipments of drugs, money, and weapons. She couldn’t think of a more popular, or profitable drug.

  Gunfire still sounded from outside. The lead operative adjusted something on his belt, then nodded to Diane. “Escort formation on my signal.”

  Diane nodded, but didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. She planned to tell the masked man she needed secret agent training if this was going to be a regular thing. The lead operative checked his magazine, and the second operative did the same. After snapping them back into their handguns, the lead operative gave a fist-pump gesture and two sideways fingers. He crept forward, keeping a double grip on his sidearm. Diane went next, holding her rifle parallel to the floor. The second operative brought up the rear and walked sideways.

  The lead operative brought them to a door that separated them from the front of the building where the explosion had taken out Goodwin’s boys. He halted the group and pushed the door open slightly. He immediately pulled it shut and backed Diane and the second operative away from it. “No visual on the primary target. Retreat.”

  Diane’s shoulders slumped at the command. Retreat? That wasn’t her style. To retreat was to run away. She wasn’t going to run from anyone or anything. Nevertheless, the lead operative pressed her to retrace her steps and head for the back entrance. The second operative was now leading them along the left side of the building toward Goodwin and Hendricks. Diane saw Hendricks cover his head and lay face-down in the dirt as an explosive device struck his cruiser.

  Diane was torn. She had heard the things he and Goodwin were saying about her behind her back, but Hendricks was her partner for a few months. She couldn’t just let him get ventilated by these thugs, no matter how important her mission was. She broke away from the operatives and crept along the wall toward Hendricks and his flaming cruiser. She slung her rifle across her back and drew her sidearm.

  The operatives huddled behind a concrete barrier and flashed signals to her to disengage. She found it odd that nobody was speaking through her earpiece. She gave a signal back that she wasn’t backing down. Hendricks crawled on his stomach backward toward Goodwin, who in turn held up his gun.

  “My gun’s jammed,” he whined.

  Diane knew better. It wasn’t jammed, he was out of ammo. Hendricks couldn’t look back. If he had, Diane figured, he would have seen exactly how useless Goodwin was.

  Hendricks covered his head against another spray of bullets. “Where the hell’s that backup?”

  Diane took a deep breath and counted to three. She ran toward the corner and dove head-first into a roll. She propped herself up on one knee and fired six shots at the men who were pinning Hendricks and Goodwin down. “Right here, Jimmy. Get your ass out of there.”

  Hendricks looked up from the dirt in shock. “Pembrook? But… they said you were—”

  Diane fired two more shots and took out as many men. “Did I stutter? Go!”

  Hendricks nodded and got to his feet. He grabbed Goodwin’s arm and yanked him away from the burning police car. Diane fired once more and struck a man in the head who carried a larger machine gun. He fired a few bullets into the air as he fell backward. Diane scuttled to the side of the building and gave the operatives a thumbs-up. They weren’t where she had left them.

  She hurried over to the barrier and pressed her headset mic close to her lips. “Where are you guys? I got them clear. Let’s move out.”

  The masked man’s voice replied softly in her earpiece. “They did. Your mission has failed.”

  Diane looked around anxiously. There was no sign of the operatives. If they were heading back to the SUV, they’d be long gone before she ever caught up with them. She ejected her magazine and tossed it aside, then jammed in a fresh one. “Like hell it did. Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

  “Your only hope of terminating the target vanished when you made him aware of your presence. He will be out of firing range in minutes. This concludes your only and best opportunity at success.”

  Diane shook her head and spat. “Minutes, huh? One shot only takes a second.”

  After a moment of radio silence, the masked man said simply, “Show me.”

  Diane nodded and slipped away from the barrier. I’ll show him, all right, she thought. And Goodwin. And Kenner. And everyone else in the boy’s club at Panther. She headed for the back entrance of the building and paused at the door. She heard male voices on the other side. She didn’t know what Booker sounded like, but these men sounded like more of his gang. She only wanted Booker. The rest could wait.

  She made her way around the right side of the building and looked along the waterfront. She didn’t see any speedboats docked nearby. Whatever escape Booker planned had to be something else. She cocked her head and thought about the layout of the building. There weren’t any trucks, and she didn’t see anything on the roof that suggested any sort of air travel was possible. She would have seen a helicopter up there as she made her initial approach.

  And yet, she heard voices from overhead. A bald man stood close to the edge of this roof with his back turned. He was shouting instructions to someone she couldn’t see. Diane considered shooting him in the back of the head just to reduce their numbers even more, but she opted for stealth instead. She backed away from the building and saw two more men on the roof. A moment later, they were joined by a fourth: Booker.

  She raised her sidearm to fire, then thought better of it. The angle was tight, and while she was confident in her ability to hit the target, she felt more comfortable with the rifle. She swore as Booker disappeared from view. She took a few more steps away from the building but only saw Booker’s henchmen crowding around something and shouting at each other. Diane pulled her rifle from her back and peered through the scope. She got a slightly magnified view of a man with short-cropped hair and stubble, but not Booker. She considered rushing the building to engage them on the roof when she heard a loud buzzing noise.

  Diane didn’t recognize the sound. The droning was shrill and annoying. She panned back and forth with the rifle scope, but the source of the noise remained invisible. Suddenly, the men stepped aside as something large and thin spread out behind them: rotors.

  Diane felt a surge of panic as the rotors began to spin. She tried to pinpoint the best place to shoot them to disable the helicopter, but they were spinning so quickly she didn’t think bullets would do much. It was too risky, anyway. Shooting slow-moving thugs was one thing. Hitting a thin target spinning at high speed was another.

  She slung her rifle across her back again and drew her sidearm. She didn’t think a single bullet was going to be enough under the circumstances. As she raised her gun, a white shape rose from the roof. Diane’s jaw dropped at the sight of the smallest helicopter she had ever seen. It almost looked like Booker was flying in a flimsy chair.

  He gripped the control stick and gritted his teeth. The helicopter pulled to the left as it ascended. Diane rushed forward as Booker cleared the roof. The spinning rotors made a terrible target. The fat, juicy undercarriage of the miniature helicopter was much more appealing. Diane fired three shots in rapid succession. The engine sputtered and the rear propeller didn’t seem to be turning as quickly anymore. The helicopter began to descend to an adjacent building. Booker fought with the control stick in vain before deciding to bail out. He jumped onto the neighboring roof and the helicopter crashed onto an abandoned lot.

  Booker limped away. His goons lined the edge of the roof and drew their guns. Diane smirked at the trio and fired three more times. All three were struck in the center of the chest, and all three plummeted to the ground below.

  To Diane’s knowledge, that left Booker.
She rushed toward the building where she had seen him drop and barked into her headset. “I have eyes on the target. I am in pursuit.”

  “Impressive. Delta Flank Two formation,” said the masked man. “I’ll be especially impressed if you can achieve that alone. Much easier with three agents.”

  “I wasn’t asking for directions. I was reporting in,” Diane said sharply as she caught sight of Booker scaling down a drain pipe. He dropped to the ground and let out a loud groan as he landed on his bad leg. He pulled a gun from his waistband and fired at Diane. She took to cover but didn’t return fire. He was a lame duck. She didn’t need to fire wildly at him. This was going to be a clean kill, she vowed.

  Booker disappeared around the side of the building. Diane holstered her sidearm and pulled the rifle into ready position. She reminded herself she only had one shot at this. She reassured herself that the cartridge was meant for Booker. She didn’t feel like she had squandered other opportunities by not hunting down anyone on the most wanted list. Booker was hers, and when he was dead, she would at last gain the respect she so desperately craved.

  She found Booker limping across the abandoned lot to a clump of trees on the river’s edge. She couldn’t make out why he was heading that way when there were better hiding places nearby. Whatever it was, she decided, he would never make it there alive. She raised her rifle and aimed for the base of Booker’s neck. She held her breath and began to squeeze the trigger.

  Something struck her in the back of the head, sending her diving forward and causing her rifle to launch from her arms and onto the bare asphalt. She rubbed her head and turned around. Goodwin was shaking out his hand and swearing. “Jesus, Pembrook, I knew you had rocks in your head, but, damn.”

  Diane reeled. “Goodwin? Don’t tell me you’re on Booker’s side.”

  Goodwin cocked his head. “Huh? Who’s Booker? I’m on the side of you getting your ass tossed off the force once and for all, so the men can finally take care of business.”

  “Oh? Am I stopping you?” Diane reached for her sidearm, and Goodwin charged her, wrapping his arms around her waist and driving her onto the pavement. He straddled her and punched her in the left cheek. He shook out his hand again. He snatched up her sidearm and tossed it aside.

  “Nope, no guns for you, Pembrook. Leave those to the professionals. I’ll beat you just enough to teach you a lesson, then I’ll use your rifle to shoot that guy. I figure he’s important to you. Me, I don’t give a crap, as long as Kenner thinks I’m hot stuff. Which I am, Pembrook. I’m the favorite. Not. You.”

  He punctuated his final words by punching her in the face with both fists. Diane spat blood and squinted up at him. Her vision was beginning to go blurry. She reached up and yanked her headset off and tossed it away. Goodwin laughed and taunted her as he hit her again. He spat on her forehead, then drew his fist back to deliver a final punishing blow.

  Diane reached up and grabbed his fist. Her armor gleamed in the industrial lighting that slowly came online around them. He took a swing at her with his left hand, but Diane absorbed the punch and focused on restraining his right. His eyes widened at the realization she was getting the better of him. “Dammit, bitch, let go.”

  Diane smiled and pulled his wrist backward awkwardly. He cried out and struggled to resist her. “What’s the matter, Goodwin, losing to a girl?”

  Goodwin grimaced and groaned as his shoulder strained. He reached across his body and removed the safety strap from his sidearm. He pulled it from its holster with his left hand and pointed it at Diane’s forehead. “Not anymore.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Diane spat blood and stared up at the barrel of Goodwin’s gun. She wasn’t sure what was worse, having his gun pointed at her forehead or the self-satisfied smirk he gave her. She decided it was the smirk. “So long, Pembrook,” he said with a sneer. “Goodbye to the Dead Shot Dyke of the Panther Division. Rot in hell.”

  Diane looked at him, then at the gun. She broke out in hysterical laughter.

  “I’m serious, Pembrook. I’m going to blow your stupid head off.” Diane laughed louder at this. She turned her head and spat blood before letting loose with another laughing fit. Goodwin seethed as Diane struggled to compose herself. He shook the gun at her. “What’s so stinking funny?”

  “Well, Gunslinger, here’s the thing: you’re holding a standard issue semi-automatic handgun with a 15-round magazine, loaded with 9mm ammo. Quick-release safety, one-touch magazine release, low recoil.”

  “Yeah, so what? You think that impresses me? Maybe your fat hog girlfriend will enjoy that bit of trivia when I bang her later.”

  “You haven’t touched her, Goodwin, and you’re not shooting me.”

  “Wrong. One in the head. Here it comes.”

  Diane stared directly into his eyes. “Bring it.”

  Goodwin pressed the gun barrel to her forehead. Diane loosened her grip on his right hand. He pulled the trigger and let out a scream of ecstasy as he heard it click. Instead of a bang, he heard Diane peal with laughter. “Die. I freakin’ shot you. Die, you witch.” He pulled the trigger again and again. Diane twisted her body and sent Goodwin onto the asphalt. She scrambled for her own gun and scooped it up. She got to her feet and stood over him, aiming for his face.

  “You know why I was the favorite? I get the job done. I don’t threaten people or try to make them like me. I go out day after day and just do whatever it takes to make the city that much safer. And the thing is, I get the job done because I know my guns. I know them like you know your dick. You know your dick, right, Goodwin?”

  Goodwin pulled the trigger again lamely. He ejected the magazine and his eyes bulged at the sight of a dull silver bullet tip poking out of the tip. He jammed the magazine back into the gun and pulled the trigger again. Nothing happened.

  Diane tipped her head and frowned. “Oh, my mistake. I thought you knew your dick. I guess you won’t be needing it anymore.”

  Goodwin’s eyed widened with fear. Diane thumbed the safety off on her gun and pulled the slide back. She aimed for Goodwin’s head, then lowered her arm. She pulled her trigger and an orange flash popped from the barrel of her sidearm. A spent shell ejected from the gun and skittered away on the pavement. Goodwin tossed his gun away and doubled over, screaming in agony. Diane blew a puff of smoke from the barrel of her sidearm. “It’s a 14-round magazine after you put one in the chamber.” She flashed him a toothy grin.

  “You bitch. You goddamned, carpet munching, pig-loving—”

  Diane gave him a swift kick to the ribs. “That’s enough crap out of you. I’ve got business to attend to.” She spat on him and turned on her heel to collect her rifle. After her sidearm was back in its holster and she caressed her rifle in her gloved hands, she doubled back to crouch down beside Goodwin. She patted his sweaty head and gave him a bloody grin. “I told you… you’re not touching Lyssa.” She tossed his gun away, then stood upright.

  She gave him another kick to the ribs and took off after Booker. Unless Hendricks wanted to start something, she thought darkly, she was going to finish her mission come hell or high water. Diane marched purposefully toward the trees she saw Booker limping to as Goodwin’s screams of agony faded behind her.

  Diane found Booker just beyond the abandoned lot. He had fallen to the ground, unable to bear weight on his bad leg. He held a comm unit close to his face and spoke to someone in staccato bursts of pain and frustration. Diane knelt behind a tree and lined up her shot. Booker’s head was centered neatly in her scope. Unlike Goodwin, her trigger pull was going to finish the job. She didn’t care her quarry was easy pickings. She just wanted her mission to be over. She spat blood onto the tree trunk as she chose her ideal moment to end Matthias Booker’s life.

  His voice was clear as he shouted at the comm unit. “I did everything you asked. The shipment is in place. I don’t get why I had to round up as many empty crates as I could in 48 hours, but they’re ready for pickup. So am I. I’m beside the river
across from, oh hell, what is that?” He lowered the comm unit and craned his neck toward the river. “Wieringa Brothers, I think. Bunch of cement mixers. How soon can you get a boat over to me?”

  A distorted voice replied. “The shipment is no use to me anymore. Neither are you. You have been compromised. You’ll be dead within minutes.”

  Booker looked around nervously but didn’t react to Diane’s rifle barrel jutting out from beside a tree. He turned away and gestured to the comm screen. “Dead? Says who?”

  “An assassin has been dispatched to eliminate you.”

  Booker rubbed his forehead, then let out a chuckle. “Oh, you mean that bitch wearing that black outfit? Yeah, I don’t think so. Some cop got the drop on her, and last I saw he had a gun in her mouth.”

  The person at the other end of the comm unit was unfazed. “Was she terminated?”

  “I didn’t stick around to watch, figuring I could only get so far on my bum leg. I heard a gunshot. Just one. That’s all it woulda taken, from what I saw.”

  “But you didn’t see her get shot. You are assuming she was terminated.”

  Booker rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. Want me to crawl back over there and scoop up some of her brains off the ground? Sheezus. She’s gone. I need a lift out of here. We done playing, or what?”

  “Goodbye, Booker. Diane Pembrook will dispose of you now.”