Rogue Wolves

by James Quinn

  Gorilla stood at the side of the road and watched as Nikita's car drove off into the distance, leaving a trail of dust behind her. She'd bloody tricked him again. This bloody woman and her bloody double-crosses!

  What she didn't know, what she couldn't know, was what was on the one piece of paper that the Chinese assassin had dropped in the office at the Pink Lady club. It contained a list of numbers that looked strangely like bank accounts. Swiss ones.

  It wasn't much, but it was a lead. If Sassi and the SDECE could narrow it down, he might have the advantage, even for just a little while, before Nikita Brown and the unknown Chinese assassin could get ahead of him.

  Chapter Eight

  It took him an age to make his way back to New Orleans. Most of it was on foot and supplemented by a bit of hitch-hiking. By the time he got back, he was dirty, exhausted and just plain old fed up with his job. He needed a drink and to quit… become a window cleaner, or anything. It had to be better than dragging his arse around America and dealing with this kind of hassle. But, in reality, he knew that was a lie. Who was he kidding? He loved it!

  He was sitting in the Bourbon Bar across the street from his hotel when she found him. It was neither busy nor empty. The evening crowd hadn't quite filtered in and the afternoon crowd hadn't quite finished.

  She sat on the barstool next to him and ordered a martini. He didn't even look sideways at her, simply took a sip of his bourbon and said, “You get him?”

  “Not so as you'd notice. He got away. I lost him around the airport. He was fast. Dumped the car and disappeared,” she said.

  Gorilla grunted, satisfied that there was at least some justice in the world. “Pity,” he said. “I picked up some useful information that I found at the Pink Lady Club.”

  “Would you care to share it?”

  “Not really, love. Not after you left me out in the wilds of Louisiana.”

  “Oh, don't be sore, Jack. I was reacting to the situation, that's all. I'd have come back for you. Eventually.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he grumbled.

  She laughed. “Besides, I didn't want him to get away. Anyway, I've got a little bit of information, too. Hot off the presses. Maybe we could pool resources?”

  “Fuck no!”

  She frowned. “Jack! Tut-tut now… that's no way to talk in front of a sweet Southern gal like me! Fucks are for other people but not me. So please, baby, no fucks.”

  He looked at her, weighing up her words, being drawn in by those green eyes. “Okay, I'll risk it. What have you got?”

  “Ah-ha, you first.”

  “No chance.”

  “Look, this is no way to start a partnership…”

  “Who said anything about a partnership?” His voice had gone up an octave.

  “Okay, let's call it a mutually beneficial business arrangement, if it soothes your sensibilities. How about I give you the outline of what I've got and then you do the same? Maybe, if we think it's worth it, we can hook up, help each other out. Deal?” she said reasonably.

  He nodded. “Okay, let's see.”

  “I had a friend of mine in local law enforcement get the details of the Lincoln, who had hired it, and then I had another friend run the details of our killer to see if he had flown out from the airport.”

  “And had he?”

  “Ah-ha! Not the details, remember? Now it's your turn.”

  He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. “It's a list of bank accounts. I had my people run them, they are checking on them now. I should have some details of who they belong to within twenty-four hours.”

  “Impressive,” she said.

  His mind went back to the conversation in the car. “How did you get the name of the Creole in the first place?”

  She shrugged. “It was part of the information that I got for this job.”

  “The source was good?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Uh –huh. Seems that way. You?”

  “The same.”

  The verbal stand-off continued. Gorilla thought it through. It probably came from the same signals intercept that the SDECE had got it from. Hell, Nikita was an American. Probably operating for the Americans, so it wouldn't have surprised him if the original source of information had come from the CIA or the NSA, anyway and the intercept had just been passed out to friendly agencies, including the French, as standard procedure.

  “So what do we do now?” he said.

  “Well, honey, I suspect that we will have another drink each and see where this crazy game of ours leads us.”

  He grunted.

  “If you're lucky, I might flirt with you a bit.”

  “Don't bother.”

  “Why? Are you impervious to my charms?”

  But Gorilla had already lifted himself off the bar stool and was on his way to the door.

  ”I'll meet you here tomorrow evening. Let me check out with my people to see if they know anything. Maybe you should do the same,” he called over his shoulder, as he pushed open the door to the street.

  Eunice smiled to herself as she watched him make his way across the street to his hotel. Watched again as he casually glanced back at the inside of the bar to see if he could spot her one last time. Oh, you think you are so cool, Mr Grant. You don't need anybody, you're far too tough. Well, mister, we'll see about that!

  Eunice Brown slugged back the last of her martini and breathed a sigh of relief. This job had just gotten interesting.

  Chang sat in the airport waiting for his connecting flight. His mission, for now, was done. The man from New Orleans was 'retired'. It had been a necessary step, vital, in closing down what was left of the Caravaggio network.

  The only thing that bothered him had been the interruption by the man and the woman. Although they hadn't been able to identify or stop him, thus allowing him to make an escape, he still felt uneasy that he had been compromised. What was even more concerning to the overall mission was that Chang had recognised the man he had fought with – it was the gunman, Gorilla Grant.

  Chang recognised him from the archives that his Control had insisted that he study as part of his training. The archives held the files of a list of individuals that operated in the same profession as he did. His controller stressed the importance of knowing all rivals from the intelligence world, but especially important competitors in the killing business.

  So, Gorilla Grant himself was after the Creole? Now, that was interesting. As far as Chang had been aware, the man had been out of the profession for over a year. Nevertheless, he suspected that it was not a coincidence. Coincidence had no place in their trade.

  The question was that, with this new intelligence, should Chang continue? His training and his instinct said that he should move onto the next target in the network quickly. But with new players appearing in this mission, Chang wondered if he would be forced to remove more than just his original targets?

  He would go to his Control for the ultimate sanction.

  Chapter Nine

  They met the next evening as agreed. Gorilla was wearing his usual evening suit: black with a black shirt, open-necked. He sat at a corner table, nursing his glass of local bourbon and occasionally glancing at the couples dancing to the Cajun band. In truth, he wasn't sure that she would show up. To his cynical mind, he half expected her to blow out of town and get on with tracking the Chinese killer on her own.

  So it wasn't an unpleasant surprise when, five minutes later, he looked up and saw her walking towards his table. But Eunice… oh my, she was dressed to kill, he thought. Her hair was tied back in a pony-tail and she was wearing a simple green cotton dress. A deep leather purse was slung casually over her shoulder. She stopped and rested a hand on her hip as he looked down on him.

  “Drink?” he said.

  She nodded and sat down. “It's a good place to start. A beer, please.”

  Gorilla got the attention of the barkeeper and motioned for two more beers.

  “I do like a bad man in a good suit,” she sai
d, appraising him.

  “Who says it's a good suit?”

  She smiled. “You want we should eat, maybe talk a little business?”

  They both decided on the jambalaya, which had a reputation for being excellent in the Bourbon Bar. They sat in the silence of their own company for a while, watching each other, weighing up the opposition. Was she playing him? Did he know more than he knew? For both of them, it was an internal battle, mainly because it was so rare that two such as they should come up against each other. Evidently, their mutual target was of enough importance to warrant the best contractors in the business having their gun-sights trained on him.

  Gorilla couldn't stop himself gazing at her tanned arms, the smooth glide of her neck, taking in the glossy pony-tail and those stunning green eyes.

  “I said, have you heard anything from your people?”

  He came to, dragging himself back to reality and away from a teenage fantasy. Jeez, what was it with this woman? She had the ability to dazzle him, make him sway and, worst of all, lose focus. For an intelligence operator, that could be lethal.

  “My people got a hit. A lead. You?” he said.

  She reached out her hand and stroked one beautifully manicured green nail along his arm. “Of course, Jack, my people have the best information. But you go first,” she said, winking.

  He growled internally. Why was she always one step ahead of him, able to play him?

  “The account belongs to a woman. Name of Thallia Dimitriou. The French have it on good authority that she's one of the best forgers in the business and that she operates out of Athens,” he said.

  “Oh, my! Good intel,” she said, smiling.

  “There's more, but now it's your turn.”

  She held him for a moment, kept him waiting with bated breath, then finally she said, “Okay. And our little black-suited Chinese friend, guess where his flight was heading to?”

  Gorilla leaned forward, eager to hear. “No!”

  “Yes…”

  “Athens.”

  “Yes. Well, via Paris first, but eventually to Athens.”

  “Well, that's too much of a coincidence.”

  “I agree.” A smile.

  “Another drink?”

  “I think we've earned it, so yes.”

  “So it seems we are definitely after the same target,” said Gorilla.

  “Another coincidence?”

  He nodded. “Maybe… or maybe our bosses are just trying to be a touch too clever for their own good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, two contractors such as us, in the same timeframe, after the exact same target. I think the people who employ us are leaving out some finer details.”

  Gorilla shrugged inwardly. It was almost always that way in the intelligence business. You never got the full story. He sipped at his beer, then said, “What do you know about the target? About Carravaggio?”

  She picked a thread off the sleeve of his jacket. There was something seductive about the way that she did it. Bloody hell, woman! Stop flirting with me, he thought.

  “Only what was in the file they handed me. But Caravaggio is a legend to anyone who knows their stuff in the spy business. We had rumours of him taking out people way back when I was with the Agency in Berlin. Rumour has it he did a hit from one side of Checkpoint Charlie to the other – long range sniper rifle. That was the rumour, anyway. What about you? What have you heard, Jack?”

  “Mostly rumour. The odd piece of intel from the French files.” Then he paused, caught himself, deciding how much to tell her and whether he should give a piece of his past to her. “I met him once, you know,” he said, taking a bitter pull of the beer. The thought of the shootout in Nice still left a nasty taste in his mouth.

  “You did? Where? Jeez, Jack, that's a story I really have to hear!”

  Gorilla held up his right hand. “I used to be a right-handed shooter until he gave me this.”

  Eunice took his hand in hers. Her palm was cool against his skin. She looked closely at the round, puckered scar where the bullet had smashed tendons and obliterated his skills for almost half a year. “Mmm… looks like a 9mm,” she said.

  He nodded. “The thing is, when we went up against each other, one of us should have died. It's rare that people like us face off against each other and both survive. He had me dead in his sights and didn't kill me.”

  “He only wounded you? Interesting.”

  “Yes. My thoughts exactly.”

  “Then maybe you have a professional admirer, Jack. Maybe even two,” she said, winking at him.

  They were halfway through their second beers when Eunice said in a low voice, “There's a guy watching us just a tad too closely.” She inclined her head subtly in the direction of the seated area on the other side of the dance floor

  Gorilla glanced over and grunted. “Probably he's undressing you in his mind. Don't take any notice.”

  “You think he's working surveillance on us? For Caravaggio?”

  “No. I think he's just a horny red-blooded male.”

  She laughed out loud and smiled, reaching in to kiss his neck. “Oh my lord, Jack Grant, you do make me smile. Tell you what, let's have a dance!”

  “What? I don't dance!”

  “Pshhh… of course you do. Everybody dances. Anyway, it's work. It will give us a chance to have a closer look at our would-be watcher. Come on.”

  She grabbed him firmly by the hand and pulled him onto the dance floor, moving through the crowd until they were on the periphery of the couples who were dancing. The atmosphere was alive and fun. People in the Big Easy sure did know how to enjoy themselves, he thought.

  They danced to a slow Cajun number that the band leader said was called Tramp Sur La Rue. It was slow and sad and soulful and it allowed the couples on the floor to sway and hold each other close. Eunice was taller than him, even if she hadn't been wearing the heels. But despite that, Gorilla felt immediately comfortable dancing close to her.

  “He's definitely interested in us,” she said into his ear, her breath controlled and deep.

  Gorilla nodded. “Plus he's packing. Handgun tucked into his waistband beneath his jacket.”

  “Lots of people carry guns in New Orleans. It's a rough town.”

  “Perhaps… It still doesn't explain why he's eyeballing us, though.”

  A man came up to them and tried to cut in. He was tall and smooth and impossibly good-looking. Gorilla would have termed him a louche lounge lizard. He knew the type. Gorilla immediately stepped back, his hands curling into fists ready to pop him if need be.

  But it was Eunice who controlled the situation. She smiled sweetly and said to the dandy, “Non merci, monsieur. I only dance with my husband.”

  The man looked crushed, smoothed back his hair and went on his way, looking for an easier conquest than the redhead.

  “Your husband?” said Gorilla. He was intrigued by her reply.

  “It seemed like the right thing to say,” she said knowingly.

  They continued with their slow dance, half moving against each other and half concentrating on the man watching them. Eunice flicked a glance at Gorilla, caught his eye for just a moment, and then rested her body against him.

  She felt him tense up for a moment, and then instantly relax. “You dance like my daddy would with Momma,” she said.

  ”How do you mean?” he asked, holding her lightly, continuing to sway to the beat.

  She smiled, remembering family parties and the dances on base. “He would take his time with her, he would always go slow and gentle, even though dancing wasn't really Daddy's thing, either. But he would always make the effort for Momma. And you know what? He always ended up enjoying it. He was actually quite good. I think you're the same?”

  Was that a smile she saw at the corner of his lips? Had the angry mask of the Gorilla cracked and slipped, even just for a moment? She hoped so, because she didn't know what it was about Jack Grant – schoolgirl crush, infatuation, or m
aybe even possibly love – but he touched her in a way that caused her to open herself up to him.

  And for Eunice, that was the first time she had felt like that with any man.

  “We have company.”

  The music had switched to a different song, still slow but more upbeat. Several of the couples departed the floor, but Eunice and Gorilla continued with their slow dance.

  The surveillance watcher had now been joined by a large, raw-boned man in a silk suit. The pair were standing and glaring at the dancing couple. Gorilla pretended not to notice. After all, why tip them off? But he did notice two other tough-looking hoods in suits watching them from the bar.

  “You armed?” she asked.

  “Only my razor. I only carry loaded when there is an active job on. You?”

  “No firearms. I have something in my purse that might help, though. We'll see. How do you want to play it?”

  “I think we need to slip away as quickly and quietly as we can. You have your car nearby?”

  “Just around the block.”

  “Perfect. I think we need to grab our things and get out of town. We've definitely overstayed our welcome in New Orleans,” he murmured.

  “This doesn't feel like our target. This feels more localised, smaller in scale. The quality of the surveillance screams to me criminal, rather than professional,” said Eunice.

  “So not Caravaggio? You think it's to do with the Creole? Guillame?”

  “I absolutely do. I think we were spotted, or there was a camera somewhere in the club that identified us. I think that these guys work – or worked – for him and they want a little revenge.”

  He looked around him and over her shoulder. “There's a service door down towards the toilets. We can slip out that way.”

  They waited until the band had kicked off with a rousing rockabilly number, causing more people to get up onto the dance floor, and then they slowly moved away and down toward the darkness at the rear of the bar. They bypassed the toilets and Gorilla quickly sprung the lock on the service door with his lock-pick. The door gave freely and they both stepped out into the sultry darkness of the night.