by Bella Knight
"And you took down this cartel," said Surquillo.
"With Skuld. We went in, posing as people with access to the rock scene. They were having a summit. We took them all down. Then Judge Stupid led one out. Her little killers went after my condo. The reason why we don't have dead people is because they shot during the day when most were out, and because Mrs. Messenger got in her tub with her little dog Teddy when I texted her to do so. Bastards shot right through the wall." Wraith pulled up the pictures, and projected them on the wall. "The ones we have are Little Trouble and Knife, both sold by their parents to be the Leopardess' slaves. Despite being slaves, they are absolutely loyal to her, because she didn't turn them into whores or drug mules. She turned them into assassins. No one thinks a pretty girl is there to kill you."
Surquillo nodded. "They're a mixed bag; we think some of them are the children of central American refugees, who died in transit. The ones that were sold by coyotes when they had no use for the orphans. They speak nearly every variety of Spanish there is to speak, except Spain or Cuban Spanish."
Skuld stood against a wall, her hands wide, ready to move, even here. "Selling kids into slavery is evil. Buying them is worse. We've gotta take that bitch down even harder. Throw away the key this time."
"We think the judge is dirty?" asked Surquillo.
"Judge Jones says he didn't see enough evidence to hold her. No drugs were found in her possession. But, she ordered some murders of her own. DEA. Both females were sent to infiltrate her organization to find out where they were getting the drugs. Both very-highly trained women," said Wraith.
"I trained them both," said Skuld. "On some very nasty fighting techniques. Each one took out some of the pretty-pretty girls La Leoparda sent to kill them. Ochoa was stabbed fourteen times, and Ruiz was shot in the head. Twice!" She bent her head. "They were Sisters. It will be challenging, but setting their murderer free should come with consequences."
"Lindy's on it," said Wraith. Lavinia Lucida, known as "Lindy," FBI, just loved going after judicial misconduct. Very little of it was deliberate, but some was so egregiously stupid that it needed investigation. "Setting one cartel kingpin free, and anyone having my actual address on the wrong side of the law, that makes it her business. She'll get him off the bench."
"We still don't know where that bitch is hiding," said Skuld.
Wraith raised her head. "What does she need to do?" She counted ideas out with her fingers. "She needs to fund her little vendetta. She needs to go to ground. She needs to pay off her little, loyal assassins. Every single one of those women had plans within plans. She's someplace close, but deep enough underground she thinks she won't get caught."
"Show me the money," said Skuld. "She'll flood the market with the pills she has access to. She needs fast cash to disappear permanently. This is not her territory, so she won't have caches all over the damn place."
Wraith sighed. "And we gave her a damn good idea of a market."
"Rock ‘n’ roll," said Skuld. "That's my wheelhouse. Let's get her."
Surquillo stood. "Can I come?"
Skuld looked him over, eyes slit. "Tall, thin, with long fingers. Let's get you some rock clothes. You can hold some sticks."
Surquillo grinned. "I always wanted to be a rock god."
Skuld snorted. "You look too preppy. You need to get dirty."
Surquillo laughed with his eyes. "Then let's get dirty." Skuld rolled her eyes. Wraith snorted laughter, and opened the door. "After you," she said.
They got him into some expensive, black-studded jeans, which he paid for. "I'm thinking of going into the Dirty FBI."
Skuld snorted, and handed him a shirt with a line of leather. It had large silver buttons down the front, a leather collar, and huge leather cuffs.
"Eight hundred dollars," he said. She stared at him, and he handed over the credit card. She added a studded collar and two silver rings, one Celtic, and one a red-eyed skull.
She asked him to sing while standing in line. He let out a throaty roar; the checkout teen jumped. He and Wraith entered into the chorus of Lita Ford and Ozzy Osbourne's Close Your Eyes. The shoppers clapped.
"Rocco, no. Maxx. Maxx Galactic." Wraith rolled her eyes. "Maxx Mystic."
"Maxx Dorado," said Wraith.
"Maxx Monolith," said Skuld. Both women doubled over laughing as Raul/Maxx signed the credit card, and groaned.
"Maxx Slade," said Skuld, leading them to a designer shoe store.
"Yeah," said Wraith. "Maxx Slade."
They got him out of FBI wingtips and into black short boots, with a double buckle and a high shine. They were in an outlet store, so Maxx didn't cringe so much at the cost. They got him dressed, and took him to see Raisa, the Russian wonder. She pulled his hair forward, and added a blue frost.
"Not to worry, washes out," she said. She shortened the sides, making the top look longer and more “floppy.”
She gelled and worked it, and showed him how to style it. He hated the hint of foundation… and the blue, metallic eyeliner, but he stood up straight when he saw himself in a mirror.
"I'm stylin,'" he said.
"Pay the lady, rock god," said Skuld. The three women laughed as Maxx cringed.
The Valkyries were saddened to take out their trademark braids. They both went for pulled-back styles with high poufs that made it look as if they had walked out of punk rock magazines. Raisa went for maroon for the tips of Wraith's hair, and the same metallic blue for Skuld. They both put in contacts. Skuld now had big brown eyes and Wraith leaned toward violet. They hit their go-bags and came up with rock band tops, metallic jeans, boots, and leather jackets. Wraith took some pics, and so did Skuld. They emailed them to Raul's handler.
"Limo time," said Wraith. They called for one; actually, an FBI armored vehicle. In the back they sang Rock Star. When they got to the part about popping pills from candy dispensers, Wraith stopped singing.
Wraith said to the driver, "We need a convenience or candy store," she said.
"It's just a song," said Skuld.
"The Leopardess doesn't know that," said Wraith. "I'll call Smythe." Smythe specialized in fake drugs for DEA operations. He had lovely sugar pills that looked like Black Beauties, Vicodin, and so many others. They brought him the candy dispensers.
He laughed. "That's a new one. Rock song turned real, huh? And, good news, I can use the candy for my work. Pulverize it, make it look good." They each stole handfuls of candy as he filled them with an evil rock god's pharmaceutical nightmare.
"Thanks," said Wraith. They filled their pockets, high on drugstore candy, and went off to find the Leopardess' minions.
They made a drive-by to Sonic to get some cherry drinks, and two (very obvious) agents dressed in suits that screamed "security," with ear, throat mics, and shades, got in. The male one was a former linebacker named Rudy Sarkes. Ricki, the female with ripped biceps showing up under her suit coat, slipped Maxx an envelope. Maxx found an English passport with many stamps for India, and purple cards inscribed in silver. With writing in English and Hindi, with a website, and earpieces.
They put the earpieces in. "Why is your name Samar Singh?"
Raul smiled. "My mother's last name is Singh. They took my real passport and spun it a little... left."
"Nice website," said Wraith, looking it up on her cell phone. "Looks like you're very popular in India, and catching on in Britain."
"Did they give the names of the songs?"
"One is called 'Maharaja's Daughter.'" She played a slow clip, instrumental only.
"Ah," said Raul/Maxx. "That's based on a very old story." He hummed it to himself. "I can do something rock with that."
They hit up two clubs; one on-Strip, one off. They danced, and ordered expensive, flavored drinks. The third one was more down and dirty, with more rock. Right away, they had the right vibe.
"Ivy said this would be the one," said Wraith. They ordered straight tequila, and they each downed a shot with salt and lime. The house band fi
nished, and went on a break. The room booed, apparently needing music to thrive.
Ivy stood there onstage, resplendent in her leathers; gray on top, matte-black on the bottom. She held a guitar Wraith recognized from the wall at her own club. She gestured, and Wraith led the way, followed by Skuld and Maxx. Skuld sat at the drums, and Maxx the keyboard. Wraith took a mic and a tambourine.
"Maxx Slade, all the way from the far east," said Ivy. Then she played a riff, and Skuld a drumroll. Then, Skuld pounded out the well-known beginning to Paradise City.
Maxx stood up, grabbed a mic, and channeled a screaming Axl Rose. The audience, all in black leather or jeans with various rock tops, got into head-banging. Skuld morphed into Hazy Shade of Winter. The head-bangers banged. Wraith went into Lita Ford and Ozzy Osbourne's haunting ballad, Close Your Eyes, with Maxx at the piano. He then riffed into the fictional Maharajah's Daughter, telling a tale of a man in love with the Maharajah's daughter, who had been promised in marriage to one of her father's generals. He described moonlight on her skin, with her hair shining with the light of the stars. The story was beautiful; poetic.
The refrain was a simple but haunting, "I can't love you, I can't hold you, I can't love you, not now."
Then, Ivy slipped into Sam Smith's Stay with Me, substituting "is" for "ain't" in the song, and in keeping with the “two lovers held apart” theme. Maxx was keeping with the "I can't love you, not now" refrain, but playing the Sam Smith song on the piano. Finally, they sang the refrain from Stay With Me, together, and Maxx held the high note in a falsetto for an impossibly long time, then they ended, together. The crowd had been singing parts; first his, then hers, then they were absolutely silent for the final notes. Then, they went insane.
They bowed, and tried to go offstage. "Maxx Slade!" the crowd screamed, again and again. So, they played Nickelback's Rock Star.
The entire audience roared along. Wraith slipped Ivy a candy dispenser, and they held them up during that lyric. The audience loved it. Maxx did a very British version of Chumbawamba's Tubthumping, with Wraith doing a haunting Danny Boy in the background. Then, Ivy sang one of her favorites, What's Going On? They tried to leave again, but they were pulled back for one more set. They got off the stage to a deafening applause.
They filed past the house band. "Wish they'd told us they were bringing in a ringer," said the lead singer. "Fuck, dude, we've gotta follow that?"
"Sorry," said Wraith. "He wanted to play on your break. He's from England, been playing India. Didn't think they'd eat it up like that."
They ended up in a green room, Maxx unsure as to how they'd gotten there. They sucked on flavored waters scavenged from a small fridge. A young man with a shock of black hair and a clipboard wearing khakis came back in.
"The band wants you... Maxx Slade? Yeah, they want you to do a song or two. They're getting booed out of there."
Skuld downed her water, and so did Maxx. "Let's get back out there."
The band managed to keep up, following Ivy's guitar, wailing. The lights went out onstage, and they filed out, Maxx gasping for air. They filed backstage, and everyone laid backstage on the couches and poufy chairs. Skuld found a stack of clean towels and passed them around. Ivy threw out bottles of water, flavored and straight. They just sat there, saying nothing.
They half-carried Maxx out to the limo, his security front and back. He stopped in a spot just outside the light, and popped some of his Pez candy "pills." He was hustled toward the limo. Just before he got in, a beautiful woman stepped out of the darkness. She was eight kinds of beautiful, sleek and dangerous, hair in folds around a caramel-eyed, angel's face. Wraith held her head in such a way that the woman couldn't see her face.
"I've got what you need," the angelic woman said, her red dress tight against her caramel thighs. Raul recognized the accent, and he made the tiniest twitch of his fingers.
"Lady," said Raul/Maxx, his accent British inflected with India, "I don't doubt that at all."
Wraith grabbed Ivy's face, and kissed her deeply. Skuld laughed. "Let's go; let lover girls get into it," she said, pitching her voice into Scandinavian waters, dark and deep.
Their "security" hustled them into the limo, and Raul stepped back, letting the woman in with them. The limo drove out into the night.
The Hunt
In the limo, the woman that looked like sharpened, stained glass parted lipsticked ruby lips. "What would you like, lady?" asked Maxx, in a voice that was throaty from having been screaming into a mic for hours.
Skuld took a drink out of the bar, screwed off the top, and handed it to Maxx. "Drink," she said. She unscrewed the top off a second bottle, and handed it to the woman. "Cherry water," she said.
Maxx drank deeply, fumbled out his candy dispenser, and carefully checked which pill was next. He shook it out, and popped it. He breathed out and drank his water greedily. He put the dispenser away.
"How did you get those in the country?" she asked.
He snorted. "That's why I keep it in a candy dispenser. I have a friend who reseals them for me after they are filled." He laughed, his voice slurring ever so slightly. "Candy high, followed by real high."
"Got any of the red ones?" asked Skuld, unscrewing the top of her own cherry water. The woman watched them both with a soft smile on her face, taking tiny sips of her cherry water, her eyes as hard as tiger-eye stone.
"I think... the red devils are here," he said, shaking the dispenser, then putting one in her hand. She swallowed, then took a sip of her water.
"I can..." said the woman. "Get you... refills." She made the word sound like a sexual come-on.
"Well," said Maxx, "I can definitely use some... help."
She leaned forward. "I heard your name. Maxx Slade. Your performance was amazing. Raw." She touched his knee with a finger. "We can get you what you need to... perform."
Is she offering me uppers or Viagra? wondered Maxx.
"Shall I be ignored?" asked Skuld, dryly. "Pretty boy here is just the frontman. Lady, I control the purse strings. We only get, um, candy, if it's the absolute best, and only if… I. Say. So."
The woman laid back, and she crossed one leg over the other, then she smiled a predatory smile. "So, the tigress roars."
"You fucking better believe it," said Skuld. "I got a brick of fucking money for you every week, but you gotta have the right mix. Red, brown, white, the occasional triangular god. My boy has to fly at just the right height. Too high, the sun burns. Too low, that lovely voice ends in tears. Some tears on stage, great. Morose or whining, never."
"Then morose whining is banished," said the woman. "Very well. Little purple triangles in very small doses."
"It's the mix," said Skuld. "He likes just the right one."
"And you?" the woman asked.
"I take a lite mix. Gotta keep my head clear."
"That can be... arranged," said the woman.
"Well, stop coming onto me then," said Skuld, leaning forward. "Let's talk needs."
The woman laughed, a hard-edged sound. "He's relaxed," she said. Maxx wasn't actually faking it. He felt boneless after giving his very first performance since he was sixteen years old. He smiled gently.
"He likes to ride," said Skuld. "Now, let's talk money, honey."
The woman laughed, and they talked about a brick of money, and a mix of very high-level restricted drugs. They negotiated, and Skuld brought out the champagne. They laughed, and talked about business, then pleasure. They sealed their bargain with a kiss, an avid Maxx looking on. She leaned forward, stroked Maxx's leg, then ran a blood-red finger down his face.
"Later," she said.
"Where can we drop you?" asked Skuld.
"Wherever," she said.
"No," said Maxx, letting his words take on a dreamy quality. "A lady is driven where she wants to go."
"Someone has been reading the romances, no?"
"Our stories are older than yours," he said, letting the dust of Bangalore enter his voice. "They tend to end in
blood."
"So do ours," she said. "My name is Carmela." She handed Skuld a tiny black burner phone. "Press one for... service," she said, growling the last word. She got out at the corner, and vanished into the crowd.
"Ivy’s place," said Skuld. "We have to dance."
"Mmm hmm," said Maxx, as Skuld ran a wand over the phone. It lit up. She scanned for prints. She held up her screen. It was Elena Vargas, with a list of aliases, and an equally long list of priors for solicitation, drugs, and suspicion of several murders in Mexico.
"Hmm," said Skuld. "More champagne?"
"Cherry water champagne," said Maxx.
"Ugh," said Skuld. "I hate it when you get high. Next you'll be asking for candied grape leaves."
"Hmm," he said.
"Well, fuck," said Skuld, and she poured the cherry water into the champagne glass, adding a hint of champagne. "Shall we," she said.
"We shall," said Maxx, letting his words slur more, with more Bangalore in his voice.
Ivy had everything ready. They left their "security" in the limo to silently analyze the phone. Ivy didn't seem exhausted from the performance at all. She sang Heart's All I Wanna Do, long and loud, and introduced "Maxx Slade."
Skuld took over the drums, the house band took a break, Maxx sat at the piano, and they went into a very long Guns N’ Roses’ November Rain, with the thundering piano and all the drama. The entire audience of bikers and tourists were singing along. The house band raised their glasses, so they took a drink, then went into a very torrid rendition of Chris Isaak's Wicked Game, with the audience howling along.
Ivy gestured for the completely exhausted Maxx to take a break. She sang Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit, then Skuld sang a very heartbreaking version of Heart's Alone, with Ivy. Maxx came back up for Creep.
Wraith met them out the back. "We followed her. She's got a tail. We've been taking video of you all night, packed your Maxx Slade website. The song is already on YouTube, with two thousand more hits an hour. We think it's going viral."
"When I went to work today, I thought I'd be analyzing voices." He took a sip of apple juice. "Now," he said, as he huffed a laugh, "I'm a rock god." He smiled wanly. "My voice to the world."
