by Bella Knight
“I don’t hit,” said Grace.
“Words can hurt worse,” said Gregory. “I’ve watched you sulk, and misbehave, and refuse to do chores. You’ve lost your privileges at least five times that I know of. You’ve been mean to Hu, who has been nothing but nice to you, and ugly at school, when people were trying to help educate you. All of this while your moms were pregnant, carrying babies. I put up with it because I thought when you saw the babies, you’d act like Hu, and see what beautiful miracles they are. But you’re still the selfish, stupid girl you’ve been for the past seven months.”
Grace’s face went white. She couldn’t believe his words.
“You’re a Nighthawk,” said Gregory. “You act with respect toward everyone around you at all times. You listen more than you speak. You help others that need help. You work all day or all night, whatever your shift is, work or school, without complaining. You love until you have no more love to give, and then you give a little more. You protect those smaller or weaker than you. You have been acting the opposite of all of these things. Most of all, Nighthawks are brave and fearless. What are you so afraid of, Grace? That your mommies will forget about you?”
Tears streamed down Grace’s cheeks. “My daddy left because he didn’t want a screamy, poopy baby. He told my mom. I heard him. I pooped in the toilet then! I didn’t wear a diaper!”
Gregory enfolded Grace in his arms while she sobbed. “Ivy is a Nighthawk. She wouldn’t cut and run at the first sign of trouble.” He rocked back and forth. “I’m not leaving either. Or Katya, or Inola and Bella, or Henry, or David, or Nantan. Or any of us. We love you.”
Ivy slid out of the door. “I wondered what that was all about.” She patted Grace’s back. “I’m not leaving, love bug. If I were going to do that, I would have done it when you were an angry little porcupine these past months.” Grace held out an arm, and they had a three-way hug.
Ivy slipped a packet of wet wipes out of the pocket of her yoga pants. “Wipe your face,” she said, and helped Grace clean up. “Now, put the porcupine girl away. We literally do not have time to deal with that. We have three daughters and a son to raise.”
“God help him,” said Gregory. “Five females telling him what to do.”
Ivy laughed and punched Gregory’s arm. “Go home to your wife,” she said, “After you make a Sonic run.”
Gregory looked poleaxed. “What does Bao like?”
“Cheese sticks, chicken and a strawberry shake,” said Grace, in a small voice. “I’ll go with you. The bags are heavy.”
Gregory lifted her up. “Come on. Let’s get your car seat out and blow this popsicle stand, why don’t we?”
Grace held onto his neck, and he carried her out to the cars. Ivy went in the bedroom to lay down, exhausted. Bao was rocking Aiden, and singing the most beautiful song to him. Hu was on the other side of the bed, sitting next to Callie, holding Kiya in her lap.
Ivy slipped in beside Callie, and whispered in her ear. “Grace was a porcupine because, when she was about two and a half or three, she heard either her birth father or a boyfriend yelling to you that he was leaving you because he didn’t want a screamy, poopy kid.”
Callie’s eyes misted. “It was Jerk Jason. Grace had been sick, had diarrhea for two days. He screamed at me, threw his stuff in a pile, picked it up, and nearly stepped on Grace walking out. She was three.” She put her hands over her eyes. “I had no idea she remembered that.”
“Hey,” said Ivy, rubbing her back. “He was a jerk. It’s on him, not you. Now, get some sleep.”
“Baby,” said Callie.
“Which one?” asked Ivy.
“Both,” said Callie.
Ivy asked for Bao to come back with Aiden, and Hu passed Kiya to Ivy, who put the babies in between her and Callie. “Food’s coming,” she said. “So, stay.”
Ivy sang, in her lovely voice, the chorus to Clean Bandit’s Rockabye. Bao sat on the end of the bed, holding Hu in her arms. She transitioned into Billy Joel’s Lullabye, and then she sang the chorus twice.
Grace stood in the doorway, the bags of food lowered to the floor, Gregory behind her, holding her in his arms.
Ivy transitioned into Brahm’s Lullaby, and the infants and Callie slept. Gregory picked up the bags of food, and led Grace in. Grace raised her voice, and as Ivy transitioned back to the chorus, she sang with her mama. Gregory found the trays, and set them up on the bed.
Callie woke up long enough to eat, and was soon asleep again. Grace climbed onto the bed, and after the meal and cleanup, she sang again. Ivy fell asleep, and Bao led Hu and Grace out of the room. Gregory silently shut the door.
“You guys stay here, and take care of them. If you need me, call me right away.”
“Yes,” said Bao.
Grace said, “I’m sorry, you guys. I was awful. I thought Mama would leave when the babies came.”
Hu hugged her. “We’re not leaving, silly. We live next door. And here.”
“We have the weirdest family,” said Grace. “Don’t see our family on TV.”
Gregory smiled. “Don’t see the Nighthawks on TV, either. Should, I guess, but don’t.” He walked the girls to their pod room. “I know there’s been a lot of excitement, but do stuff that doesn’t wake the babies or your moms.”
“Okay,” said Grace. She took Hu’s hand, and led her inside the room.
“You are good man,” said Bao. She grimaced, and corrected her English. “You are a good man. You donated.” She waved her hand. “You are their father?” She gestured toward the room with the babies.
“Yes,” said Gregory. “Ace had his hands full, being in the hospital and all.”
“I someday will find a good man like you.”
“Yes,” said Gregory. “Stick around the Nighthawks, or the Iron Knights, and you will.”
“Good,” she said, patting his arms. “I hear you have two babies at home. Go to them. Thank you, for today.” The girls giggled. “They are learning Ute, and I can’t help with that. Only Chinese.”
“And English,” said Gregory.
She bowed her head. “I am not so good yet.”
“You’re doing fine,” he said, patting her hand. “Things should be better now that Grace is better behaved.”
“I sent her home, several times,” said Bao. “Her poor mothers.”
Gregory laughed. “Hu is a diamond, Bao. You are an excellent mother.” He could see the blush under the gold of her skin. “Take care of yourself, Bao,” he said, and went to take Grace’s car seat out of his car, and to find his own wife.
Gregory texted everyone. Rota had won that pool, and split the money with Callie. Gregory helped Callie and used the money to buy groceries from Nantan and the Wolfpack for a month, all so the new mommies could concentrate on their children. Rota used it to get the carpet removed in the other house, finding lovely hardwood floors underneath. She had them refinished.
Wraith was very tired of living in boring cracker boxes. Her permanent Las Vegas transfer went through. So, she looked at Skuld and Rota’s duplex.
“Still in the works,” said Tito. “Coming along nicely, though. If you’d been later, you couldn’t have chosen paint colors or cabinet fixtures.
Rota said, “You can buy this half, or pay rent. Either way, you choose the decor.”
“Rent,” said Wraith. “Transfers don’t hold with the ATF or DEA.”
“Okay,” said Rota. She named a sum for rent. “Done,” said Wraith. “Tito, what do I get to choose?”
It was hard merging her Norwegian practicality with Saber’s Thai warrior vibe, but she did. She picked furniture that could collapse in on itself —a fold-down king-sized bed for nightly acrobatics, a breakfast table that seated two but could open to seat eight, a couch with both dual recliners and the middle folded out to a bed.
She chose showerheads that could switch from rain to pulsing, and walls of a soft gold with the occasional red one. She bought black, red, and silver plates; bowls, and cups, an
d bamboo chopsticks and spoons. She put down heavy mats in one of the bedrooms, hung tatami on the walls, and got a weapons rack. She exercised to Skuld’s theme music coming through the walls, her drums and guitars on the other side. He was gone, but, by damn, he’d have a home to come back to.
She had to call in Skuld again, two days later. This one called for subtlety. “I have a job. You interested?” she texted to Skuld.
“Dress code?” was the reply.
“Not the club scene,” Wraith texted. “Jeans and class.”
“Meetup?” asked Skuld.
Wraith sent an address off Boulder Highway, the parking lot of a 7-11. They met up an hour later.
“Am I dressed right?” asked Skuld. She had on expensive designer jeans, a gold sweater, an expensive gray leather jacket, silver hoops in her ears, and soft suede boots.
“Perfect,” said Wraith. She was dressed similarly, but in a red angora sweater, a matching red leather jacket, and red cowgirl boots with silver tips.
“What are we doing?” asked Skuld.
“Turns out someone’s been selling designer drugs, and we needed another lady to buy. This is pharmacy-grade stuff, Mommy’s Little Helper stuff, but to lots of upper-class women.”
“Who’s the yahoo selling drugs to anxious upper-class women? And can’t you just go to a psychiatrist for that?”
“Not in the quantities this woman is selling them, and she’ll give you any dose that doesn’t actually kill you. Lots of these women have plastic surgery, and get addicted to both the surgery and the meds.”
“Got ‘em coming and going,” said Skuld.
“Yep,” said Wraith.
“So, what’s the job? We buying?”
“Exactly,” said Wraith. “Got an appointment after hours, let’s say.” She pointed with her finger to a BMW. “Rental car. Let’s go.”
They tooled down the street to a sandy-red, four-story, plastic surgery clinic in the heart of Green Valley. They parked and entered, the wind chill on their backs. They passed the wall-to-wall fish tank in the expansive lobby and passed a security guard so bored he was watching the game on his cell phone. At the information desk was a gorgeous receptionist who had obviously been sampling the surgery. She had fake platinum hair, very big boobs, and a face so plastic it looked painted on.
“May I help you?” said the receptionist. Her nameplate said, “Trixie.”
“Trixie, dear,” said Wraith. “I’m heah to get some help from the doctor, Doctor Phillips. I’ve got an appointment. Sandy Dee Williams.” Skuld tried not to laugh. She sounded like someone on Dallas.
“And your friend?”
“Talia. Smart woman. Wants a little help, too. She just had surgery.”
Skuld mimed the stiffness and pained eyes one would have after surgery. She’d been shot before and still had twinges. Being gut-shot wasn’t fun.
Trixie buzzed the doctor, who said, “Send them up.”
“Second floor,” said Trixie, manicured hands with gold nails fluttering toward the elevator.
“Thanks, sugah,” said Wraith, and walked toward the elevator. Skuld followed more slowly.
They entered a blinding white hallway to a gorgeous hallway. The nurse there was in blue scrubs, also a blonde with perfect teeth. She took them right back to a huge glassed-in corner office. It looked like a boardroom, not a doctor’s inner chamber. Medical books lined the walls. They looked like they had never been read.
Doctor Jeremiah “Phil” Phillips looked like a distinguished gentleman, with blonde hair going white, perfect teeth, and wide hands.
“Please, ladies, sit.” He was as unctuous as a used-car salesman. Skuld already felt like she needed a shower.
They sat, Wraith delicately, Skuld much more stiffly. “My friend here, she’s Talia Van. She’s had lipo.” Skuld smiled stiffly, letting pain bleed into her eyes. “And, I had a tummy tuck in Dallas.”
“What can I do for you ladies?” he asked, his voice smooth.
“We’re kinda short. I had both our prescriptions on us, and I lost them in the car.”
“I can help you with that,” said Doctor Phil.
“Do you need to examine us?” said Wraith, a look of distaste on her lips.
“No, ladies, I can see you’re in distress and have no time to waste. I have… samples. But, the insurance, from Texas, that will be hard to deal with. Too much paperwork, take too much of everyone’s time.”
“I agree,” said Wraith. “What can I do?”
“Cash, ladies?” asked Doctor Phil.
“Oh, that,” said Wraith. “I won at blackjack.” She took out a huge stack of bills. Skuld guessed they were from an evidence locker, and were marked in some way.
Skuld could see the greed, deep in Doctor Phil’s eyes. “How much is that?” he asked.
“Six thousand and twenty-one dollars,” she said. “I held ‘bout half of it back. They comped us the hotel and food, but we’ll want to play some more.”
He reached onto the stack, and examined it. He peeled off three thousand dollars. “This would be a… large quantity?”
“We brought the girls,” said Wraith. “The two Heathers. They’re laying down. All the excitement and all. I thought we could have a little… party.”
He reached forward, peeled off another thousand. “Be right back, ladies.”
Skuld let the faint wash of relief enter her eyes, but kept the pain. Remembering being gut-shot brought it all back. Wraith rubbed her back. “Won’t be long now, sugah. Be feelin’ fine soon.”
“Mmm,” said Skuld, as Wraith took the rest of the money and made it disappear into her purse.
He came back with a Tiffany bag full of little blue boxes. Wraith sat up, clapped her hands, and opened one. Instead of diamonds and gold, there were pills in little trays. Red in one box, blue in another, green-striped in a third, round ones with little blue triangles cut out of the middle in another. Some boxes of purple. Many were hard, round, and white. Oxy, Valium. The rest she couldn’t place, and decided she didn’t want to know.
“Lovely!” said Wraith.
“Water,” said Skuld, biting the word out. “For the car.”
“Of course,” said Doctor Phil.
He reached back to a little refrigerator behind his lovely black desk. He took out four bottles, slipped them into a plastic bag, and handed it to Wraith. She stood, took both bags, and gently helped Skuld stand.
“Come on, sugah. Let’s get you to the cah and then we can part-tay.”
“Mmm,” said Skuld.
“Nice doin’ business with such a nice man,” said Wraith. “Ta ta, now.” She gave a little beauty-queen wave.
Skuld slipped out a water, and mimed having trouble getting the plastic wrap off as they walked toward the front door. She finally got it open. Wraith pretended to take out some Oxy, and, putting her shoulder at just the right angle so the camera couldn’t see, pretended to swallow the pills. She laid back against the elevator wall, pointless as they were only going down for a moment. Wraith reached back, and pretended to drag her out. They drove back to the 7-11 lot, where DEA agents took Wraith’s shoulder bag with the remaining money and its hidden wire and camera. The Tiffany bag, and Wraith’s fast report on the transaction.
“Why didn’t you take him down?” asked Skuld.
“Following the money up the chain.” She continued her report, so Skuld walked away toward her bike.
Skuld heard a sound near the dumpster on the side of the building, a little wail. She figured it was a cat, but she stepped closer. The wail cranked up, and Skuld ran to the pile of dirty blankets next to the dumpster. There were boxes piled inside.
She knelt, and opened the top blanket. A round, red face and blue eyes stared up at her. “Wraith!” screamed Skuld. “We need a bus!”
Wraith came running around the corner, gun drawn and pointed forward. One of the other agents was right behind her. Skuld carefully worked open the dirty blue blanket, and the scream turned into a wail. W
raith put back her gun, and called it in. Skuld picked up the baby after an initial visual examination.
“Girl,” she said. “Very new. Good set of lungs on her.” She looked down at the belly. “No cord, so not brand new.” There was no diaper. The baby was filthy. “You, Agent Guy. Go in there and buy newborn diapers and wipes.” He put away his weapon and ran into the store, the door ringing firmly. “We still got the BMW?”
“No,” said Wraith. “Bobby took it and the evidence in.”
The sirens were wailing as the agent came out with the wipes and diapers. Wraith carefully wiped the baby down. “Diaper rash. No wonder this one’s so fussy.”
She took it out of the blankets, crouched, and laid the baby on her back, gently. Wraith knelt and held the baby’s head and neck while Wraith put on a diaper. The bus pulled up, and two EMTs came rushing out.
“Baby Jane Doe, filthy, diaper rash, just cleaned her up and put a diaper on. No obvious trauma, no umbilical cord here,” said Wraith, as they ran up with blankets and stethoscopes in hand.
The EMT took her, whispering to her, “We’ll take good care of you little, one,” she said, wrapping her in a soft green blanket, while her partner did an Apgar test. “Five,” he said.
“Thank the gods,” said Skuld.
“Children’s,” said the EMT, naming the closest hospital. “Where’s the mom?”
Wraith handed over the wipes and diapers. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”
The Green Valley cops showed up, and took pictures of the scene. They didn’t ask what DEA and ATF agents were doing at a 7-11 after normal business hours; it was obvious they didn’t want to know. The other agent —Wraith called him Mike, helped Wraith and Skuld with the grid search for the mom, as more sirens came to help.
“Bus!” screamed Wraith.
Skuld and Bobby went toward her at a run. Two buildings back, in an alley, was a woman. She was filthy, with matted dark hair, wearing a pink dress that barely skimmed her hips in the icy wind. She had track marks on her arms, and a needle was still in her vein. She was the mom; blood pooled between her legs over her thong underwear, and her belly had a pooch.
