Monkey's Uncle [Drunk Monkeys 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Tymber Dalton

  When they were in the motel room, Papa broke open an equipment case. “Stay dressed,” he said. “Sleep in your clothes and your shoes in case we need to bug out.” He pulled out several devices and started checking them.

  “What are those?” India asked.

  “Radios.” he quickly explained how they worked and handed them out. The solar-charged devices could run twenty-four hours without a charge, or they could hook a hand-crank charger to them, or plug them into an electrical outlet, if one was available. Each one came with a small, nearly invisible patch that stuck behind their ears and functioned both as speaker and microphone.

  “Once the meeting starts tomorrow,” he explained, “everyone stay off the frequency unless it’s an emergency. Lima will record everything for us to play back later. Got it?”

  Everyone nodded. They all ate a quick meal of MREs they’d brought with them. Following that, Papa handed out assignments. There would always be someone in each of their vehicles, now tucked into the motel’s small lot, just in case, ready to leave at a moment’s notice as well as to protect them. They would rotate out in two-hour shifts.

  It wasn’t even eight o’clock at night by the time India and Celia, sharing one of the double beds for space so the men could use the other bed, lay down. They would all be up and moving at five in the morning, back at the plaza and in their positions. India wasn’t sure she’d get any sleep at all, especially going to bed that early, but before she knew it, she felt someone gently shaking her.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” Yankee whispered. “Time to get up.”

  On the other side of the bed, Doc was shaking Pandora awake.

  Moving quickly, the women took their turns in the bathroom before joining the men outside. They had the room until noon, and would keep it as a backup meeting place in case someone got separated from the group. The doors used an antiquated four-digit code lock instead of a key, so everyone was able to memorize it.

  “Anything happen overnight?” India asked Papa.

  “Nope. It’s been quiet. I don’t expect that to last very long.”

  His tone of voice broke through what little sleep lingered in her system, drawing her mind sharply to focus on him. “You think they’re setting up a trap for us?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, but I know we are.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  India led Pandora around the market as it began teeming with activity. It amused her how Pandora seemed unable to take in everything at once.

  They even stopped at one vendor and bought a couple of loose, flowing blouses to wear over the tank tops they were wearing. It helped them blend in a little, look more like locals.

  Bonus, India hadn’t considered how the loose blouse provided great concealment for their weapons. India kept her gun in a holster tucked inside her waistband at the front of her left hip, under her tank top. Pandora had moved her knife from her back pocket and clipped it to her belt, near her navel.

  Not many people in the market, vendors or customers, wore surgical masks. A few policemen here and there walking patrols, people you could tell had money from their clothes and their shoes, a couple of women in scrubs—nurses, India thought—who looked more like they were on their way to work than were there to shop from their quicker, more direct walking pace.

  “You hungry?” India asked.

  “Yeah, actually, I am.”

  They stopped for two cups of atole from one of the vendors India had purchased from before.

  Pandora sniffed at her cup while India sipped the thick concoction.

  “What is it?” she asked, her dubious tone making India laugh.

  “Just try it. I promise, you’ll like it.”

  Pandora arched an eyebrow at her. “That’s what you said about the tequila.”

  “This time I mean it.”

  Pandora finally took what looked like a cautious sip before her brows lifted. “Oh, that’s really good. It’s sort of like…” She took another sip. “I don’t know what it’s like.”

  “It’s a concoction of corn flour, spices, sort of like drinkable Cream of Wheat only not, and sweeter.”

  Pandora took another sip. “You know, I used to think I was sophisticated, coming from Chicago. The more I see of the world, you know what I’ve learned?”

  “What?”

  “That I don’t know shit, and I’m lucky I’ve survived as long as I have on this adventure. I feel like I’ve lived a pretty sheltered life, all things considered. I’ve learned more in the past few weeks than I have in the past few years.”

  “But are you happier now?” India asked.

  Pandora considered it before nodding. “Yeah, I am. I mean, obviously I wish the circumstances were better. I spent the past several years desperate to claw my way into an on-air position. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life as a researcher writing copy for the on-air talent, you know? Or just getting an occasional print byline. I wanted to feel like I was important, that I made a difference. And the extra money would have been nice, duh.”

  She took another sip. “But I guess am making a difference. I’m making more of a difference now than I ever would have if I’d stayed in Chicago. I’m not just reporting the news. I’m creating it, even if no one knows about it but us right now.”

  “So when will you write your big story?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t right now. I can’t do anything to jeopardize our mission. I mean, I am taking notes so there’s something resembling an official record of what we’re doing. I think that’s important for people to know. I only wish we could get the word out to people that there is hope on the way, if they can just hang on long enough. I know a lot of the violence right now is because people are snapping. They’ve struggled for decades against the economy, the damn flu viruses, terrorist attacks, but they knew they had a chance to get past all of those, to survive them. Right now, people see Kite and think, fuck it. It’s going to kill me anyway, I might as well do what I can before I go.”

  “I thought Mac was a nice guy,” India said. “I can’t believe I was such an idiot.”

  Pandora stopped her. “He is a nice guy. They all are. Believe me, I’m not apologizing for them. I know it’s difficult to see the flip side of the coin right now. But let’s face it, if North Korea had killed the people on The List and gotten new people in their places, they might not have been in the upper echelon of their fields. They might have created a virus and had no clue how to make a vaccine for it. Or they might not have cared about the world. These guys at least have a chance to fix it. The mutations are working. There are more reports of people surviving the mutated strains with less residual damage.”

  “Ninety-eight percent fatality instead of ninety-nine is still high,” India reminded her. “And while there’s less neurological damage, yes, the survivors so far are unable to care for themselves, can barely communicate. That’s not much of a life in a world where survival of the fittest and richest is the law of the land.”

  “It’s still hope,” Pandora insisted, turning to her. “Look, no, I’m not a doctor or a nurse or a scientist. I’m a wannabe reporter. I can see the big picture here. I’m not willing to give up on the world, or the people on The List. I think we have a shot of getting enough of them together that we can give them the time they need to fix this.”

  “Then what?” India asked. “Not like we have access to a production facility,” she said. “We don’t know how vast the conspiracy is against us. That General Arliss of yours might be the only ally we have.”

  “That’s not true. We have Bubba. And others. Your friend, Paul. He’ll help us. We can do this, but you have to believe in it and in yourself. You wanted to make a difference in people’s lives, right? So put your money where your mouth is and let’s kick ass and take names.”

  India pondered her comments. As they wandered their way through the vendors and amongst the other shoppers, Pandora’s gaze went everywhere. India enjoyed watching her amazement, rememb
ering all too well the first time the padre had brought her here to the market.

  “Neat place, huh?” India asked.

  “Yeah.”

  There was only so much time they could kill before they rejoined the men at nine o’clock and began their wait. It seemed like time slowed to a crawl. The women sat in the shade of a tree as the sun rapidly cl and turned the day hot. And as the minutes clicked past, India felt sweat trickling down the back of her neck. They personally couldn’t see the meeting place due to trees and vendors and shoppers in the way, but they could hear the men quietly checking in every few minutes as Papa went down the line, asking for updates.

  At five minutes until ten, someone spoke up. “Target acquired. Entering east side of plaza, heading north.”

  “Heads up,” Papa said. “The only person I want to hear on this channel from this point forward, unless it’s an emergency or I ask for replies, is John or Robert.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  India felt her gut tensing as she closed her eyes and listened. John didn’t say anything at first, faint sounds from the market filtering into his microphone as he waited.

  “Target in place,” he quietly said a minute later. “I’ll wait until exactly ten to make the call.”

  “Roger,” Papa replied. “Any affirmatives on other targets?”

  No one replied.

  “Full negative means we’re a go,” Papa said.

  Silence filled her ear again. She opened her eyes and glanced at Pandora, who looked as nervous as India felt. The other woman’s eyes were scrunched closed, the floppy straw hat she wore concealing most of her red hair, which she’d pulled up in a sloppy bun at the back of her head.

  Then, via the radio, they heard the sounds of the call being made. With the phone held to the ear where John wore his receiver, they all could hear both ends of the conversation.

  It only rang once before it was answered. “Hello?” The man sounded nervous.

  Good. The fucker better be nervous. That the man was actively trying to turn traitor on her men, and the rest of the Drunk Monkeys, boiled her blood.

  Of course, she recognized the flip side of that, being she’d met Yankee and Oscar because of Gregor’s duplicity in the first place.

  Fark.

  “If you’re in place,” John said, exaggerating his New York accent so his normal voice sounded nearly unrecognizable, “reach up and scratch the back of your head with your left hand.” Apparently the man did it, because John said, “Good. Glad to see you’re here on time. You’d better be alone.”

  “I am.”

  “Well, I’m not. We think you’re going to double-cross me, then you’re gonna wish you’d never been born, you get me?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Stay there, Gregor. I’ll come to you.” He hung up. Then he said in his normal voice, “He looks like he just shit a brick, but he’s not moving. He’s looking around.”

  Sounds of John moving through the crowd, followed by him speaking again in the exaggerated accent. “You look a little shocked, buddy. What, you think I don’t know who you are?”

  “But how—”

  “That’s not your problem, is it? Take it as further proof I know what the hell I’m doin’. Got it?”

  “Okay. You said you know where the—”

  “Don’t say it out loud, what the fark’s wrong wit’ you?” It sounded like he grabbed the guy and moved him a few steps out of the main traffic flow. He also dropped his voice. “I know where the team is, yeah. What I want to know is, what’s it worth?”

  “A lot. Don’t you know the entire world’s looking for the people on The List?”

  “Yeah, and what I ain’t figured out yet is why you can’t just ask Arliss where they are. You one of his guys, ain’tcha?

  The man didn’t reply.

  “Yeah, I know all about you, Colonel Afton Gregor. You been workin’ for Arliss, what, eight, nine years now?”

  “Nine.”

  “I got a head full of knowledge in here lookin’ for the right bidder. What I want to know is where you gonna get the money to make this worth my while wit’ you?”

  “You said we had a deal!”

  “I said we had a meeting. You want a deal, this is what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna put me in contact with your handler. I’m gonna tell him or her my price. And you are gonna do this fast, because those guys ain’t gonna be where they are for much longer.”

  “How do I even know you know where they are?”

  “I sent you a pic, didn’t I?”

  “How do I know you’ll know where they move to?”

  John laughed. “I’m no idiot. We’re keepin’ close tabs on ’em.” He paused. “Guess I’ll be callin’ the Chinese after all—”

  “No, wait.” Gregor seemed to be considering his options. “My people have a greater purpose. They’re in this to save the truly righteous. This isn’t about money.”

  John laughed. “Maybe to you it’s not, but speak for yourself, buddy. China’s desperate for a vaccine. They got over ten million dead so far, and probably twice that infected. They got nothing but money and are running out of time. Only reason I didn’t contact them first is I didn’t feel like tryin’ to get back into the States to talk to the ambassador.”

  “I’m not the only one—”

  The audio suddenly garbled, fading in and out, only every second word or so audible.

  She heard Papa swear. “His farking mic’s dying.”

  Before India realized what she was doing, she was up on her feet and weaving her way among people and past vendors toward the area where the men were meeting.

  Taking a deep breath as she rounded a corner, she put a bright smile on her face and started calling out to John in Spanish. “¡Papi! ¡Oye, Papi!”

  She just hoped the cop was a fast study.

  She ran up to him and kissed him on the lips and started talking to him in rapid-fire Spanish, pretending she was his girlfriend and telling him about a couple of trinkets she wanted to buy from a vendor.

  In her ear, India heard Papa bark, “Yankee, Oscar, back off now, that’s an order!”

  She had to hand it to John, he didn’t miss a beat, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her close to his side. “My apologies. My girlfriend, Mariella. She speaks no English, don’t worry.”

  “¿Quién es usted?” she asked Gregor.

  John kept up the charade, replying in Spanish. India didn’t know if he was watching Gregor as intently as she was, to see if anything they were saying in Spanish registered with him.

  Then the dummy helped them out. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish. No…hablo, or whatever it is.”

  She flashed him another smile and leaned in close to John’s ear. In Spanish, low enough Gregor couldn’t hear her even if he did hablo, she told John, “Your radio mic died.”

  He nodded. Refocusing on Gregor, he said, “Now back to our discussion.”

  “With her here?”

  “I’ll be gone in a few days. I met her a couple of weeks ago and she’s lookin’ for a sugar daddy. Who’s your handler? I want to talk to him.”

  “I…Look, can we do this somewhere else?”

  “No offense, I’d rather do it here in the open. Not that I don’t trust you, motherfucker. But I don’t trust you, motherfucker.”

  “I can’t contact my direct handler right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s complicated. And he doesn’t have the money, anyway. He’ll have to get it from the people he’s working for.”

  “Wait a minute. You mean I’m wastin’ my time wit’ you?”

  “No. The people whose interests we represent are very eager to strike a deal with you, but you have to understand it’s a very delicate situation. It requires a lot of discretion.”

  “That means time, and time is somethin’ ain’t nobody got a lot of right now, asshole.”

  India did her best to look bored, glancing around as if she was ge
tting a little huffy, longingly eyeing a couple of nearby vendors.

  She didn’t let her gaze linger on where Yankee stood mostly hidden by a vendor’s tent.

  The murderous look of rage on his face nearly scared her. She hoped it was fear for her and not anger at her.

  Maybe I just earned that spanking.

  If Yankee was there, Oscar had to be close by. Instead of looking for him and risking the operation, she returned her focus to John and asked him in Spanish when they could get back to their shopping.

  He shushed her and she continued her faked pout. Complete with examining her fingernails and making a random complaint that she needed a manicure.

  Unfortunately, she pushed her luck a little too far.

  Gregor grabbed her extended wrist with his right hand, and before she or John could react, the man had her pulled tightly against his body and had his left hand pressed into her ribcage.

  His hand holding what felt like a gun.

  “Yankee, Oscar, I said stand down!” Papa screamed in her left ear, the volume making her wince. “That’s a direct order!”

  Thankfully, Gregor was a southpaw and his head was next to her right ear.

  “Calm down,” John said. “What the fuck you think you’re gonna do?”

  “I think we’re going to go talk in private,” Gregor said. “And then you’re going to give me some answers or she”—he jabbed her in the ribs with the gun—“will end up with a hole in her.”

  “¿Papi?” she asked, hoping she sounded as scared as she felt.

  He pretended to calm her in Spanish.

  Lucky for her, Gregor had his right arm around her waist.

  His hand was nowhere near her gun.

  All she had to do was get to it.

  She ignored Papa barking commands in her ear as Gregor ordered John to walk ahead of them, out of the plaza and between some heaps of rubble.

  “Straight ahead three blocks,” Gregor said. “The four-story building. We’re going to go into the lobby and walk into the elevator like we’re buddies,” he said. “And we’re going to go up to my room and talk.”