by L. M. Vila
“Why do you think brought them here instead of county?”
“No idea,” Michael replied with a brief shake of his head.
“I can answer that,” Nicole stated as she approached the tea-drinking couple. “Good morning Agent Lewis. Agent Madison.”
“Morning.” They replied in unison.
Their partnership over the last year has kept them on the same wavelength most of the time. Just as it was back in the L.A.P.D. and exactly what Nicole was hoping for.
Commander Wells handed them each a manila folder containing a thin stack of papers and documents.
“This should tell you anything and everything you want to know about that boisterous pair. Follow me and I’ll even fill you in on some of the juicer details.”
Obliging to their superior’s offer, Meryl and Michael walked along the path of previous disruption where vulgarities still lingered in the morning air.
“We picked these two up early this morning at LAX in the security line. Surprisingly, a TSA agent recognized one of them for an outstanding warrant and instead of confronting them directly, she did the smart thing and called the Sheriff’s office. A fairly uncommon trait with that department given its history,” she coyly quipped.
“From there, the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department took over, tricking them into believing they made a security violation. The girl wouldn’t even remove the several pounds of metal hanging off her body so as you could guess, it took some convincing to get her to comply to a private search. It was important for them not to make a scene like that girl proved she’s capable of. Then, they were brought to the back, handcuffed and quietly escorted off the premises.”
Nicole pondered her words for a moment and then reiterated.
“Well, quiet enough.”
Michael peered through some of the photographs outlining the two individuals in question. Before he could begin a string of initial questions, they reached the interrogation room. Staring back at them between a large plate of mirrored glass sat the smugly insolent woman and her dismayed partner. Nicole thought it best to give them a proper introduction to her agents and save the important questions after the fact. Just as long as the feisty one's bits of rage remain in check.
“The lively one on the left is Cassandra Benet but goes by the street name is ‘Onyx’. She’s been trouble since the day she was born. Can’t blame her for everything though. Her mom hung herself after sodomizing her pedophilic father to death when she was ten. Since then, Cassandra’s had a string of bad luck with law enforcement.”
Nicole calmly went through the list of vile offenses without breaking a sweat.
“Breaking and entering, assault with a deadly weapon, and ten counts of prostitution all before the age of eighteen. The judge took mercy on her, given the situation of her family, and gave her two years in juvenile hall plus another year on parole.”
“So she's got a criminal record that would trump 99% of our current inmates and she's not even old enough to buy alcohol?” Meryl chimed in, half-rhetorically anyways.
Nicole nodded in surprising agreement and continued.
“That's where this sight for sore eyes comes in,” she responded, flashing a quick thumb at the muscular brute. “His real name is Jonathan Reginald Kalinowski but the underground street fighting circuits know him as Johnny Rage. He's the 4th of eight brothers, scattered all across the country. Each of them having picked a unique profession to call their own. One's a firefighter up in New Jersey. Another a professor of Liberal Arts in Seattle. The oldest brother of the bunch is a detective in the N.Y.P.D. And the youngest, well, he's a resident of Hollywood with a knack for cheesy performances.”
Meryl pondered deep into that one. He did look oddly familiar in a nostalgic sort of way. Glancing over his alias provided the answer she sought.
“This guy is Michael Rage's brother?”
“Indeed he is.”
Known for his bad acting and even worse attitude, Michael Rage has graced the silver screen one too many times. Meryl had the pleasure of witnessing one or two of the diatribes they tried to pass off as films. Luckily, Officer Madison's sense of humor saved the evening from turning into a total disaster. Still, looking at this guy now, it was hard to link his calm and seemingly sensitive stature to that of his loudmouth brother.
“How did these two end up meeting?” Asked Meryl.
Their divergent pasts begged for more information.
“Jonathan is a professional and currently undefeated mixed martial arts competitor for the last five years. It just so happens that Cassandra was the mistress of his former promoter. She has an eye for talent it would seem and decided to dump the old geezer for a newer model. They found more lucrative offers away from the pay per view scene and into the underground circuit. The kind where millionaire playboys take ten thousand dollar escorts to gamble their fortunes away while watching men kill each other. Literally.”
Disturbing images aside, Meryl had to ask the obvious question.
“Where were they heading?”
The transition couldn't have come better since Michael's patience for the trip down memory lane started to wear thin.
“They were on their way to Las Vegas to participate in a particularly brutal fighting competition called Sacrifice held tomorrow night by an illustrious casino big shot named Charles Logan. He booked Mr. Rage to battle his undefeated champion. Our colleagues in the Vegas field office have been trying to gather evidence on these events for months and couldn’t turn a blind eye to this unique opportunity. Although, gaining front row access to this competition has become more of a challenge than we anticipated. Especially since tickets start at a million a head.”
Nicole sighed as young Cassandra smacked her partner across the face and dropped into another verbal lashing at his expense.
“That's the going rate to watch trained combatants kill each other anyways.”
“Why would anyone agree to throw their life away on a single fight?” Meryl posed.
“The purse draws them in. Given Mr. Rage's current sum of wealth, he probably receives between one to three million dollars per match. Promoters would usually balk and promising that much cash but then again, they'll only have to fork over the money to one fighter.”
“What's the catch?” Meryl asked, curious as to why promoters would feel stingy after spending millions just to put on a show.
“You don't have to pay the fighter that lost.”
A sickening feeling sat deep inside the pit of Meryl's stomach. Tomorrow night that man in there will be responsible for taking another man's life or losing his in the process. Her next question had a weight of sympathy that couldn't be rivaled.
“How do we put a stop to this?”
“That's the issue. Without gaining direct access to the facility, we're shit out of luck. Logan is rich in both cash and paranoia. Every fighter, attendee, and staff member goes through an extensive background check. However, everything we've learned thus far is hearsay. Dead men tell no tales and local informants are barely reliable. Unfortunately, there hasn’t been enough evidence produced for a warrant. And without that, we can't even knock on their door.”
Meryl turned to Michael and caught him neck deep into those files, explaining his silence during this line of questioning. A loud bang sharply awoke Meryl from her thoughts as she gave the violent couple in the interrogation room her full attention. While their demeanor and attitudes were unique, something about their physique and profiles struck Meryl as vaguely familiar. As soon as the realization hit, she wished her impulses weren't so God-damn uncontrollable.
“What if we walked a mile in their shoes?”
“Excuse me?” Nicole questioned trying to read between the lines of Meryl's words.
“Those two don't need a ticket. We could pose as them and walk right into the event without a second look. All we would need is slap on their costumes and some make up. Michael and I would blend right in.”
Meryl wanted to smack herself up
side the head after each word yet her body wouldn't allow it. The idea sounded so good in her mind that she couldn't find the will to stop herself. Nicole fell utterly silent adding to Meryl's discomfort. Watching Michael pull the files away from his face and stare back at her with those cold brown eyes only accentuated the ludicrousness of this plan.
“Good idea.”
“Indeed,” stated Nicole.
A defiant curse echoed in Meryl's mind but not a breath of it escaped. If only she had that kind of strength thirty seconds ago. Going undercover didn't bother her; the uncertainty of the entire situation is what drew cause for concern. However, given the facts of the case, time is a luxury they had little to spare. Even Michael's indomitable skills were bound to find their limit one of these days. Someone was guaranteed to be killed tomorrow night. Unfortunately, there stood a 50/50 chance that man may very well be Michael.
While Meryl stood in disbelief and contempt, Nicole appeared to have already formulated the foundation for their plan of attack.
“Let's make the arrangements accordingly. I'll call TSA immediately and ground that flight until you two are in costume and ready to go.”
Her eyes darted towards Meryl.
“Agent Lewis. Stay here and watch the princess for a while. Try to pick up any and all of her unique mannerisms to finalize the sell.”
A distinct vulgarity cut through the glass window with enough force to nearly shatter it. Any woman would be disgusted to be referred by such a name. Cassandra had no qualms dishing out to the weak and undeserving, including her partner.
“And I do mean everything.”
The only rational response Meryl could offer was agreement. There wasn't much else she could say. After all, denouncing the very plan she came up with would only dissuade the Commander's confidence in Meryl's abilities. Something she worked very hard over the last year to attain.
“Agent Madison,” Nicole uttered, “Come with me. I have a few things to discuss with you regarding the particulars of this assignment.”
As she glanced over to Jonathan's sullen stature, it gave her another reason to pull him away.
“I doubt you'll have any issues slipping into character.”
With the Commander and Michael out of sight, Meryl was free to enjoy the show. However, she couldn't fully concentrate on the task at hand. Nicole and Michael had a peculiar relationship. Meryl couldn't quite put her finger on it. Every time a new assignment came up, there was always something Nicole had to discuss with him in private. Normally Meryl would have passed up these inquisitive thoughts. Seeing those two embracing each other during her first week sent off alarms in Meryl's system she had rarely, if ever, experienced. And even though her tactics are damn near flawless, Nicole’s methods seemed a little too deceptive for Meryl’s tastes.
Another vibrant slew of obscenities spilled out of the young girl’s mouth which cued Meryl to pay more attention. This required a lot of mental note-taking. Even the tiniest mistake could jeopardize the mission and their lives. This is certainly the most colorful character Meryl ever had to impersonate. At the very least, she could have some fun with it.
Michael was always touched with a bit of nostalgia entering the Assistant Director’s office as well as a lingering sense of regret. Nicole’s predecessor, Joshua McCrae had resided between these four walls for the better part of eight years. The countless pictures that used to hang in this room told a story of an intelligent leader, wonderful, husband, and caring father. Even after the walls of this office were decimated with an explosion, the shadows of those images still remain. One single oversight stole the life of a good man. Michael would never allow himself to forget it. Not that he had a choice. An eidetic memory was just one of the many genetic gifts he was granted before conception. Every second of that travesty replayed in his mind as if it were yesterday. That’s just one of many memories he wished never existed.
Sitting at her desk, Nicole dug into her files and handed Michael a particularly thin stack of papers. The first thing that caught his eye was slightly blurry image of a pair of men. One riddled with gray hair that a well pressed and luxurious suit had tried to overshadow and another carried a stern look on his face that could cut steel. Nicole provided additional insight before Michael had a chance to ask.
“The older gentleman is Charles Logan, owner of the Utopia Casino and Resort. His unique business savvy afforded him a hefty loan from a few choice corporations in order to build this empire. Thanks to his imaginative entertainment expenses, every penny of debt he owed had been fully paid back in just two years. Now he’s sitting on a multi-billion dollar piece of property that rivals most of the bigger casino franchises. Something that does not sit well with his competitors over the last few years.”
Men like this did not occupy rental space in Michael’s thoughts for too long. Despite their different methods of conducting business, all of them had the same goals in mind. Obtain a multitude of money in order to leverage power and use that influence to purchase things you can’t buy with money. This endless quest also shared a particular weakness. Once you push through all of their wealth, the men behind it all would fall apart quicker than a piece of wet tissue paper.
“However, he’s not our main target,” said Nicole.
Welcomed news as far as Michael was concerned. Chasing businessmen for white-collar crimes did not yield the same sense of satisfaction as brining justice to thieves, rapists, and murderers.
“The man standing next to Logan is Ryoo Myung-Dae, his undefeated champion for the last eighteen months. Sadly, Logan is good at keeping things quiet and cleaning up his mess once the massacre has ended. Since Ryoo has been fighting for Logan, he keeps him under tight lock and key. We haven’t been able to find out much of anything. However, some of our international allies have provided us with some interesting information.”
Nicole handed Michael a pair of photographs. What was supposed to look like the deceased bodies of two individuals came off as direct mutilation. Bones split through flesh, lifting in places that would require hundreds of pounds of force to tear through. Brain matter spilled through gaping holes seemingly drilled into their skulls. The image looked as if these unfortunate men had a run in with an entire gang of individuals yet Michael inferred this was not the case.
“These were taken about a year ago, just before Logan recruited him into his tournaments. Ryoo headlined as a bouncer for a prestigious club in Taiwan. Those were a just some examples of the poor saps that attempted to push his buttons.”
This news begged Michael to ask the obvious question.
“Ryoo did this by himself?”
“With his bare hands through various witness testimony.”
Nostalgia tickled Michael’s chest. The last person he knew with this kind of physical power was a young Russian named Kurtis who had undergone a severe identity crisis. That kid once believed he was the ultimate human soldier born through Project Mabus; and he died thinking that, never knowing that he was living in Michael’s shadow. Their similarities in strength as dictated by personal experience and these photographs could only be explained by one substance.
“Agent M.”
“Exactly,” Nicole replied. “We don’t know how he got his hands on that drug. On the surface, the bureau will believe this is a routine operation to stop illegal gambling activity. However, that is not the true purpose of this assignment. Ryoo is a killer but what we’re lacking is a clear motive for him and his supplier. His intentions and desires are all a mystery. It’s possible he’s simply driven by money since he hasn’t been linked to any specific organization other than Logan’s after entering this country. Regardless of his personal reasons, we need to trace it back to the source and shut it down permanently before its influence has a chance to spread.”
Michael wholeheartedly agreed. A substance as lethal as Agent M should remained buried in the same bunker that gave birth to him. Fighting one Kurtis was bad enough. Taking on an army of them would be beyond even Michae
l’s limits. Admitting that reminded Michael to refrain from biting off more than he could chew or else he may wind up in a similar photograph. At least this explained why Nicole would be so concerned with a case out of their jurisdiction.
Lifting herself up from her desk, Nicole walked to back window in her office and gazed at the busy scene of serenity only the city of Los Angeles is capable of.
“Asking you to be careful might be a bit cliché but I just can’t help but worry. It’s not that I don’t have faith in your abilities,” she paused, “I just wish it didn’t have to come to this.”
She turned to face Michael and found only a familiar stoic expression. He didn’t put up a fight, question her orders, or even offered an opinion on the matter. Michael listened to every word she said and would do anything and everything she asked. Just like Nicole raised him.
Hard taps resonated from Nicole’s door. The familiar calling sign of her favorite agent’s partner. She may have gotten filled up with obscene thoughts, words, and memories to cover a few lifetimes.
“Come in,” Nicole replied.
Meryl casually stepped into the office carrying a black duffle bag. She couldn’t put her finger on it but Nicole swore that Meryl had something up her sleeve. If that subtle smirk on her face didn’t pop up when she quickly glanced at Michael, Nicole would have missed it entirely.
“Had enough of her charming personality?”
“Not exactly,” started Meryl, “She’s unconscious.”
Nicole raised an eyebrow.
“You didn’t?”
Meryl smiled and shook her head.
“Not me. Sheriff’s tazed her after she jumped up and started choking her partner. That girl is fairly crafty for someone who’s got both hands cuffed behind her back.”
“That I can believe, however, why does that girl pick on him so much?” Asked a genuinely quizzical Nicole.
