I fucked her into a coma.
The voice was familiar, but Brad couldn’t place it, not with only a single word to go on, or the thick fog of earliest morning confusion clouding his head. “Yeah,” he repeated.
“I have the info you wanted.”
It’s Thaddeus.
“Is this Thaddeus?”
“Of course,” the voice said. “Who else would it be?”
Umm ... anyone?
“What time is it?”
A slight pause, then Thaddeus said, “11:12.”
“A.M. or p.m.?” Brad felt stupid for asking.
“P.M.,” Thaddeus said, then, “You OK, Hammer?”
“Yeah, I’ve just been out for a bit I guess. Don’t you think it’s a little late to be calling?”
“No,” he said, and for the first time Brad realized Thaddeus was trying to keep an edge of panic from his voice. “I got the info you asked me to get, and you said to call you as soon as I had it. You wouldn’t want this to wait until morning. Besides, I have to tell you now.” Brad could hear Thaddeus swallow.
Something about his voice sent a chill through his body. The guy was terrified.
“OK, shoot,” Brad said, feeling cautious. “What do you have?”
“Not over the phone. I need to tell you in person. Can we meet?”
“Yeah, of course.” He looked over at Courtney’s still body just as she croaked another snore through her nose. He didn’t want to leave her again, especially after she had taken care of him for days after his idiot accident with the Bigfoot. “How does the morning sound? I can get there first thing.”
Thaddeus paused too long, and Brad’s heart skipped a beat. He knew what the hoarding fuck was going to say before he did. “Now, Hammer. It has to be now.”
The guy was clearly scared shitless, and trying without much success to keep the fear from killing every other note in his voice. Brad swallowed. “I’ll be right there. Twenty minutes.”
He killed the call, dropped the phone on the nightstand, threw the covers from his body, got out of bed, grabbed a pair of jeans, T-shirt and socks, got dressed, then leaned into the bed, kissed Courtney on her cheek, grabbed his gun, and slipped on his shoes as he slipped out the door. Brad was turning the key in his Lincoln less than two minutes after ending his call with Thaddeus.
He pulled into the street and floored it.
He raced across town and managed to pull up to Thaddeus’ apartment in 14 minutes, though the trip would have usually nudged a half hour, at least. He opened the door, oddly nervous, his heart beating fast and sweat beading his brow. His instincts screamed, hating everything about this, and not trusting the something in Thaddeus’ voice that wasn’t just afraid, but intimidated, working overtime not to melt into panic.
Hammer pounded on the door, not at all surprised to hear nothing in return.
“Thaddeus!” he yelled, pounding again, harder.
Nothing.
Hammer didn’t bother knocking a third time. He drew his gun, kicked in the door, and tore into Thaddeus’ pitch-black apartment, his heart racing as he held his gun in front of him. “Thaddeus!” he yelled, knowing he would hear no response.
He flipped on the light. What he saw would have normally had him thinking the house had been ransacked looking for answers — piles of garbage, magazines, broken electronics, furniture harboring high mountains of paper — but this was what Thaddeus’ place looked like when he was expecting company.
“Thaddeus!” Brad cried out again, his gun still held a bent arm’s length in front of him as he crept through the cluttered apartment, rounding the giant fridge in the not-too-large living room, then heading through the kitchen, empty of breathing, save for his own, but piled high with an endless array of dirty dishes, open containers of food and smears of grease across the counter, almost glowing in the kitchen’s dim light.
In the hallway just outside the kitchen, Brad saw what was once one of Division 69’s best and brightest minds — before about a hundred too many trips with DMT — wearing the same Van Halen tee he had been wearing when last Brad saw him.
But this time Thaddeus wasn’t prattling. He would never whisper another word, and his bright mind would never light again. Not with a neat hole in his forehead, and about a gallon of blood in a sticky blanket under his body.
Thaddeus was dead, and although he could feel the shooter gone, Brad knew he was the next target, and that the horror was only just starting.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
EPISODE 8
CHAPTER 1 — Brad Hammer
Brad looked from Thaddeus’ dead body and into his dimly lit, cluttered apartment, searching everywhere and wondering what he should do. Half of his instincts were ordering him to get the fuck out since whoever ended Thaddeus was likely after him, and probably not too far away, if not watching the place right now. The other half wanted to tear the apartment to pieces.
Where would I even start?
Spatz — the geeky former Division 69 scientist turned erotica e-book writer — might know something, if he wasn’t somehow behind the hit.
Brad tore from the apartment, hopped in his Lincoln, and raced across town, scrolling through his contacts while steering and hoping to goddamn hell that he had the most current information.
Spatz lived almost exactly halfway between Brad and Thaddeus, in the back house of a duplex in a quiet residential neighborhood. He swung up onto the lawn, opened the Lincoln without closing the door, then marched past the first house and into the back. Without bothering to knock, he kicked the door in, gun drawn, and marched through the house looking for Spatz.
Brad found him sound asleep in his bedroom. His snores were deep — though not as deep as Courtney’s — and almost enough by themselves to convince Brad of his innocence. It would be hard to believe anyone could kill Thaddeus, race back home, hop into bed, and be halfway to dead before Brad got there when he figured the shooter had him by 20 minutes at the most. That didn’t stop Brad from leaping onto Spatz’ bed, climbing on top of his body, and shoving his gun in between his lips.
“Wake the fuck up!”
Spatz opened his eyes so wide they looked like they were about to roll from their sockets and onto his floor. They started leaking immediately.
Fucking pussy.
Brad growled, “Who did you tell?”
“What?” he whimpered. His eyes flashing with confused terror. Even if Spatz hadn’t pulled the trigger — which Brad couldn’t really see him doing at all — he might have had something to do with his death. If Thaddeus was to be believed, then the asshole in bed was the only one he told about the transmitter in Brad’s arm.
He took the butt of his gun and slammed it hard into Spatz’s shoulder. Spatz cried out like a fallen soldier. Brad repeated, “Who did you tell?”
Spatz said, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” so Brad took the butt of his gun and slammed it hard onto Spatz’s opposite shoulder, hoping to jog his memory.
Spatz started crying. Through his tears he simpered, “What the fuck, Hammer? Just tell me what you want and I’ll help you.”
“Thaddeus came to you with a transmitter of some kind. Who did you tell about it? Lie to me again and I’ll empty my gun in your fucking face.”
“The transmitter? I didn’t know that was from you,” Spatz said. “Thaddeus never told me. He just gave me the transmitter and asked me to look into it. I promised I would, but I didn’t say anything to anyone. I swear.”
“Fuck, Spatz!” Brad yelled, rolling off from the bed. “Are you pissing yourself?”
“No,” he cried, as piss spread through the covers. Then, through heavier sobs he whimpered, “What do you expect, coming into my bedroom and putting a gun in my mouth? You’d probably piss yourself, too!”
“No,” Brad said. “I wouldn’t.” He holstered his gun, kneeled, curled his fingers tightly into Spatz’s hair, then pulled, yanking his head down until their eyes were inches apart. “One last tim
e, Spatz, who did you fucking tell?”
“No one ... ” Spatz insisted, madly shaking his head, even though it had to hurt since Brad was giving resistance and pulling the root. “ ... I swear.”
“Thaddeus would beg to fucking differ,” Brad said, then with the free hand that wasn’t yanking a handful of Spatz’s hair, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, made a few swipes with his thumb, then thrust a photo of Thaddeus lying in a bed full of blood into Spatz’s face.
Spatz sobbed louder. Brad was sure he would have added more piss to the bed if he hadn’t already emptied his bladder.
“Oh, my God; oh, my God; oh, my God,” Spatz repeated, as if three times might bring Thaddeus back. “He’s dead?!”
“Sure as shit,” Brad said. “And unless he tripped and fell on a bullet, that crap wasn’t an accident. I don’t have too many loose lips on my list, Spatz, except the pair that were swallowing my barrel a few minutes back. Unless you come up with a pretty good goddamn explanation in the next minute, I’m afraid I’m going to have to narrow that list to one. Any fucker who would turn Division secrets into cheap erotica deserves to be at the top of the list anyway, regardless of what happened with Thaddeus. It’s a miracle Division hasn’t thrown you some place cold and dark already.”
He loosed his grip on Spatz’s hair so the fucker could gather some breath. After a minute or so of steady breathing, Spatz said, “I was on the phone with Thad earlier, we were talking about the chip when all of a sudden he started getting all weirded out.”
“Weirded out how?”
“Saying he thought he heard clicking sounds on the phone or something.”
“Like someone listening?”
“Yeah, but that dude was always paranoid. Next thing I knew, he clammed up. Didn’t want to say another word about the transmitter, and didn’t want me to either. He said we had to meet up, right then. I waited for a few hours, but he never showed so I went to bed.”
“You went to fucking bed?” Brad roared, grabbing Spatz by the collar of his pajamas. “Your friend tells you he thinks he’s in danger, or being listened to, demands that you meet, then doesn’t show, and you hit the fucking hay?!”
“I didn’t do shit, man, OK? I figured Thad was smoking out or taking some meeting of the alien minds with another DMT trip. I sure as shit didn’t think anyone actually got to him. Thad was always acting like that. I had no reason to think this time was any different.”
“Fuck!” Brad screamed, then stood and started pacing the room.
Spatz said, “Did you check his cam feed?”
Brad turned back to Spatz. “What?”
“His cam feed. Thad ran a 24-hour cam feed to a private URL. I told you he was paranoid. I don’t know what he thought would happen to him, but I’m guessing whatever he was always expecting, finally did.”
Brad stared at Spatz, trying to process.
“I’m guessing from your face that you have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“Do you have the URL?”
“No, but I’ll have it within 48 hours of the last time Thaddeus checked in with his mailer program.”
The geek speak was making Brad want to pull his trigger until it went click. “What fucking mailer program?”
“Thaddeus set a system in place to e-mail me his information should he fail to check in after a 24-hour period.”
“You?” Brad asked, “You’re the only one?”
Brad was suddenly concerned that he would appear on Thaddeus’ video, going to his apartment a few days before, after he woke up with weird shit in his arm.
GODDAMMIT!
That was definitely intel Brad didn’t want in the open, preferring it stay between him and the recently deceased.
I hope that crazy fuck turned his camera off at least that long.
Spatz sighed, relief taking the place of his fear. “Yeah, I’m the only one, at least that I know of.”
“I want you to send me the info the second you get it,” Brad said. Then, “On second thought, I think you should come stay with me, just to make sure you’re not the next target. Get dressed and grab your laptop.”
Spatz looked up at Brad, seeming for a second like he might argue, then he said, “Can you turn around?”
“No, I won’t fucking turn around!” Brad said. “If you think I’m going to turn my back to an asshole I don’t 100 percent trust, you’re as crazy as your buddy, Thaddeus.”
“OK,” Spatz sighed, then threw the covers from his body and got out of bed, naked from the waist down.
“Wow,” Brad said, unable to help himself. “That’s a tiny dick.”
Spatz got bold. “It’s just enough for your mother,” he said.
Brad laughed. “Hurry up and get dressed, asshole. We have a long day in front of us.”
“Mind if I take notes, you know, for stories.”
“Fuck you,” Brad said.
XXX
CHAPTER 2 — Courtney Grayson
Courtney was awake when Brad walked through the door. “What the fuck, Hammer?” she said before it shut behind him.
“Sorry,” he said immediately, probably because her face was red and angry, and he wanted to diffuse her temper as quickly as possible. “You were dead asleep when I left, and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You couldn’t leave a note?”
Of course I could have. Fuck!
“Sorry,” Brad stared at his toes. “I should have. I just had an emergency. I’ll fill you in.”
Courtney pointed at Spatz, standing behind Brad. “What’s Division’s only erotica author doing here?”
Brad turned around, grabbed Spatz by the arm, then yanked him to the front. “He’s going to be staying with us for a couple of days. I promise, I’ll fill you in in a second. I have to piss first.” He turned toward the bathroom, then back to Courtney. “You know he’s an erotica writer?”
“Sure,” Courtney shrugged. “His stuff’s decent, too.”
Brad looked puzzled as Courtney turned to Spatz. “Good shit,” she said.
“Thanks,” he half-smiled, clearly embarrassed. With his face turning redder as words left his mouth, Spatz said, “The character of Agent Monica Bleu is based on you.”
“I know,” Courtney smiled, further confounding Brad.
She could see the WTF on his lips, and all over his face, but he said nothing, just turned, went into the bathroom, and took one of the endless pisses he sometimes did after holding it for too long, which he did more often than he should.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked Spatz, hoping he would say no.
He shook his head, said, “That’s OK,” waited a second, then added, “Unless you have a bed. Or coffee. I was asleep when Agent Hammer came over.”
“What a coincidence,” Courtney laughed. “I was asleep when he left. The couch is a pullout,” she pointed to the sofa. “You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable there. I’ll go get you some blankets.”
By the time Courtney had Spatz all set up on the sofa she met Brad in the bedroom. He was out of the bathroom, not just eliminated but freshly showered and wearing only a towel.
“Thanks, asshole,” she said. “You couldn’t have waited for me?”
“Sorry,” he shrugged, “I didn’t even think about it. You never want to shower because you ‘want your space,’ unless I missed something.”
“Jesus Christ,” she shook her head. “You can be so dim. You bring Spatz the erotica writer here and tell me he’s going to be staying with us. That automatically means we’re not going to get many chances to fuck. Our place is too small, and he’s too creepy. He’d probably be at our door with his ear to the wood. No thanks. I do like my space, but I already have less of that. If he’s here for two days, well, that’s probably at least six times you’re gonna wanna fuck me, Hammer. Where do you think we should do that? Maybe in the shower, hiding under the sounds of running water?”
Brad laughed. “Sorry, baby, I didn’t even think of t
hat. But I’m sure as shit glad that you are! Wanna hop back in now? I’m certain I can find a few spots I didn’t quite clean.”
“No,” she smiled. “You’re too late. The mood’s gone. Maybe later. Right now I just want to be filled in.”
“I’ll fill you in,” he grinned.
“Tell me what I need to know, Hammer.”
“You need to know that all the talk about showering has made me hard. Now I need to know what you’re going to do about it.”
“Nothing until I know why Spatz is here, and why you had to leave in the middle of the fucking night without leaving a note.”
“And what will you do after you know everything?” he asked, grinning wider.
“Well, I don’t think I can do anything too loud, and I know how you get all grunty when you’re inside me. So how about I just jack you off really quick?”
Brad was already tenting his towel.
“What about when I finish?” he asked. “Will you take it in the mouth?”
“Hmmm ... ” she whisper-moaned. “I’ll aim it like it’s target practice and slurp it like a smoothie.”
“What if we do that first?”
“Get on with it, Hammer. The quicker you spill, the quicker you spill.”
Brad laughed, said OK, then filled her in on everything.
“Wow,” she said. “And you don’t think Spatz knows anything more than he’s saying?”
“Nope, not at all. You should’ve seen him. He pissed the bed and everything. I think he would’ve told me he thinks of his brother while fucking his mother if he thought it would get me to put the gun away. The guy does not hold up well under pressure. If he knew something, he would’ve said.”
“So what do you think?”
“I think Thaddeus’ phone was bugged, and that whoever bugged it heard he knew too much and took care of business.”
“Well, obviously,” Courtney said. “But what about beyond that? What else do you think — what are you worried about? I can see it’s something, it’s all over your face.”
The XXX Files Season Two (Episodes 5-8) Page 11
