Watch Out for the Big Girls

by J. M. Benjamin

  Twenty minutes later, two black Ducatis pulled up and on the side of her. The riders were dressed in all black leather, from head to toe. Starr walked up to the one closest to her and took the rider’s helmet as she dismounted the bike. She strapped both of the duffle bags to the back of the bike and then climbed on. The driver of the bike jumped in the Maserati and backed up. Starr and the other motorcyclist did the same. Within seconds they all headed in different directions.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Agent McCarthy’s house phone echoed through the darkness of his bedroom, while he lay face flat into his pillow. Irritated from his rest being broken, he extended his left forearm out from under the comforter and retrieved the phone. He grunted into the receiver as a greeting. The caller’s words on the other end suddenly had him wide awake.

  “What?” he yelled as he spun over on to his back and sat upright. He had managed to tangle himself up in the bed sheets and expose his wife’s nakedness in the process. The sudden coolness from the air conditioned, chilled room woke Linda McCarthy. She moaned and mumbled something inaudible as she reached for the covers to no avail. When the bright light from the nightstand’s lamp lit up their bedroom, she slowly rolled over to see what all the commotion was about.

  “What’s wrong, dear?” she asked in the softest tone.

  He turned to peck her on the lips as he stuck his legs into his boxers and pants at the same time. “Nothing, honey. Go back to sleep. I have to go out into the field for a few hours.”

  Linda knew it was something serious, but knew he just didn’t want to alarm her. She knew she would get the details later anyway from her job, the newspaper headlines, or both. She lay back down, repossessed the sheets, rewrapped her naked body, and rolled back over in his spot. She watched him bounce around the room in haste before finally cutting the light back out and kissing her good-bye at the same time. She knew that specific kiss all too well. It was the one he used after being reminded that any day could be his last.

  * * *

  Agent McCarthy floored the gas pedal of his Audi A8 as he ripped through the highway like it was an Indy 500 racetrack. Traffic was clear for most of the way. There was still a heavy flow of semi trucks, but they moved out of the way and warned each other over their CB radios at the sound of the siren’s flashing lights that was magnetized to the Audi’s rooftop. He felt as if it was all his fault. He forced himself to believe that the blood was on his hands and nobody else’s. It was his operation. His call. And he sent two young rookies up against the most professional criminal enterprise structure that he had ever seen or ever heard of. Anger rose within him as his dipped in and out of the lanes, trying to picture how it all happened. Other than the shells, the tire marks, and the area of the murder scene, he was informed that not many clues were left.

  The Audi slowed down at the sight of swirling lights up ahead. He pulled over alongside of the dented guardrail, as close to the wrecked Chevy as he could, and jumped out, leaving his door wide open. As he strongly walked toward the scene, he noticed that the immediate area was taped off. The sight was far from pretty; there were countless numbered yellow markers scattered, labeling the shell casings. The air still smelled of stale gunpowder, burnt rubber, engine oil, gasoline, blood, and most of all death. Agent McCarthy walked up to the vehicle and could tell all eyes were on him. The CSIs of the violent crimes unit stopped what they were doing as the other agents spoke in a lower tone than before.

  “You see these?” Agent Mullin’s bloody head rested on the steering wheel. The entire left side of his face had been eaten up by each bullet that struck him at such a close proximity. Even his shattered teeth were exposed through his skinless jaw. His eyes were still open, staring through the portal of life. Sadly, they were facing the exit. His seat belt was still on. Broken glass was everywhere Agent McCarthy could see. He slowly stuck his head farther into the vehicle and looked back.

  He noticed Agent Craven had been thrown into the back seat of the car. Blood leaked from the back of his head and neck. His vest, which he wore on the outside of his shirt, was riddled with bullets. Agent McCarthy also noticed the soiling around Agent Craven’s crotch. As he looked closer he noticed something else. He called out for a member of the CSI unit to come over and use a gloved hand to pick up and pull out the strange object. The CSI officer looked at it oddly and then dropped it into a small clear plastic evidence bag before handing it over to Agent McCarthy. It was a blue hard plastic tile with an engraved circular human stick figure with a triangle dress at the waist. Agent McCarthy knew exactly what it was. It was a gender sign peeled off the door of a woman’s public restroom. It was a message to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The Double Gs apparently wanted them to know they were responsible.

  It infuriated Agent McCarthy. “Let’s go, people!” he turned around and shouted. He looked over at the CSI. “You, dust this for fingerprints. Tag and bag whatever evidence you can find. I want to know exactly what happened like I was in this vehicle myself. Speaking of which, get me that fuckin’ tape! ASAP! And I want an APB on the car they were tracking! Now!”

  * * *

  After leaving the scene, Agent McCarthy headed back to the Bureau. He got off of the elevator and went straight to his office. He shut the door behind him, further enclosing the silence of the already lifeless building. It all started to weigh down on him heavily. He removed his suit jacket and tie, and then folded them over the back of his desk chair before strolling over to his file cabinet. He reluctantly unlocked it and removed the folders of both deceased agents. He let them fall flat on his desk as he sat down and just stared down at them. Minutes passed before he was able to bring himself to open them up.

  He then reviewed their entire careers and their personal lives. It was all there. Everything was written out on paper. And, now that’s all they would be: statistics, he thought. He knew if something wasn’t done, the files would be red stamped DECEASED or TERMINATED and would be stored away, probably never to be seen again.

  It wasn’t like Agent McCarthy hadn’t experienced death on his watch or under his command before. That wasn’t the issue that ate at him inside. It was the fact that a wrong call he made resulted in two men losing their lives. Agent McCarthy banged his fist on his desk. One thing became absolutely clear to him: there wouldn’t be any more slipups or underestimations of any sort anymore from here on out.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She had been driving the Maserati Quattro Sport on the back roads for over an hour. She was almost at the specified location she was given. A few minutes later, she approached it slowly, with extreme caution. This was the biggest assignment given to her by the Double Gs since she had become a member, one that would earn trust and get her further ahead and deeper inside. She pulled into the long, dark sandlot. It was a construction site. The office building was far in the back. She parked behind it and pulled out her cell phone. She dialed another number that was already programmed in the untraceable phone strictly for Double G business affairs. It rang and a woman answered.

  “I’m here,” she declared. Once that was established, she disconnected the call, then pulled out her own cell phone and punched in a different number. It too was untraceable. A male voice answered.

  “It’s me,” she announced herself and began reporting details about what had happened. She explained what she knew and heard all the way up to the time she switched her bike for Starr’s car.

  “Look, this shit is getting too deep. I got it from here,” he proclaimed.

  “It’s too late. I’m already on. I intend to finish what we started, so relax. I’m cool. For some reason, I feel even safer actually being on their side for the moment. I’ll be safe until we bring them down.”

  “What about Queen Fem?” he asked, hoping she had any clue of who she was and her whereabouts.

  “Not even close. But trust me. I’m about to go hard and work my way up the ranks. I got the closest I’d ever been to Fields tonight. I just need opportunities li
ke this to impress her. And by any means, I’ll take it.”

  “All right. Just remember, I’m never far. Nobody else knows about you but me. I’m keeping it that way, but if need be, under my order, I’ll send the big guns to get you out.”

  “That’s it for now. I have to go.” She quickly hung up and rapidly began to delete the number as the other motorcycle pulled up behind her. In the rearview, she eyed her sidekick let the kickstand down, get off, and remove her helmet before shaking her long hair free, until she completed the deletion process. She then stepped out of the Maserati as the bike’s headlights shined on both her and the car.

  “Good job. Somebody will be here to take it from here,” she announced as she walked over toward the bike.

  “I got it from here,” she told her new cohort. Darkness reclaimed the lot as the two straddled the bike. She took hold of her arms and wrapped them tightly around her waist before she sped away from the drop-off location.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Starr pulled the Ducati into the long half-circle driveway of the secret minimansion and waited for the four-car garage door to finish elevating. She eased the bike in and waited for the door to shut behind her. She removed the duffel bags from the back of the bike, then hiked them over her shoulders and carried them over to the locked door where she punched an access code into the digital lock pad and it opened. A light beeping sound chimed as she turned to the wall’s alarm pad’s glowing numbers and keyed in another code. The beeping stopped. She cut the lights off revealing the huge chrome-furnished kitchen with marble floors and a center island with a marble countertop. She set the helmet on the countertop and strutted around, then stared up at the eighteen-foot ceiling’s chandelier as she retrieved a bottle of Avian spring water from the fridge. Twisting the top open, Starr took a refreshing sip in an attempt to drink away the migraine she adopted from the night’s events. Her state-of-the-art kitchen illuminated as she walked through it to get to her luxurious onyx graphite-furnished dining room, until she finally reached the dark living room. It was also generously spacious. The ceiling was even higher. The temperature was cool due to the constant lack of body heat. It was usually empty, but this time it wasn’t.

  Starr tightened her grip on the heavy duffel bags. She made her way toward the long mahogany and cherry wood banister of the marble half-circle, wraparound, double-end staircase.

  A voice spoke from the center of the darkness. “Sometimes solving one problem causes another or even more,” Queen Fem nonchalantly stated in her infamous articulate robotic tone. Her five foot, 160-pound frame sat seductively in the armless mink loveseat.

  Queen Fem’s voice caught Starr by surprise. She instantly dropped the duffel bags and drew her registered baby Glock 9 and pointed in Queen Fem’s direction all in one swift motion.

  Queen Fem seemed to be unfazed by her reaction. “Relax, darling,” she calmly stated. “You’re going to hurt someone with that thing one of these days.” The lamp next to her illuminated, revealing her almond tone.

  “That’s the point,” Starr retorted as her nerves recovered.

  Queen Fem flashed a warm smile that lit up her face. She was beautiful as ever. She had just crossed over into a sixth decade, but appeared to be twenty years younger. She was a woman of class. She sat looking calm, nonchalant, sophisticated, and dangerous all in one. Her presence was profoundly demanding. Her attire was tasteful and complemented her voluptuous frame. She wore a silk purple-based multicolored Vera Wang minidress that fit very snug. Her huge diamond-encrusted belt buckle pulled the center of her dress in at her waistline. Both her breasts and hips protruded in the material. Her manicured, acrylic toes protruded perfectly out of the multicolored Jimmy Choo stilettos she wore. Her expensive Indian hair, imported straight from India, was pinned up in a wrap. A single four-carat diamond dangled from a tiny platinum chain attached to the lobe of each ear. Her skin was radiant. Her speech reflected extraordinary intellect. Her tongue and lips worked together for proper pronunciation of every single syllable of every word. She spoke clearly and always in the same tone with a steady pattern of an emotionless robot. There she sat with her left leg crossed over her right knee, allowing the heel of her shoe to hang as her foot swayed.

  Starr tucked the gun back into the holster attached to her True Religion jeans. “I thought you were going back to bed.”

  “That was my plan. Things changed. Please, have a seat. Don’t be so rude,” she ordered more than asked.

  Starr sat across from her on the other side of the rectangular aquarium coffee table that sat on the short marble stand. She was on the full-length matching couch. She and Queen Fem locked eyes before Queen Fem broke the silence.

  “My insider informed me of the tragic outcome. I assure you that the FBI has no plans of taking this lightly. There’s an agent by the name of Tom McCarthy with a real hard-on for us, so to speak. Our message has been sent. We can expect them to reply with force. Be very careful, Starr. My sources also say that there is one of them planted among your side of the organization. Find out who it is and get rid of her. I want her, whoever she may be, shipped back to them in pieces. Her head last,” Queen Fem said all in one breathe. Her tone never changed as she spoke.

  Queen Fem’s words confirmed what the anonymous caller had informed Starr of. She wondered if Queen Fem’s source was the same person who had contacted her. She also wondered if Queen Fem had already known she had been contacted by the anonymous caller. Her train of thought was interrupted by Queen Fem’s next words.

  “I want to tell you a story.” Queen Fem extended her arm and gestured for Starr to sit closer. Starr rose and took the seat next to Queen Fem. “There was a father and son bull,” Queen Fem began. “They were sitting on top of a hill overlooking a pasture of female cows.”

  Starr let out a light sigh as Queen Fem told her story. At that moment she felt like a pupil listening to her teacher. She had never respected anyone more or equal to the way she did Queen Fem and she had learned a lot from her throughout the years, but she despised feeling like she was being reprimanded by her mentor the way she knew she was about to be. Still, she gave Queen Fem her undivided attention.

  “The son looks down and scans the pasture with excitement in his eyes. He then turns toward his father and says with even more excitement in his tone, ‘Dad, look at all those cows. Let’s run down there and bed one of them.’ The father looks over at the son and smiles, the way a proud parent does to his child. He understands his son’s eagerness, his hunger and excitement. But he knows that his son does not know what he knows, just as he didn’t when he and his own father sat on top of the very same hill. He reaches out and places his hand on his son’s young shoulder and says”—Queen Fem turned to Starr, leaned over and, placing her well-manicured hand on top of Starr’s, made eye contact with Starr before she continued—“he says, ‘No, son, let’s walk down there and bed them all.’”

  Starr couldn’t help but chuckle a little. She actually enjoyed Queen Fem’s story, which was surprising to her.

  “Now do you understand why I keep stressing to you that our organization is about control and conquering, not money?” she stated rather than asked. “The money comes along with that.”

  Starr nodded respectfully. She was appreciative of Queen Fem’s wisdom.

  “Good.” Queen smiled revealing her pearl white teeth, which resembled piano keys, for the first time that evening. “Moving right along,” she changed the subject. “Right now, we have their attention. They took us lightly because they thought we were after the streets. Now, they see that’s not the case. They now realize who our primary targets are. The same way the Illuminati infiltrated the Masons, the House of Representatives, the U.S. Senate, the Judiciary Committee, and the presidency. It’s all done in stages. We will do the same, but with a much more tactical approach. It took them centuries. It will not take us any more than another decade.”

  “So, what now?” Starr asked as she crossed her own legs and folded h
er arms under her breasts as she reclined.

  “Now, we finally benefit from keeping our hands clean. We will come out of hiding. We will show the world who we really are and what we are made of.”

  Starr listened with a blank stare plastered across her face.

  “Are you with me, my dear?” Queen Fem questioned.

  Starr grinned. “Yes, Queen. I’m with you.” She made sure to maintain her eye contact with Queen Fem.

  “Fabulous! That’s my Starr.” Queen opened her arms. “Now come over here and give me a kiss.”

  Once their meeting was done, a limousine escorted by two much older female motorcyclists and choppers pulled back into the half-circle driveway. Queen Fem could hear the familiar engines approaching from inside the minimansion. She looked at her watch. “Oh, my time’s up. I will be seeing you soon. Do remember everything we’ve spoken about tonight,” she said to Starr.

  The two women stood up, hugged, kissed both sides of each other’s cheeks, and parted. Queen Fem’s heels echoed with every tap on the marble floor until she was back out through the huge foyer. She opened the large, thick oak wood double doors, shut them, and then locked them behind her. She greeted two of the original Double G members, who sat on Harleys, with the wave of her hand as she stepped into the stretch Maybach. The suited female chauffeur gently closed the door after her and then returned to the driver’s seat before driving off.

  Starr shook her head and smiled as she stared out of the ten-foot window. She thinks she’s the damn queen of England. She chuckled to herself. She then shut the vertical wall-length thick drapes and went to continue conducting her business. She picked the duffel bag back off the floor and headed upstairs. She entered the master suite and made her way to the safe. She typed in the access code and a tiny bulb switched colors from red to green. Starr swung the door open and transferred the money from the bag to the vault. When she was done, she locked it back up and exited the hidden room. Only two people knew about the storage room: she and Queen Fem.