Dixon

by Kris Michaels

  Smithson nodded and started undressing. Dixon winced when the man took off his undershirt. The number of scars littering the skin of the man's back reminded him of Joseph's, but there was an array of dark purple bruises along the man's ribs. Seems Dixon's fists weren't the first ones laid on Smith today.

  "What happened?" Drake nodded to the man's back when Smithson looked up.

  Smith shrugged and passed his clothes to Drake. "Like I said, they jumped me." Drake handed him his t-shirt and socks after checking them. They secured him in the interior bedroom. He had access to the en suite bathroom and the television. Dixon propped a chair against the door and took an ornate white and gold ceramic vase off a table. He propped it at an angle on the chair. If the chair moved, the vase would fall, and Smithson would be a dead man.

  As he turned, he noticed his twin carrying in a large duffle. The familiarity of the bag sent relief through his body and a smile to his face. "Did you bring her?"

  "Like I'd leave her at home." Drake opened the duffle and pulled out Dixon's favorite semi automatic forty-five caliber pistol. The thing was old, but she was true. He could shoot a gnat off a toad's ass at a hundred yards with this pistol. His shoulder holster followed, and then Drake got down to business. Dixon examined each of the weapons his brother pulled out, filled his vest with zip-ties, a taser, extra rounds, magazines, a lighter, flashlight, and two pairs of gloves. Drake plunked down three bundles on the couch. Each was designed to attach to his tactical vest. One held blasting caps and det cord, the other enough C4 to level the floor they were currently occupying and the third, well, the third contained a small device that was cushioned in a box. He glanced at the bundle and then at Drake.

  "What? I figured it might come in handy. Who knows, right?"

  "Thanks." Dixon grabbed the smallest bundle, stripped it of its vest attachment and dropped the box into his pocket. It was always good to have insurance and the duress signal that would bring every Guardian in the tri-state area to their rescue was the best insurance he could ever have.

  "Okay, start talking." Drake dropped the empty duffle on the floor by the pristine white couch and leaned back.

  A knock at the door startled both of them. Dixon grabbed the vase, put it back on the table and Drake moved the chair before he dashed into the room where Smith was being held. Dixon jogged to the door and cracked it open. "Sorry, it took so long to get back to you, sir. The main desk indicated there was a delivery for you earlier, so I waited for the bellhop to retrieve it from the storage area before I brought the key up."

  Dixon took the envelope. The return address told him it was from his office in New York. Paperwork that had been sent before he decided on the last-minute dash to the airport. He smiled and pulled a fifty out of his money clip. "Thank you. Would you do me another favor? Would you have dinner sent up, service for three? I will be having some associates join me. Steaks and sides. I'll trust your judgment."

  "Yes sir, I'll handle that immediately."

  Dixon shut the door and palmed the emergency duress button in his pocket. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to use it.

  Chapter 19

  His brother walked into the room as Dixon stood staring at the floor. He motioned to the chair. Drake slid it under the doorknob and Dixon balanced the vase on the arm again.

  "Do you think he'll try to leave?" Drake asked as he sat down on the couch. He pulled his automatic out of his jacket and laid it on the plush, white armrest.

  Dixon shrugged. "Beats the fuck out of me. Nothing has gone as planned."

  "Hey!"

  "Other than you. I know I can always count on you."

  "Whatever it takes."

  "For as long as it takes." Dixon finished. "I ordered dinner. I need to bring you up to speed and let you know my thoughts on how to proceed."

  Drake leaned back, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt. "Roger that, but how about we start with the fact that this woman is living with you."

  "Joy."

  Drake nodded.

  "Joy is..."

  "Essential, I got that, but I need just a little bit more."

  Dixon nodded but parried his brother's question with one of his own. "What about the woman you're serious with now? You said there was someone, right? Who is she?"

  Drake narrowed his eyes a fraction of an inch. "Tit for tat?"

  "Deal." Dixon agreed.

  "Dr. Jillian Law."

  "Why is that name familiar?" Dixon flashed through the women they'd been with until the connection triggered. "Silly Jilly? Dude, she's Cliff's kid!"

  Drake's neck reddened. "She's all grown up now, man."

  "No shit?"

  "Happens."

  "You don't say." Dixon shook his head. Silly Jilly. She was all glasses and knobby knees. Braces too, he definitely remembered Jilly with tinsel teeth.

  "So, Joy?" Drake prompted.

  "Ah, I told you she was a hired killer who was on a job. That's where we met."

  "Yeah, but man, I'm having problems connecting the dots. When did you get together?" Drake leaned forward and grabbed their drinks off the table where they'd abandoned them when Smith had interrupted their conversation.

  "Well, we got together that night, like three minutes after we met. We fought and then one thing led to another." It was Dixon's turn to feel a flush start up his neck.

  Drake's drink stopped midway to his mouth. "Say what now?"

  "There was an immediate attraction." Dixon stared at the drink in his hand. His mind flashed through those first instances and then thought of the last time they'd slept together. The term magical was too prissy and hokey to use, but damned if he didn't think it anyway.

  Drake finished the movement of his arm and took a sip of the liquor. "Now it's more?"

  "We've connected. It's more." Dixon mimicked his brother's actions and took a small sip of his drink.

  "And she's a killer?"

  "And we aren't?" Dixon snapped his response.

  "Whoa, dude, that was not judgment." Drake lifted his hand as if Dixon were a frightened colt. "Sorry for restating the obvious, but I'm still taking in all the information. You've lived it all these months, I haven't."

  Dixon drew a deep breath and blew it out in a steady stream, relaxing the muscles in his shoulders and back as he did. His brother was right, he needed to chill the fuck out and bring him up to speed. "Sorry."

  "No need to apologize, D. Just start at the beginning and fill me in." Drake shifted, stretched out his legs and leaned back.

  "Highlight reel." Dixon chuckled at the term they used with each other when filtering bullshit. "You first."

  Drake chuckled and lifted his eyes to the ornate chandelier. "Went to Cliff’s after I dropped you off. We didn't know Stratus was hunting us. Jillian had a few really random things happen and Cliff had convinced her she needed someone to look out for her. Enter me. Turns out she's patented a new technology to miniaturize solar arrays while enhancing the efficiency. We, and I use the term ‘we’ to include Guardian, believed that someone might be after that tech."

  "No shit. That could have a ripple effect in the energy community. The OPEC countries would pay to make the tech go away."

  "Or make her go away."

  "Truth."

  "We flew to San Jose and picked up the tech. Took a very long road trip ending at what used to be Joseph's cabin in Wyoming."

  "Used to be?" Dixon blinked at his brother. "What did you do?"

  "Blew the fucker to the moon."

  "Holy shit. And Joseph let you live?"

  "It would seem."

  "Well, fuck me."

  "No thanks."

  "Wasn't an offer."

  "Then don't say it."

  Dixon snorted and rolled his fingers, encouraging Drake to continue.

  "Before we made a stand, Guardian figured out that Stratus was actually tracking me, Maliki, Chief, and Taty."

  "Why not me?"

  "Our assumption was Daddy dearest was p
rotecting you."

  "Fuck me."

  "I'd rather not."

  "Ass."

  "Jerk."

  "Is everyone okay?"

  "Solid. Maliki was almost killed. He's in Arizona, laying low."

  "The facility in Arizona is up and running?"

  "It could have been, but Jason pulled the plug. It is a ghost town except for Maliki and a skeleton staff. Less footprint to attract attention. We don't have the same local shield as we do in Hollister."

  Dixon nodded. The town of Hollister, South Dakota had absorbed the Guardians, and the locals refused to talk about anyone who worked at Frank's ranch. It was the tightest lipped community on the planet.

  "The big guy said he'd start operations in Arizona once we find a level ground with Stratus. Right now, we don't know or understand the extent of the organization or what they know about us." Drake confirmed what Dixon already knew. Stratus was a virus, and no one knew how much of the world was infected.

  Dixon glanced at his brother. "Okay, that's why you're dead."

  "Me and Jillian."

  Dixon's gut dropped. His mentor would be devastated. "Fuck, what about Cliff..."

  "He was told when it was safe. So was her brother. But the rest of the world believes we are dead." Drake drained his drink and pointed at Dixon. "Your turn. Highlight reel."

  "Just a minute. Are you going to marry her?"

  "Not until your ass gets back to the ranch. She turned me down. Said she wanted me whole again before we got married. She knows us. She understands."

  Dixon stared past his brother's shoulder. He was glad Drake had found his woman. He deserved to be happy.

  "Your turn."

  Drake's reminder pulled him from his thoughts.

  "Drove to New York and against Jason's wishes, I didn't show up on Daddy dearest's doorstep, but I did make a big blip on his scope. Made him track me down instead of appearing out of the blue. That's how I met Smith." He glanced at the door. "I think our old man wanted to keep me close. I was hoping that the work I did for him would prove my fealty, but I found out I was just doing a puppet on a string dance for him. He didn’t trust me." Dixon shook his head. "He gave me a job working for him. I was shaking down pimps, pulling the last dollar from the fist of whores who were strung out on the drugs he sold to them. I hunted down drug dealers who tried to cut into his take, shook down merchants for 'insurance' money, and roughed up the local bookies for skimming the profits. You know, fine, upstanding, work for our fine, upstanding, old man."

  Dixon slugged the rest of his drink and handed it to Drake. His brother lifted off the couch and went to the bar. Dixon continued as Drake refilled the tumblers, "I did that for shit...forever, but it was only for about four...no five months. After that, he pulled me into The Residence.”

  "The what?" Drake interrupted

  "The egomaniac named his fucking house, he called it The Residence. He had a brass nameplate at the front door."

  "You’re shitting me. You mean like The White House or The Taj Mahal?"

  "Exactly, anyway, that is when I realized the bastard was sicker than either of us could conceptualize." He closed his eyes and tried to chase away the image of the people that had died because he hadn't chosen between them. The thought of the sick mothers that he'd extorted a building from, and the list of names he was authorized to take out. The people that circled in his father's infected waters made him sick. Then there was that wall of fucking horror behind the bookshelf. The pictures of him as a child. The memories of what he'd endured and the innocence on the face of his half brother.

  "Hey, I'm right here. Breathe." Drake's voice called to him from a distance, only it wasn't a distance, the man was next to him on the couch. He felt the familiar touch of a reassuring hand on his shoulder and glanced over at the exact same eyes that looked back at him from the mirror every morning.

  He took a breath and continued, "Joy is my sanity. At first, it was completely physical. We'd fuck. She'd walk. The perfect way to blow off the stress of dealing with him."

  Drake snorted, "We've been blowing off a lot of steam, brother. Since the day we figured out sex was a thing."

  Dixon chuckled, "Fuck you."

  "No thanks."

  "Ass."

  "Jerk."

  He flipped off Drake and continued, "Then she started showing up at my apartment. The woman has no clue what a boundary is or even how to find one." Dixon laughed and felt some of the darkness fall from around him. "She is a dichotomy of personalities rolled up into a sexy as fuck package. I mean one minute she's dressed in haute couture and the next she's wearing cargos, combat boots and slitting throats. She grunts like Frank, swears more than anyone on Alpha Team and then turns around and...brings me a scraggly assed Christmas tree with lights and a star." Dixon thought about their time together on Christmas Eve. The truths she'd told him. When she offered her heart on a platter, exposed and beating, just for him. "Dude, I'm telling you I never, I mean never, know where she's coming from or where she's going for that matter."

  "It’s been a hell of a ride, though, huh?" Drake elbowed him.

  " I think I love her." Dixon said the words and flicked his eyes to his brother.

  "Did it hurt?"

  "What?"

  "Admitting that?"

  "Fuck you."

  "Again, no thanks." They laughed, and Drake raised his crystal tumbler. "A toast. To the women in our lives who make us sane."

  Dixon lifted his glass and drank to the toast. "I'm going after her."

  "I didn't doubt it for a second."

  "I'm going to need you to help."

  Drake nodded. "You'd pay hell keeping me out of this."

  "What do you know about the labor laws of the United States, the World Trade Organization, and the International Labor Organization?"

  "Fuck, not much, why?"

  "I'm thinking Senator Simmons is going to give his first filibuster."

  Drake pointed at himself. "As in me?"

  "As in you." Dixon acknowledged.

  Drake snorted, "Mr. Simmons goes to Washington?"

  "That's the plan."

  Drake sighed, "Fuck me."

  "No thanks."

  "Ass."

  "Jerk."

  "Where do we start?" Drake pulled the computer from where it sat on the cushion next to him and placed it on the coffee table in front of them.

  "We need to get you up to speed on international trade law. You have to delay that vote until I text you and let you know you're clear. The vote was scheduled to be on C-SPAN, so I'm hoping a filibuster will be televised as well. That will keep the eyes that are supposed to be on me, on, well…me…who is you."

  "Okay, your vehicle is taken care of. There is a Guardian suburban in the parking garage three blocks over."

  "There are six ways to exit this hotel according to what I pulled off the internet. You are going out the front door to the Hill. Five minutes later, I'm going out the employee entrance near the kitchen."

  "You're hoping if there are any eyes on you, they will fall on me as I go. Only D, I have no fucking idea where I'm going."

  "That isn't a problem. My entourage will be arriving first thing tomorrow morning. All you need to do is look at your phone, act distracted, and they will martial you to where you need to be. The important thing is to get the floor and not to yield it. While you are regaling the world about the lack of progress of the United States labor laws compared to other nations that are less developed, I'll be working my way to Virginia and finding Joy."

  "What about him?"

  "We are what...five blocks from Guardian Headquarters?"

  Drake blinked and nodded. "I thought we needed to keep any connection to Guardian out of the equation."

  "We are. No one will make the connection. He is going to wait here with an overwatch that no one can see."

  Drake lifted an eyebrow. "Who is going to do the surveillance?"

  Dixon sighed and scrubbed his face. "We'll reach out t
o Jade. She can assign someone, on the QT."

  Drake shook his head. "Ten bucks says he'll call Stratus or disappear."

  "The phones go with us." Dixon wasn't worried about the damn phones.

  Drake shook his head. "He could blow everything. If he says a word to anyone, our operation is compromised, and your woman is as good as dead. Are you sure you want to risk it?"

  "There isn't a risk. Jade will come through for us." Dixon gazed at the bedroom door. "Open that computer."

  "I'm trusting you on this because you’re in the trenches, but all I smell here, D, is shit."

  "Don't worry, you get used to it."

  "I don't think that will happen."

  Dixon waited as Drake turned on the computer. "Okay, what was the name of that movie?"

  "Paint Your Wagon."

  Drake tapped the keys and then laughed. "Dude, it's a musical with Clint Eastwood and Lee Marvin."

  "Say what now?" Dixon leaned over and looked at the search engine.

  "How have we not watched that?" Drake chuckled, "Who knew Clint or Lee could sing?"

  "Right?" He nodded to the screen. “Type in the title of the film plus the words, rain and Tess."

  He watched as Drake did as he asked. The top three hits on the screen showed a song...They Call the Wind Maria.

  "Recognize the name, Maria?"

  Dixon shook his head. He didn't know anyone by the name of Maria. "Hit play."

  Drake did, and after a fucking commercial the world stopped spinning with the first word of the song.

  "Moriah. Not Maria." Dixon whispered. The sound of the man's voice faded into the background. "It can't be. I wasn't supposed to have any help from Guardian." He looked up at his brother.

  "You don't know she's actually that Moriah.” Drake muted the music. "We need to take a breath and listen to the whole damn thing to make sure there isn't something else."

  Dixon nodded, and they started the song over.