by S. E. Smith
Derik watched the two men struggle to carry one of DiMaggio’s men. At this rate, he would be in and out of the building before they moved even half the pile of unconscious criminals. The thought had no sooner formed in his mind than a car drove by and Robert and Bert suddenly dropped their man back to the ground.
Shaking his head, he bent down, threw one man over his shoulder, and grabbed the arm of another. He strode by Bert and Robert. Both men watched him a moment before looking at each other.
“Show off,” Bert muttered.
“Wait until he’s our age,” Robert replied.
Several minutes later, Derik looked down at the line of unconscious men propped up against the brick building. After Robert and Bert finished tying them up, Derik stepped back and asked, “Are you two sure you can handle this?”
Bert shot him a disgusted look. “Son, Robert and I’ve been doing this kind of thing since before you were born. You go and distract DiMaggio, while I find Runt and get her to safety. Robert will finish up here and have the car ready for us.”
Derik nodded in agreement, turned on his heel, and retraced his steps to the front of the building. He was about to kick in the front doors when they suddenly opened. His booted foot hit the startled man in the stomach. The man flew through the air and landed on his back, slid across the polished marble floor, and disappeared through another set of doors. Behind him, Derik could hear Bert’s low curses.
“Any idea where Runt might be?” Bert bit out when they clearly heard yelling on the other side of the door.
RITA suddenly appeared and said, “She’s in DiMaggio’s office on the third floor. There’s a service elevator down the hall and to your left. I’ve taken control of the security system,” she added.
“Don’t get yourself killed,” Bert muttered to Derik before he turned to his left.
“I won’t,” he replied with a grim smile as he walked toward the still swinging doors.
“Well, what did you find?” Ramon DiMaggio demanded.
“There… there wasn’t…. She wasn’t carrying any computer equipment. The backpack had clothes, a pair of shoes, and a really sweet pair of headphones…. Nothing… nothing else, sir.”
Ramon bit down on his cigar and stared at the nervous young IT tech he had hired. The kid, Howard Swarovski, was supposed to be the best—according to his resume. The twenty-something young man looked more like a twelve-year-old boy. Of course, Baby-Face James had looked that way until he was in his fifties.
He loudly snapped his fingers. Howard jumped when Gabriel stepped forward, and Ramon motioned for Gabriel to bend down so he could whisper to him.
“Bring the girl to me. I don’t care if she is awake or not,” he ordered.
“Yes, Boss,” Gabriel responded.
He silently returned his gaze to his IT man, and signaled Howard to place Runt’s backpack on the table. With another wave of his hand, he dismissed the young man.
“Go check the security systems or whatever I pay you for,” he snapped.
“Yes… yes, sir,” Howard stuttered.
Ramon watched Howard hurriedly back away—right into two of his henchmen. He released a long sigh when the kid practically fell down the curved steps to the empty dance floor below.
Parents just don’t raise crooks like they used to, he thought with regret before he focused on the bag in front of him.
Unzipping one compartment at a time, he began pulling out the items inside. Soon, rolled up shirts, a pair of black cargo pants, and a mesh bag of lacy undergarments were lined up on the table in front of him. The guards snickered when Ramon held up the set of sexy black panties and matching bra.
“She has nice taste,” Ramon observed, drawing out more chuckles from his men.
He shifted his gaze from the lace he was holding between his fingers to the staircase. He grinned when he saw Runt’s eyes flash from his fingers to his face, and she scowled at him.
“Are you adding pervert to your resume? Oh, wait, I saw the pictures on your desk—you’ve already done that,” she said in greeting.
Ramon curled his fingers around the black lace, and with his other hand, he removed the cigar from between his lips. He placed it in the ashtray in front of him. Deep down, he didn’t consider himself a bad man—life was about business—though he recognized that he lived by a different set of laws. The laws he followed were set by the wealthy and politically connected. This little urchin couldn’t begin to understand, not for quite a few more years, he suspected.
“Ah, Amelia. It has been a while. Where have you been? Tormenting and stealing from other unsuspecting businessmen?” Ramon asked.
She rolled her eyes at him, pulled out the chair across from him, and sat down as if she owned the nightclub herself. He observed her with an analytical clarity, keeping his underlying resentment and nostalgia from showing in his expression. There was something about the defiant, almost bored look in her eyes that reminded him so much of himself as a young man.
“Are you finished fingering my panties?” she asked.
Ramon dropped the lace onto the table. He sat back and moodily gazed at her through half-closed eyes. Indecision coursed through him. On the one hand, Runt fascinated him. On the other, she was a thorn in his side. She was brilliant. He had no doubt about that, but she was also a threat because of her willful and defiant attitude.
He had kept tabs on her since the first time he’d heard about her. Her loser of a father, Lou ‘Left-hand’ Thomas, had bragged that his kid could hack into any computer in the world, and when Lou had started showing up to gamble with unexplained amounts of cash on hand, Ramon had started to think there might be something to what Lou had been saying.
Unfortunately, Lou not only got greedy—he also thought he held more power than he really did, blithely bragging about his only asset—Runt. Without her, he was nothing—and the two of them were nothing against Boris Avilov.
No one stole from that Russian oligarch. The mobster had a long reach. The word on the street was that he had an insider in the White House, and it turned out that it had been true—until several of President Askew Thomas’ cabinet members resigned or were arrested.
He wasn’t sure what had happened to the Vice-President, but the Secretary of State was recently charged with working as an unregistered Foreign Agent—among other things. What fascinated him was the sudden hushed chatter that Avilov and his number one man, Afon Dolinski, had vanished without a trace, leaving a huge hole in the organization that had yet to be filled.
Ramon absently scratched his large belly. He really could use Runt’s talents. The small taste he’d had when her father was alive and the changing times made him realize how much of an asset she would be to his organization. He had been trying to move up for years, but with the Russian’s connections in the White House, that was damn near impossible. Now that there was a vacuum, he might have a chance—if he had the right information on a few key Washington players. Information that Runt could access.
“I have a proposition for you,” he stated.
“No,” she immediately responded.
“Girl, didn’t you ever learn anything from your father?” Ramon growled.
She reached over and grabbed her undergarments as well as the mesh bag she kept them in. Her gaze never left his, and he knew she was creating the silence to irritate him. He grabbed his cigar off of the ashtray and brought it back to his lips where he clamped down hard on the butt.
“Yeah, never to deal with assholes like him,” she finally replied.
He leaned forward and rested his thick arms on the table. “You almost make me wish your father was still alive, Runt,” he said in a low tone.
She smirked. “Yeah, well, neither one of us miss the fact that you can’t bring back my dear, old dad,” she retorted in a voice filled with sarcasm.
Ramon pushed his chair back and stood. He had tried to be nice. Maybe it was time to show the little girl what happens when she plays in the adult world. He wanted hi
s money back. Once he had wrung out of her what she had done with it, she could either work for him or join her worthless father in the cemetery.
“Where’s my money?” he demanded.
She carefully folded her undergarments, ran her fingers along the colorful top of the mesh bag, and put all her belongings in her backpack, then she looked up at him thoughtfully… and shrugged. He ripped the stub of the cigar out of his mouth and smashed the smoldering end into the glass ashtray, littering the table with flaming bits of ash.
“Gone,” she finally replied. “I gave it to a bunch of different charities. The Humane Society thanks you for your generous donation, by the way,” she said sweetly.
“You…,” his voice faded as outrage filled him.
Gone! His money was gone. The bitch had given away five million dollars of his money to charities. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for oxygen. He furiously raised his hand and she warily watched the sudden movement. He would wring every penny, with interest, from her scrawny little neck.
He’d begun to step around the table when he heard a loud crash from the lower section of the building. He signaled to the two men standing behind Runt to find out what was going on. His eyes flickered to her face when she rolled her eyes.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“My signal to leave,” she stated, zipping up her backpack and slinging it over her shoulder.
Ramon’s retort died on his lips when he heard gunfire followed by hoarse screams. He strode over to the railing, and looked down. In the center of the room, surrounded by four of Ramon’s men lying unmoving on the ground, stood a young man dressed all in black. He held a long, glowing blade in one hand and the limp body of another guard in the other.
A shiver of horror ran through Ramon when the man looked up. Even from this distance, he could see unnatural colors swirling in the man’s eyes, and… there was something wrong with his mouth…. Were those his teeth?
“What the hell is that?” he choked out.
“Vampire. Time to leave,” Runt bluntly responded.
He glanced at Runt with a startled expression, but an unearthly snarl made him quickly return his gaze to the threat at hand. The man’s expression was possessive, and his focus was locked on Runt.
Ramon quickly reached out and gripped Runt’s arm when she started to turn around. The creature below narrowed his eyes and released a savage roar.
“Ouch!” Runt hissed when he tightened his grip on her arm.
“Kill that… that thing!” he barked at his remaining men.
Chapter Eight
Runt fought to break free of DiMaggio’s grip, gritting her teeth at his painful hold around her upper arm. Behind her, she could hear rapid gunfire.
“He’s an alien vampire, doofus! You can’t kill him,” she snapped.
“An alien?” Ramon hissed.
She stumbled when Ramon sharply turned a corner. Because of his girth, he took up more room than he realized. She bounced against the corner. The force of the impact knocked the backpack off her shoulder.
“My stuff!” she protested.
“Leave it!” he snapped.
Runt looked behind her in frustration. She had not planned on DiMaggio bringing her out into the club, but when she’d caught sight of her backpack, she’d thought things might actually work out. It’s not like she wasn’t familiar with the whole intimidation process. She had seen it dozens of times when she was a kid.
He would try to be nice. She would be rude. He would get mad, but try to reason with her. She would be ruder. He would threaten her. She would roll her eyes and goad him until he got really pissed off and gave her time to ‘think’. There was a fine line. If she pushed too hard, she would end up with weighted boots in the bay. If she gave in too quickly, he would know she was playing him for the fool that he was.
The screw-up came in the form of an alien who liked to make grand entrances! If she had been given just a couple of more minutes, she was sure DiMaggio would have sent her—and her backpack—back to his office to seriously think about her future.
Life would have been a little less adventurous, she thought as another round of gunfire filled the air—this time closer.
“You are in so much trouble!” she growled.
“I should have killed your scrawny ass when I had the chance the first time,” DiMaggio snapped back.
She stumbled when he pushed her into his office. Her eyes widened when she saw the familiar figure standing near the barred window. Bert grinned and winked at her. She hurried over to his side as DiMaggio entered the room behind her. Bert aimed his gun at DiMaggio’s head.
“No need to lock the door… it wouldn’t do much good anyway. Young Derik can demolish it with one kick,” Bert cheerfully stated.
DiMaggio froze, then uttered a long litany of expletives.
“Now, now, there is a young lady in the room,” Bert chided. ”I wouldn’t try to reach for any guns if I were you. I’m a very good shot.”
Ramon shot her a nasty look before he lifted both of his hands. He stepped to the side when Bert motioned for him to move away from the door. Runt started toward the door when DiMaggio was far enough away from it.
“What are you doing?” Bert asked.
Runt looked at her friend. “Getting my backpack. My good headphones are in it,” she said.
Bert shook his head. “Damn, girl. Can’t you hear the gunfire?” he demanded in disbelief.
She rolled her eyes at Bert. “Yes. It is downstairs. My backpack is in the corridor. I paid a lot of money for those headphones,” she replied.
“Get them and get your ass back in here. Your alien boyfriend won’t be happy if you get shot, if you know what I mean,” Bert snapped.
Runt grabbed the door handle and pulled—it was locked. She turned her head and glared at DiMaggio when he chuckled maliciously.
“You two ain’t going nowhere without me letting you out, girlie,” DiMaggio said in a smug tone.
She touched the micro-computer on her wrist. “RITA, can you please unlock the door for me?” Runt requested.
“No problem, love,” RITA replied.
She flashed a snarky grin at DiMaggio when the lock clicked, then twisted the knob and pulled the door open far enough to peek out.
“I’ll pay you six figures a year to work for me,” DiMaggio said urgently behind her.
She looked at him with dark, fathomless eyes. “You don’t get it, do you? It isn’t about the money. It’s never been about the money,” she quietly replied before opening the door and walking out.
She took a deep breath and glanced both ways to make sure the area was clear. The sound of gunfire had faded. Hurrying down the hall, she spied the strap of her backpack near the corner. She turned the corner as a figure emerged from the room across from her. She raised her hands to defend herself when he rushed her.
He wrapped his hands around her throat and pushed her back against the wall. She gasped and struggled to break free. It wasn’t until she saw the bank of computer equipment glowing through the open doorway that she realized the guy holding her must be DiMaggio’s IT guy.
“Let… me… go,” she hissed. He wasn’t much older than she was, but he was definitely stronger.
The IT guy shook his head. His eyes glittered with fear and anger. She gagged when his hands tightened.
“What is that thing down there? Where is DiMaggio?” he demanded.
“Fu…ck off,” she hoarsely replied.
She tried to kick him, but he blocked her. The thumb of his right hand was pressed against her throat, and she could feel a tingling sensation in her body as he slowly cut off her air supply.
This jerk knew more than he let on about self-defense. She had worked long enough with Cosmos and Avery to know the guy was using some kind of pressure point, martial arts maneuver on her.
“Wrong answer, sweetheart,” Howard murmured.
Runt turned her head slightly, trying to ease the increased
pressure on her neck. Spots started to dance before her eyes. She released her grip on his arm and slid the fingers of her right hand over to the micro-computer on her left wrist, and pressed down on the button.
“RI…TA,” she whispered.
The lights in the hallway flickered. Howard loosened his grip on her neck just enough to allow her to breathe again. The hair on her arms rose as the electrical charge built. Next to Howard, she could see RITA’s ghostly figure beginning to form as she accessed more power.
“What the…?” Howard choked out in horror.
The building’s lights went dark, and Howard’s normally deep voice changed to a high-pitched screech when he was suddenly lifted and tossed against the wall behind him. RITA was now life-sized and glowing in all her glory between Runt and the now not-so-brave tech. Long strands of dark red hair swirled around RITA as if she were underwater or caught in a whirlwind. The ghostly AI floated several inches off the floor, which added to the supernatural feel.
“You really shouldn’t mess with my little girl,” RITA snarled.
Runt dimly registered that the lights were back on, shining with only a small portion of their former brightness, but she couldn’t look away from RITA. The AI wore a brilliant light blue gown that sparkled with pinpoints of light. In her hand was a long sword that was pointed at Howard.
Runt slid down the wall until she was squatting next to her backpack. This was a RITA that Runt had never seen before—a furious AI in a futuristic corporeal form. The lights flickered wildly as RITA grew in size until the bulbs began to explode one by one along the entire hallway, sending tiny shards of glass all over the floor.
Runt pressed one of her hands to the floor to hold herself steady, and watched in awe as RITA pulled off a visual effect that would have made a master visual effects designer drool. The enraged AI was also in the running for an Academy award as far as Runt was concerned. She lifted a hand to her hair when she felt it rising up.
“RITA…,” she grunted out in warning.
