by Laer Carroll
“Be careful.”
“I will. I’ll call back when I’m done.”
“OK.” The phone went dead at his end.
Beth floated up to the front door and knocked. Loudly.
A minute or so later someone opened the front door. Big, paunchy but muscled, in jeans and blue-and-white checked shirt. Mexican. A pistol in one hand, tucked just behind one leg.
He looked out. Bent his head to look to left and right at the sides of the house.
There was just enough clearance for her to float over his head into the house before he closed and re-locked the door .
In Spanish he said, “There’s no one there. What the fuck?”
The living room was big, with three couches and several easy chairs, a couple of low tables, one regular height table. Four men sat in straight-back chairs around it, playing cards.
Two other men were watching soccer on a big flat-screen TV. One of them was Sanchez.
There was no organization to the furniture that she could see. Drug gangs were apparently not big on feng shui.
One of the men at the table looked up from his cards. He was more slender and had a mustache, unlike the door opener.
“Probably those fucking kids from across the street. We’ll have to make an example of one of them.”
A young Anglo woman in a tight red tee-shirt and miniscule white shorts was leaning on his shoulder. Her nipples were big and visible against the thin red cloth.
Miguel had not mentioned women. There were four more in the room, dressed just as skimpily. All were young, all the different races.
They were a complication. She flicked into visibility in the middle of the room. She spoke, inhuman lungs projecting her words like missiles.
“Women! All out! NOW!”
She called up lightning bolts, weak enough not to kill. Strong enough to shock. They struck each woman. The woman leaning on the man at the table shared her pain with him.
All the women shrieked. A man at the table yelled, stood up, tripped over a chair leg, and fell down.
“Women! All out! NOW!”
More lightning bolts struck the women. They shrieked again. One broke and ran toward one of the two halls opposite the front door. The others followed her in a herd. She sped them on their way with a third volley of bolts.
She disappeared.
All the men were standing now. Each had guns. Mostly pistols. One had a miniature machine gun: a machine pistol.
“What the Hell was that?!” said the man on the floor, standing up. He scrabbled for the pistol lying beside his cards and beer bottle.
Everyone peered around.
Old Ming floated over to Sanchez. Appeared. Stuck the side of his head with a carefully measured blow. Disappeared. He fell, body slack, the pistol clattering to the floor. It went off, spun away into a corner of the room.
Shit. These clowns did not even know enough about weapons to keep them safe. Even Bethany knew that much.
She float over to the one who’d fallen. He seemed to be a leader. Take him out next.
She did so. He was close enough to a second for her to strike him down as well. She disappeared.
Panic struck everyone. The machine pistol went off, stitching bullet holes up on wall and into the ceiling before its magazine emptied. Its holder unlocked and dropped the magazine, then looked around for a replacement.
There were none.
God. He’d been carrying such a lethal weapon and didn’t know enough to have more than one magazine?
Maybe that’s why the gang had been keeping a low profile until recently. They were fools who a rival gang could easily wipe out.
Twice more she struck men down. Then paused. The remaining three men stood backs to each other, pistols pointed out and swinging them from side to side.
She fell out of the air above and behind them. Jostled them. Struck each down in one lightning fast spin.
She went invisible just in case, rose in the air again, looked all around. Everyone was out. No one had escaped except the women.
“All done. You can come in now.”
“Oh, I feel so emasculated. I heard a machine gun go off. You’re OK?”
“Fine. A wall and ceiling are not.”
“Three cars with women in them came racing by me a few minutes ago. Was that you?”
“Yes. I burnt them with lightning bolts. Just enough to sting.”
“You’ve got something beside that laser weapon?”
“Yeah. Now, come get Sanchez.”
A few minutes later she heard the SUV outside. She met him at the door. He walked up to the door, outwardly at ease. But he kept one hand near his belt. Under a light-weight jacket in an inside-belt holster was a pistol.
“Welcome home, dear. I’ve been cleaning house.”
Just then there was a noise upstairs.
“Stay here,” she snapped and disappeared.
A minute later outside circling the house she saw a man and a woman climbing out of an upstairs window. She let them jump down onto soft green grass before appearing to strike him down. To the woman she shrieked from a foot away from her face, “RUN!”
She did so, screaming. Somehow she was able to run in heels.
Bethany disappeared, shaking her head. Her gender sometimes baffled her.
She knocked on the front door. Miguel opened the door, pistol pointed from where he stood just behind one edge. Seeing no one there, he bowed and ushered her in with one hand.
She flicked into visibility once inside. “I took care of two more. I’m checking the rest of the house.”
She went to invisibility. Several minutes later she came down stairs, the man she’d left outside slung over one shoulder.
Miguel relaxed and put his gun inside its holster.
“Good work.”
“Take Sanchez to the cage. Don’t kill the bastard, OK? Or beat on him. He’s got a concussion and you might accidentally kill him. OK?”
“Yassah, Boss.”
“Ass. Then come inside. You’ll want to see this.”
A few minutes later Miguel entered. In that time she’d arranged all the men in a line, their feet pointing at the door to the outside. She had him stand behind them and cradle the machine pistol in his arms. She went down the line, bending and touching each man’s forehead, seven in all. Then she went to stand near the closed door.
Slowly each of the men woke, sat up, holding their heads. She’d healed any concussions but left their headaches in place.
One of them looked up, saw her, jerked in shock. She was looking down at them in disgust, her hands on her hips, weaponless. A quick glance around (followed by a grimace) revealed Miguel standing behind him.
He hunched forward to get his feet under him.
“Stay!” snapped Old Ming to him. He stayed.
One by one and by twos the remaining men woke, sat up, and saw their situation. Wisely none of the others tried to stand.
When she had their full intention Ming walked to one end of the line, then all along it to the other, then back to the center .
In Spanish she said, “You idiots are the worse excuse for CRIMINALS I’ve ever seen in a long career of killing criminals.”
They all quailed. They looked down at the floor.
“You’re not worth killing, the way I did Sanchez. Whose guts are strung all along a city block as a lesson. NOBODY hurts C&R people and gets away with it. Go to the North Pole. Go to Siberia. Go to the Sahara. We will find you. And take a day making you die.”
She paced some more, gauging body language.
“Now here is what you are going to do.”
She’d primed their brains to understand and imprint the meaning of her next words. She spoke in the harsh, clacking, hissing language of a far star system.
YOU WILL GO TO MEXICO. YOU WILL FIND HONEST WORK. YOU WILL NEVER TAKE UP A CRIMINAL TRADE.
Then she walked among them, touching each of them, who fell instantly asleep. Two tried to scramble up and
escape her. Neither escaped.
“Well,” said Miguel. “That was impressive. What were those words at the end?”
She explained.
“You’ve lived alien lives? Wow.”
“That’s how I can do all that superstuff. It’s in my genes. Somehow. Now let’s take Sanchez in. He’s worth money.”
“Yassah, Boss.”
“Ass.”
·
The BoyleHeights police station was in the middle of BoyleHeights. The Heights were at the western edge of the larger Barrio of East Los Angeles. Most of the Barrio were mid-to-upper class Latinos, unlike their cousins in BarrSto. Most of the Barrio had very little violent crime.
As he drove toward it Miguel said, “It’s sometimes said that violence is low because some of the asesinos from all the different countries who moved here got together and work to keep it that way. Probably an urban legend, but stranger things have proven to be true.”
He looked at her sideways. She assumed a look of Great Innocence. He returned his gaze the street in front of him.
He turned into the station parking lot, parked in an area marked Police Vehicles Only, flipped down his sun visor, and clipped a white sign to it. The lettering visible to those who looked in the window was UNMARKED. She presumed it meant Unmarked Police Vehicle.
She reached into the cage and touched Sanchez to inject him with a Wake Up command. Then they pulled Sanchez out of the cage, being none too gentle, and walked him into the Officers Only entrance.
There was a big blond Germanic-looking policeman sitting behind a chest-high counter.
“Wha’choo got, Mike?”
Miguel placed a sheaf of papers on the desk. Sergeant Klein (his nameplate said) leafed quickly through them, gave the prisoner a glance, and pressed a button on his phone. Minutes later two other policemen came in and took Sanchez away.
“Heard about him shooting Rossiter. How is he?”
“On the Fair list. They should be putting him in a private right about now.”
“Glad to hear it. Tell him we were rooting for him.
“Who’s your sexy lady friend?”
“Someone I knew over there. Mustered out and working security here and there. I took her along to show her some of the ropes here.”
Klein spoke to her. “You can make me secure any time you get tired of this broken-down soldier. Welcome to L.A.”
“Be polite, Klein. This ‘sexy lady’ can reach in and pull out your heart if she gets annoyed at you.”
The policeman smiled at her. “No need to do that, ma’am. You’ve got my heart already.”
She said in her slightly hoarse Ming voice. “Somehow I doubt that it’s hearts you’re thinking about right now, Sergeant.”
He laughed and waved them away as another pair of officers brought in a prisoner.
·
“Well, that was disgusting,” Miguel said as they returned to his SUV. “He’s old enough to be your—” Then he ceased speaking as he remembered she looked thirty.
Bethany giggled at him with her Bethany voice. As they entered the freeway to make their way to Cedars-Sinai she returned to her usual no longer quite so child-like form.
“Did you mean it when you said you would take me on as another Hunter?”
“I said no such thing. As you very well know. Ken would never stand for you going out in the field.”
“Bethany would never go out in the field. Ming Yao would go out. And she really can pull hearts out of chests. And arms and legs off men. And squash skulls till the brains run out. And...”
“Ugh. You are a monster.”
“And with a pistol I can take out an eye at a hundred yards, and decide which one.”
“Never. ”
“Aww. Pretty please. I have all these special talents. I can be useful in a real emergency.”
He glanced at her. “No. But if, and I mean IF, a real emergency comes up I will call on you.”
She reached a fist toward him and held it till he took advantage of the smooth flow of traffic to raise a hand from the steering wheel and fist her back.
·
Kendall Rossiter had been moved to a private room mid-morning after an extensive consultation with his doctors. That included distinguished surgeon Dr. Rayanna Corcoran.
Bethany and Miguel were among the first to see him in his room. They’d been cautioned by his doctor and by her mother to make their stay short and not tire him out.
He was sitting up in his bed when they came in. Miguel held back while he hugged his sister and she kissed his cheek, checking on his health and tweaking a couple of factors that her deep biomedical knowledge told her needed tweaking. Then he held out a hand to Miguel.
Miguel shook the hand and Ken pulled him into a semi-hug.
“How you doing, Bro?” said Miguel as he stood back upright.
“Better than can be expected. I could get up now and go back to work.”
“Si . And Rayanna would be taking her scalpels and hacksaws to me right after. No thanks. That woman is SCARY.”
“So. What’s happening outside in the fun world?”
“I got Sanchez. Had a little help from a friend. Her name’s Ming Yao. Knew her over there. Maybe we can use her in a pinch sometimes.”
“I’d have to meet her. So you got the bastard. Must have been tough. He probably ran to his ass-hole buddies in the gang.”
“Funny about that. They’d left. Picked up lock stock and barrel and left. Like the devil was after them.”
“One of the other gangs must have laid down the law. The, what did they call themselves, the Alphas, were always a bunch of idiots.”
“Yeah, well, let’s talk about some more fun things, OK? Like a barbecue when you get out.”
Ken leaned forward and whispered, “How about a smuggled barbecue burger in the next ten minutes? Have you forgotten what the food is like in here?”
Miguel lifted his hands in mock horror. “I’ve not forgotten Rayanna’s scalpels and hacksaws either.”
“Sis? Pretty please?”
“No way José.”
·
In any event Ken did meet Ming Yao and approved her working for them if they needed an extra. Which they did a couple of times.
Meanwhile Bethany was Sandrine off and on.
·
At the beginning of summer the fireteam graduated. Bethany received a number of gifts from her village, and from “a super-rich client she’d gofered for” named Sandrine Ascaride.
It was a $15,000 sporty compact which was all the rage among college students. Sky blue.
Her parents told her she could not accept it. Until they spoke to the lady on the phone. The woman was impossible to argue with. Somehow they found themselves agreeing. And receiving invites to all sorts of posh events.
Chapter 7 - Gap Year
At the Paris airport out-gate the fireteam was met by a black-uniformed woman holding up a sign which said UBUNTU PARTY. Naomi led the way to the woman.
“Bonjour . I’m Naomi Ubuntu. What’s your name?”
“Cécile, Mademoiselle. If you’ll come this way?”
They followed the young woman to the luggage carousels. She insisted very firmly that they let her pull their bags off it.
Naomi let her, telling Gerard when he got a fit of chivalry that the young woman was hoping for a good tip and that he was sabotaging her.
He sought to engage Cécile in conversation. Her English was excellent, Bethany could tell, but she pretended otherwise, probably as protection from unwanted advances.
Bethany had better success. She walked with Cécile, telling her in her Parisian French that it was American politeness to pull their luggage themselves. That they would feel it proper to hoist at least one item into the back of the limousine themselves. But that she’d explain to them that it was Cécile’s job to do most of that chore.
Franco-American etiquette thus satisfied, it was with great amity that the fireteam got themselves and their lugga
ge into the long black limousine waiting at the curb outside the airport exit. A handsome young gendarme was standing by the car. After Cécile got them into the car he then held the door to the vehicle for her to take the driver’s seat. Then he touched his hat brim and left.
The driver smoothly and with flair took them into traffic swinging around the circular driveway with great verve. Apparently the French made an art of these mundane acts.
In a few minutes the limo took a curve up into a parking garage. It wound several stories up and came out to rooftop empty of all but three other limousines like theirs .
Sandrine Ascaride knew what was coming. Bethany said, “Now shut up and watch. You’ve got a treat coming.”
Naomi knew what was coming too but she stayed silent, a faint smile on her lips.
Cécile drove to a white circle in one corner of the rooftop. It had a large orange cross quadrisecting it. She halted and touched a few controls on the dashboard.
Then she spoke a few sentences in French. And pushed the wheel steering column UP.
The limo floated upward a meter or so. A quiet CHUNK sounded from underneath the vehicle.
“It’s an air car!” said Lihua. Gerard and Brigitte laughed with delight. Brigitte as always sounded beautiful.
Bethany irreverently wondered sometimes if her friend even crapped beautifully.
Cécile spoke a single phrase. Moments later a voice came over a dashboard speaker.
In French the woman replied, “Thank you, Air Control. Lifting on course now.”
A hissing began and louvers opened in two round circles on the front of the vehicle. Bethany knew that two more on the rear were doing the same. A loud humming cut in. The air car rose on its air jets. Faster and faster. It began to tilt backward, then curved smoothly to the left into some invisible air lane and accelerated out over Paris. The humming cut off.
Could you hold this car? It’s much longer than my cars.
Yes. The dimensions are less important than mass. This vehicle is made of light composite materials.
Which meant that in an emergency the limo and its occupants would suddenly be engulfed in an invulnerable bubble.
Paris spread out below them. Bethany had enjoyed the view many times before but pretended to jostle Gerard for a better view. Then she let him have the better position. Nevertheless she leaned on him, deliberately digging an elbow into a rib until he protested.
