45, Smoldering

“My guts hate me, my ex boyfriends hate me, and the Syrian military hates me.  Hell if I know who did this.”  Agent Death looked at the burned out smoking remains of her Honda sedan and sighed.  “Well, it’s my own fault my guts hate me.  I should’ve never eaten that spicy burrito with Porter.”

Special agent Alexi Blacktide scratched her scalp and ruffled her short, straight black hair.  She inhaled a whiff that marketers of chaos might describe as “charred chassis and dumpster infection” from the stinky alley.  She tucked the slightly curled ends of her hair back behind her ears.  “Technically, it’s your fault that your ex boyfriends hate you too.”  She exhaled through her lips as she examined the scene.  “I’ll blame the Syrian special forces on Mulroony making you work with them.”

Death giggled.  “Nah, I earned their hate too, but I was PMSing like a mother fucker.  They shouldn’t have been such mysogonistic fucks.”  

“Shit, I forgot to ask how that trip ended after you slipped their convoy!  Whatever came of that whole situation anyway?”

“They’re so macho that they never reported it to their superiors.  Imagine the scorn they’d endure from their peers if it was ever discovered that a white girl stole a crate of rifles and ammo that was supposed to be used by their forty man squad.  Right under their noses, too!”  Death laughed to herself.  “Fuck those idiots.  Serves them right for underestimating women.”  She paused and sincerely asked, “Damn, do you think I should go to therapy or something?”  

Alexi Blacktide snorted loudly.  In some situations the snorts made her socially uncomfortable, but with Team Whiskey she didn’t care.  “Who in the fuck would be your therapist?  Honestly, there’s no amount of counseling that could help you.  You’re too much of a disaster.” 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Lex.”

Blacktide pulled out her cell phone to take pictures of the burned out car.  “You need a mission.”

“I need to get laid,” she joked, then added, “and I gotta change my damn diet and probably booze less.  My guts really are a wreck.”

“Again, you drink cuz you’re bored.  Then you eat spicy food cuz you’re really bored.  You need a mission.”

Death thought about it.  “Dang.  You’re right.” 

Blacktide snapped photo after photo and zapped them to the team with a group text explaining their situation.  As if the universe was listening to their conversation, Blacktide’s communicator watch lit up.  “It’s Owens!  I wonder what in the hell he’s up to right now.”  

“Porter didn’t tell me shit about Russia.  Let’s see what Spiderman wants.”

After the usual congenial greetings, Owens got right down to business.  “I’m still in Japan with Ana, and she wants to do a jail break on a couple of prisoners in a federal penitentiary in Kentucky.  We need your help.”

“Well that depends on what they got pinched for.  If it’s weed, I’ll break them out on a matter of principle.  If it’s something nasty, then they can rot for all I care.”

“They’re master thieves and they got nailed for stealing a laptop from a senator, but it turned out to be a fake laptop.  The thing blasted pepper spray all over them and they got nailed by a SWAT team wearing gas masks.  The whole thing was a set up.”

Death was listening to the chat and leaned over to Blacktide’s watch to chime in.  “What kind of guys are we talking about? Are they our kind of people or are they assholes?”

“For starters, aren't assholes our kind of people? Oh, and we’re talking about two women.”

Blacktide laughed and asked, “Well then why do you want to bust these women out?”

Owens considered the question.  “Truth be told, I don’t know.  I just know that Ana wants to bust them out and she’s in way over her head.  Max security prisons in our country aren’t something you can just waltz in and out of, you know?”

Blacktide chuckled and held back a snort.  “Yes, I do know, Owens, and I’d rather keep my job and not get stuffed into the cell next to them cuz I decided to help you do something stupid.”

Owens spoke plainly.  “I’ll send you the intel we have so far on them when I get back to my phone.  We’ll do more research, but we’ll need a few people going undercover and you’re the best.”

The compliment made Blacktide feel great, but the idea of doing an illegal breakout for thieves that potentially were scum didn’t sit well with her, especially in her own country.  “Thanks Owens.  I’ll look into whatever you send me.  Have fun in Japan.”

As if it were an afterthought, Owens asked, “Hey Lex, what’ve you been up to since Columbia?”

She couldn’t hold back a snort this time and her nostrils emanated a grand sound of boisterous joy.  “Well, when you get to your phone, you’ll see.  Why are you so shitty with cell phones, Owens?”

“I deserve that.  But for real, I wanna know how things are going!”

“Basically I’ve been doing a whole lot of nothing until today.  I’m with Death, we’re in a really sketchy alleyway and someone torched her car.”

“What?  The little green Accord?  Is that the one where she hooked up with that Lithuanian basketball player and said he was a terrible lay?”

“Jesus Owens, I don’t pay attention to her god damned love life!”  Blacktide said with some exasperation.  She looked at Death and saw her smiling and nodding.  Another snort came flying out.

“I liked that car.  She drove it like it was stolen.  Hell, it might have been for all I know.”  Owens didn’t know how right he was.  Again, Death nodded but Blacktide held back a snort this time.

Soldiering on with the chat, Blacktide said, “The pictures are on your phone and don’t skip my texts.  They’ll fill you in.  We might need your help figuring this out.”

Agent Death chimed in again.  “I wanna hear all about Siberia when we see you next.  Now if you’ll both excuse me, I gotta find a restroom for the fifth time today.  Never eat Tex Mex if you’re unwilling to pay the price.”  She nodded at Blacktide and took off at a fast jog for the convenience store a few blocks away as she hollered, “and tell Von Stryker she owes me a bottle of gin!”

Owens anwered, “Will do, Death,” but his comment only fell on Blacktide’s ears.  “Where in the hell are you two right now anyway?”

“Texas.  Check your phone and call Porter to hitch a ride home.”

A few days later, Owens walked into an upscale downtown Austin apartment with Anastasia Boothausen.  Blacktide and Death hugged him and greeted Boothausen cordially despite not knowing her. 

“You seem like your guts have settled,” Owens joked.

Death sighed as if she was feeling relief from a chronic injury.  “Two days of not trusting my farts is enough for a lifetime.  Have a seat!  We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Owens introduced Anastasia Boothausen to them and the three women were pleasant.  They all sat around a small kitchen table as Owens went right into filling them in about their time in Russia.  Both Blacktide and Death rolled their eyes at hearing about Murdock getting drugged by a pretty girl and dragged off.  They were equally as surprised hearing about McVandalay trying to rescue Murdock and also getting shocked and dragged off.  They tried not to judge as they heard about Schuman’s incredible boxing match that ended with her leaving the ring to finally strangely be reunited with the love of her life, only to be unsuspectingly tased and also dragged off.  All three agents had been shipped off to a remote Siberian prison where Owens and Boothausen had snuck in, broke them out, then they all escaped with Von Stryker and Doniak in a stolen jet that Porter was now enjoying flying under the radar all over the Pacific and back.

“Unreal.  All we’ve been doing is getting drunk in sports bars and watching way too much college football,” Death joked.

Boothausen had been fairly quiet as Owens caught up with his friends, but she asked, “Did you ever figure out who blew up your Honda?”

Agent Death rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, last night we got an off shift bartender drunk from a biker bar and he told us everything.  It turns out it was a biker gang who torched my ride. Fuckers. They thought it belonged to the a rival gang leader who’s now banging an ex-girlfriend of one of their members.  Men can be real insecure assholes sometimes.”  She shrugged.  “We never let the bartender know that it was my car, we just flirted and listened.”

As if Boothausen needed no explanation, she nodded in agreement.  “Weak men are the worst.  So what are we doing to pay them back?”

They hadn’t known Boothausen for more than fifteen mintues, yet Blacktide and Death knew that they liked her.  Blacktide tentatively said, “As of now, we don’t have a plan.”

“Then let me suggest we steal their bikes.”  Boothausen spoke matter of factly.  “Like, all of them.  Every single member of their gang, we steal each motorcycle and return the favor a hundred fold. We torch them in front of their favorite bar in the early morning.  Send them a message right back.”

“Jesus lady, you don’t fuck around,” Blacktide joked with a smile.

Boothausen didn’t return the smile but she wasn’t unpleasant either.  She was simply all business.  “When it comes to this team, I’m all in.  Fuck it, I say we punch these biker bitches in the dick, then skip town.”

Agent Death was grinning.  The new gal had spunk and it reminded Death of when she herself had first joined the team.  “And how, pray tell, do you suggest that we steal their bikes?”

Owens spoke plainly, almost as if he were answering a question from a child.  “We get names and addresses of their whole biker gang, then we steal their bikes right out from under their noses.” 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Owens, but motorcycles are loud as shit.”

“Duh. That’s why we walk them like ten blocks away before firing them up.” Death and Blacktide looked flabbergasted and Owens felt insecure.  “Seriously, it’s that simple.”

“Fuck ’em,” Boothausen added.  “If someone fucks with our team, they get fucked with.”

With no emotion, Owens added, “that’s a promise.”  The two Master Thieves high fived each other without a smile as if they were programmed robots.

Blacktide and Death knew that Owens was a freak, and he’d told them before that Boothausen was even more talented than he was.  Despite the large logistical nightmare something like this might entail, they knew neither agent was fucking around.

Blacktide was confused.  “I thought you two wanted to bust some peeps out of a prison in Tennessee or something?”

“Kentucky,” Owens corrected, “and not until these fucking bikers get what’s coming to them.”

Boothausen was also passionless with her tone but her words were pure fire.  “I’ve only been a member of this team for one mission and already I know that this is where I belong.  Owens says you’re his people, so if Death got fucked with, then we return the favor.”

Death shrugged.  “Well it’s not like they know that Team Whiskey even exists, and it’s not like we’re gonna leave calling cards for them to get ahold of us.  Hell, we might be starting an Austin gang war for all we know.”

Boothausen didn’t flinch.  “Then we find the rival biker gang and we torch their rides too.” 

Blacktide looked at Death and shrugged. “They’re all drug dealers who push heavier shit than weed, Death.”

Death nodded. “I fucking hate meth dealers.”

Boothausen added, “I don’t care if you two help torch their bikes or not. I’m serious.  I don’t like shit bags.”

Agent Death got up to go grab beers.  “I’m in.  I liked that Honda.”

Owens spoke up as she left the room.  “That was the same car where you hooked up with that basketball player, right?”

“There were three basketball players over the course of that winter but the only one I told you about was the European guy cuz he was so tall,” Death joked.  They heard her open the fridge and grab some cans.  She returned and said, “sadly, the car ended the same way all three hook ups did.”  She handed out the beers.  “Up in smoke.”

Boohausen gratefully accepted her beer and said, “Then it’s settled.  Tomorrow we start our recon, and we make our move as soon as it’s appropriate.”  She took a sip and showed emotion for the first time as she examined the can.  “Fuck that’s good!”

“Texas beers suck.  These are from Colorado,” Death joked.

Blacktide asked, “Ever try Shiner beers?”

Owens finally loosened up and started laughing.  “I’ve never had a mans balls in my mouth, but their beers have gotta be what sweaty testicles taste like.”

Without skipping a beat, Blacktide quipped, “I have, and you’re right.”

Agent Death took a gulp of the ice cold brew and it regenerated her spirits.  “Don’t say that to any die hard Texans.  They’ll take it personally.”  She exhaled and said, “Now let’s finish these beers and get out here.  If we’re gonna do this, I’ve gotta meet my friend Grimm at the pool hall.  Whatever you do, don’t put any money on the table or you’ll say goodbye to it faster than a sorority girl says goodbye to her morals on spring break in Mexico.”

In the distance, an overconfident drunk idiot dropped another hundred bucks on the pool table as a small crowd of amazed onlookers watched the greatest pool hustler of all time clean out the arrogant fool for all he was worth.