Funny story, this one. It all started with a drunken rant in which I convinced myself that "Merlot & Coffee" would make a good title for a fiction piece (you can read the rant here, if you're curious). Once I sobered up I started formulating a story in my head... and then I won a challenge for The Tenth Daughter of Memory. For those unfamiliar, the winners there get to pick a follow-up topic (called Muses). So, I picked "Merlot & Coffee."
And the rest is history.
Okay, not really, but I had a heck of a time writing these. Yes, the story's life on Irreverent Irrelevance has come to a close, but the rest of it is going to wind up somewhere, I assure you.
"No Meat; No Creamer"
Todd Grayson was not his real name, but it suited him. The alias was a not-so-subtle nod to his favorite comic book character and it reminded him that there was always someone else pulling strings. Even now, as he prepared to pull the strings of one of his charges, someone... Read More
"Your Machete; My Cleaver"
Grayson studies the imagery from the kidnapping. The local police aren't touching this one - the kidnapped man is a known terrorist - and that's a bit of a relief for Grayson. Less interference that way. Tying these loose ends has already taken too much time and the last... Read More
"Matches? Check. Charcoal? Check."
"So, what? It's used for cutting?" Merlot smiles, winks, and successfully distracts and irritates Coffee. She's actually quite adept at demolitions and knows the difference between cutting and concussion charges, but allows Coffee the acknowledgment that, yes, he's better at... Read More
"Mercury Costs More Than Cyanide"
"Truth serum? Come on, Merlot. How amateur is that?" Grayson, tied down to a hospital bed, remains confidently defiant. Though he is a bit confused. Merlot's one of the best in this part of the world - not the best, mind you, for eliminating your best operative is never the wisest thing... Read More
Showing posts with label title: Merlot and Coffee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label title: Merlot and Coffee. Show all posts
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Mercury Costs More Than Cyanide
*Part 4 of Merlot & Coffee. Read the first three parts here:
"Truth serum? Come on, Merlot. How amateur is that?" Grayson, tied down to a hospital bed, remains confidently defiant. Though he is a bit confused. Merlot's one of the best in this part of the world - not the best, mind you, for eliminating your best operative is never the wisest thing for a handler to do - and the fact that she's resorting to injecting Grayson with sodium thiopental makes her look like someone who's seen too many movies.
Merlot smiles her luscious smile. Coffee stands in the corner chewing his nails, a habit acquired since he met Merlot.
"You plan on extracting information? How lame are you?" Grayson would laugh, but he's reserving judgment concerning his predicament until he can figure out what's going on.
She leans into Grayson's face, her nose almost touching his, and Grayson can smell her perfume. Damn, she smells good. "No, Grayson. I plan on inducing a coma, then overdosing you."
"Ah, shit," Coffee mutters, not quite inaudibly. "I knew this was coming."
Merlot sticks the needle into the dose and the pulls the syringe back, watching intently as the chemical fills the tube. She wraps her right hand around the top of Grayson's bicep and waits for his vein to distend. Winking at him, she injects the chemical into Grayson's bloodstream.
"By the way, this is generic stuff. Not sure how well it works."
"What a bitch," both Grayson and Coffee say simultaneously, though Coffee's tone has much more humor to it.
***
"Sodium pentathol?" The Fence looked incredulous. This crazy American broad always liked to make things difficult. "The explosives were hard enough. Pharmaceuticals aren't exactly our specialty here." That was a lie, of course. Everything was the Fence's specialty. He was just trying to drive up the price. "What do you need it for? Interrogation?"
Merlot shook her head. "No, just want someone to think they're going to get interrogated. Right before I kill them."
The Fence laughed heartily. "Too bad you're not Muslim. You would make a good wife."
"Yeah, until you pissed her off," Coffee interrupted, feeling a bit defensive of the Fence's attraction to Merlot.
"Oh," replied the Fence, "I'd never let her prepare my food. Or sleep in the same building."
Merlot and Coffee chuckled, both remembering Grayson's car.
"On second thought..." The Fence got the joke.
"We're wasting time," Merlot said, giving the Fence a rather murderous look.
"I'll see what I can do."
***
The Silhouette wrapped his wound - a gunshot in his left forearm... his shooting arm - and yelled into the cell phone. "I don't know where she is. And I don't care. This was supposed to take a week. You want me to stay on this? Pay up. My time is expensive."
The person on the other end of the line clearly said something to Silhouette's liking, causing a smile to intrude on a wince of pain as he finished tying up his pressure dressing.
"Double the rate," Silhouette said as he flipped his phone closed. This Merlot proved to be quite the adversary and that she got the drop on him worried him a bit. How she knew she was being followed was either due to the fact that she was extremely lucky, extremely good, or extremely paranoid. Or maybe all three. Then again, Silhouette had found two wigs in the aftermath and he had to wonder if Coffee had been dressed in drag. That thief, too, was not somebody Silhouette would underestimate again. Merlot was competent enough when it came to disappearing in a crowd, but Coffee could become downright invisible.
No, Silhouette shook his worry from his mind and reanalyzed the situation. He had not, up to that point, known that Coffee was no killer and spent too much effort trying to keep the thief in front of him. That was when Merlot shot him in the arm. It was not a mistake that would happen again.
***
Grayson feels his head starting to spin but maintains his calm. Or the sodium thiopental is maintaining his calm. Either way, he's calm. Good thing, too, because he needs his wits to talk his way out of this one.
"You think I'm at the top of this little pyramid of mystery? Use your head, woman," he says, slurring just a little bit.
"Oh, we already know you're not. Another reason we don't need you." Merlot prepares another dose.
Well, fuck. That didn't work. Grayson starts laughing, which bothers Coffee. Merlot slides up to her partner and gently taps his cheek.
"No worries, you. This is normal."
Coffee stares into Merlot's eyes, entranced by their confidence... and her smell. "Nothing about you is normal."
Merlot whispers into Coffee's ear and places a hand on his thigh - a little too close to home plate. "Oh, I assure you. Quite a lot of me is normal."
All thoughts of murdering a CIA agent flee from Coffee's mind, replaced by images much more enjoyable. Coffee is the marionette to Merlot's Geppetto.
***
"Are we good?" The Fence absentmindedly licked his lips as Merlot checked the merchandise.
Merlot nodded and ignored the Fence's inadvertent forwardness. Something else was on her mind.
"Excellent. You know, you're officially now my best American customer."
"Who says I'm American?" she said as she walked over to a window.
The Fence shrugged. He realized she's distracted and let the attempt at a flirt die. "Anything else I can acquire for you?"
She stared at something in the plaza below intently. "Yes. Do you have any wigs? Something my color."
The Fence wrinkled his face, conducting a quick mental inventory. "There is a wig in Asalah's office. It's brown. I suppose we can dye it."
"I need it," Merlot demanded. "And any women's clothing in his size." She nodded towards Coffee.
Coffee snapped out of his daydream. "What?"
***
The Fence finished dying and the Silhouette wiped his knife clean. He felt better now that he killed somebody pertinent, but the lack of useful information bothered him. Why had Merlot purchased sodium thiopental? Silhouette dialed Grayson. Getting no answer, he gathered materials in preparation to set the Fence's building aflame.
There's nothing like watching something burn to the ground.
***
Sleep is taking over and Grayson knows it's just about over for him. The fat lady sings, but she's a lot skinnier than he figured. And she's a redhead. Although it's clear that the wig is actually brown.
"What are you gonna do now?" Grayson murmurs, unsure if he actually said anything. "You gonna rape me?"
Coffee's expression makes Merlot giggle. Coffee loves her giggle. So much so that he tries to immediately recreate the expression, but she's already turned her attention back to Grayson.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she teases Grayson.
"Oh, yes, please."
"Sorry, babe," she says, rubbing Grayson's forehead, "but I'm going to save that for your little hit man."
Grayson mumbles something and fades into unconsciousness. Realizing that Grayson is finally dead, Coffee returns himself to reality. "Why couldn't you kill him quickly? This was fucked up."
"I know, I know. But it had to be done." She grabs Grayson's cell phone from its hiding spot between Grayson's shoulder blades. It's on an active call. She puts it up to her ear. "You hear that? When I find out who you are, where you are, and what you're up to, it's your turn." Not waiting for a response, she hangs up. She notices a missed call and shows it to Coffee.
"Look."
Coffee sees the call notification and shrugs. "Whose number is that?"
"Ten to one says it's our hit man."
"So we're going to kill him, too?"
Merlot smiles and kisses Coffee on the cheek - an action she's been doing liberally as of late, it seems. "Oh, silly boy. Don't ask stupid questions."
"Will you marry me?" Coffee has no idea how that escaped his mouth.
Merlot simply winks and leaves the room.
"Truth serum? Come on, Merlot. How amateur is that?" Grayson, tied down to a hospital bed, remains confidently defiant. Though he is a bit confused. Merlot's one of the best in this part of the world - not the best, mind you, for eliminating your best operative is never the wisest thing for a handler to do - and the fact that she's resorting to injecting Grayson with sodium thiopental makes her look like someone who's seen too many movies.
Merlot smiles her luscious smile. Coffee stands in the corner chewing his nails, a habit acquired since he met Merlot.
"You plan on extracting information? How lame are you?" Grayson would laugh, but he's reserving judgment concerning his predicament until he can figure out what's going on.
She leans into Grayson's face, her nose almost touching his, and Grayson can smell her perfume. Damn, she smells good. "No, Grayson. I plan on inducing a coma, then overdosing you."
"Ah, shit," Coffee mutters, not quite inaudibly. "I knew this was coming."
Merlot sticks the needle into the dose and the pulls the syringe back, watching intently as the chemical fills the tube. She wraps her right hand around the top of Grayson's bicep and waits for his vein to distend. Winking at him, she injects the chemical into Grayson's bloodstream.
"By the way, this is generic stuff. Not sure how well it works."
"What a bitch," both Grayson and Coffee say simultaneously, though Coffee's tone has much more humor to it.
***
"Sodium pentathol?" The Fence looked incredulous. This crazy American broad always liked to make things difficult. "The explosives were hard enough. Pharmaceuticals aren't exactly our specialty here." That was a lie, of course. Everything was the Fence's specialty. He was just trying to drive up the price. "What do you need it for? Interrogation?"
Merlot shook her head. "No, just want someone to think they're going to get interrogated. Right before I kill them."
The Fence laughed heartily. "Too bad you're not Muslim. You would make a good wife."
"Yeah, until you pissed her off," Coffee interrupted, feeling a bit defensive of the Fence's attraction to Merlot.
"Oh," replied the Fence, "I'd never let her prepare my food. Or sleep in the same building."
Merlot and Coffee chuckled, both remembering Grayson's car.
"On second thought..." The Fence got the joke.
"We're wasting time," Merlot said, giving the Fence a rather murderous look.
"I'll see what I can do."
***
The Silhouette wrapped his wound - a gunshot in his left forearm... his shooting arm - and yelled into the cell phone. "I don't know where she is. And I don't care. This was supposed to take a week. You want me to stay on this? Pay up. My time is expensive."
The person on the other end of the line clearly said something to Silhouette's liking, causing a smile to intrude on a wince of pain as he finished tying up his pressure dressing.
"Double the rate," Silhouette said as he flipped his phone closed. This Merlot proved to be quite the adversary and that she got the drop on him worried him a bit. How she knew she was being followed was either due to the fact that she was extremely lucky, extremely good, or extremely paranoid. Or maybe all three. Then again, Silhouette had found two wigs in the aftermath and he had to wonder if Coffee had been dressed in drag. That thief, too, was not somebody Silhouette would underestimate again. Merlot was competent enough when it came to disappearing in a crowd, but Coffee could become downright invisible.
No, Silhouette shook his worry from his mind and reanalyzed the situation. He had not, up to that point, known that Coffee was no killer and spent too much effort trying to keep the thief in front of him. That was when Merlot shot him in the arm. It was not a mistake that would happen again.
***
Grayson feels his head starting to spin but maintains his calm. Or the sodium thiopental is maintaining his calm. Either way, he's calm. Good thing, too, because he needs his wits to talk his way out of this one.
"You think I'm at the top of this little pyramid of mystery? Use your head, woman," he says, slurring just a little bit.
"Oh, we already know you're not. Another reason we don't need you." Merlot prepares another dose.
Well, fuck. That didn't work. Grayson starts laughing, which bothers Coffee. Merlot slides up to her partner and gently taps his cheek.
"No worries, you. This is normal."
Coffee stares into Merlot's eyes, entranced by their confidence... and her smell. "Nothing about you is normal."
Merlot whispers into Coffee's ear and places a hand on his thigh - a little too close to home plate. "Oh, I assure you. Quite a lot of me is normal."
All thoughts of murdering a CIA agent flee from Coffee's mind, replaced by images much more enjoyable. Coffee is the marionette to Merlot's Geppetto.
***
"Are we good?" The Fence absentmindedly licked his lips as Merlot checked the merchandise.
Merlot nodded and ignored the Fence's inadvertent forwardness. Something else was on her mind.
"Excellent. You know, you're officially now my best American customer."
"Who says I'm American?" she said as she walked over to a window.
The Fence shrugged. He realized she's distracted and let the attempt at a flirt die. "Anything else I can acquire for you?"
She stared at something in the plaza below intently. "Yes. Do you have any wigs? Something my color."
The Fence wrinkled his face, conducting a quick mental inventory. "There is a wig in Asalah's office. It's brown. I suppose we can dye it."
"I need it," Merlot demanded. "And any women's clothing in his size." She nodded towards Coffee.
Coffee snapped out of his daydream. "What?"
***
The Fence finished dying and the Silhouette wiped his knife clean. He felt better now that he killed somebody pertinent, but the lack of useful information bothered him. Why had Merlot purchased sodium thiopental? Silhouette dialed Grayson. Getting no answer, he gathered materials in preparation to set the Fence's building aflame.
There's nothing like watching something burn to the ground.
***
Sleep is taking over and Grayson knows it's just about over for him. The fat lady sings, but she's a lot skinnier than he figured. And she's a redhead. Although it's clear that the wig is actually brown.
"What are you gonna do now?" Grayson murmurs, unsure if he actually said anything. "You gonna rape me?"
Coffee's expression makes Merlot giggle. Coffee loves her giggle. So much so that he tries to immediately recreate the expression, but she's already turned her attention back to Grayson.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she teases Grayson.
"Oh, yes, please."
"Sorry, babe," she says, rubbing Grayson's forehead, "but I'm going to save that for your little hit man."
Grayson mumbles something and fades into unconsciousness. Realizing that Grayson is finally dead, Coffee returns himself to reality. "Why couldn't you kill him quickly? This was fucked up."
"I know, I know. But it had to be done." She grabs Grayson's cell phone from its hiding spot between Grayson's shoulder blades. It's on an active call. She puts it up to her ear. "You hear that? When I find out who you are, where you are, and what you're up to, it's your turn." Not waiting for a response, she hangs up. She notices a missed call and shows it to Coffee.
"Look."
Coffee sees the call notification and shrugs. "Whose number is that?"
"Ten to one says it's our hit man."
"So we're going to kill him, too?"
Merlot smiles and kisses Coffee on the cheek - an action she's been doing liberally as of late, it seems. "Oh, silly boy. Don't ask stupid questions."
"Will you marry me?" Coffee has no idea how that escaped his mouth.
Merlot simply winks and leaves the room.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Matches? Check. Charcoal? Check.
*a continuation of No Meat; No Creamer and Your Machete; My Cleaver
Coffee's rather passionate about the subject, it being one of the few areas he's clearly better than Merlot at. Her smile and wink never fails to distract him, but that doesn't mean he's going to stop trying to explain it.
"C-4 is a cutting charge, okay? You got that? A cutting charge." He figures this must be what fathers sometimes feel like when trying to explain things to precocious children.
"So, what? It's used for cutting?" Merlot smiles, winks, and successfully distracts and irritates Coffee. She's actually quite adept at demolitions and knows the difference between cutting and concussion charges, but allows Coffee the acknowledgment that, yes, he's better at blowing things up than she is. "What do you cut with it?"
Ah, finally... he gets to answer a legitimate question. Merlot sure looks gorgeous in black. It hides her curves and shows them off at the same time. "You know, metal. Steel is the usual culprit. You can usually use weaker explosives for other stuff."
She gives him a kiss on the cheek. Might as well soften him up before irritating him again. "You know what else C-4 can be used for?"
Uh oh, here it comes. Some smart-ass thing from a mouth so sexy... and vulgar. She does have a vocabulary like a sailor's. Coffee, though, simply stares at her in anticipation of her answer to her own question.
"Blowing the fuck out of Grayson's car."
They both turn and look at the metallic silver BMW 760i parked mere feet from the two of them. Coffee drops a backpack on the ground and unzips it. Green blocks of military-grade C-4. "M112" printed in yellow letters on each block. The backpack is completely stuffed with them.
"You need to change your name from Merlot to Overkill."
***
When Grayson first arrived in Tunis, he was ordered to obtain a vehicle that didn't stick out. Lucky for him, BMWs were not in short supply in this part of North Africa. Though he might have overstepped his bounds a bit by acquiring something so expensive, he figured it was worth it. He loved his fucking car. V-12, 535 brake horsepower, and a back seat large enough to quickly kick out the cheap hookers. All in the name of king and country. Well, country.
It was almost 11 PM when he pulled in to the parking garage under his personal safehouse - really, just an apartment, but he likes to call it a safehouse because it sounds cool - and had only just locked and closed the driver's door when his phone rang. It was from a number he'd been anxiously waiting to call.
"Is it done?" Grayson asked as he proceeded to the elevators.
He froze in his tracks and titled his head, trying to make out some background noise. "Is that gunfire?"
***
Merlot watched intently as the Fence counted the money. Licking his thumb every ten bills or so, he glanced up at her with an inquisitive expression. "You're paying double?"
"Actually no," she said, taking a sip of the wine the Fence had given her. It was an expensive vintage Château Ausone. To her it tasted like shit - she hates Cabernet Franc - and she only drank it to be polite. "We've got a shadow I'd like you light up."
Well, when she put it that way. The Fence always appreciated a wry sense of humor. He nodded and winked - the latter to no effect - then made a phone call.
***
The gunmen were no match in either movement or aim for the Silhouette. Making that obvious to bystanders was the fact that the Silhouette was having a conversation on a cell phone in between returning fire.
"Yes, it's gunfire." The voice was steady, calm. There wasn't even a smile or an expression of relief when a well-aimed shot created another eye socket in a gunman's forehead. "She manufactured an obstacle. It will be short-lived... correction, it's been overcome. But she's gone. I don't know where."
Finally, a smile as the last shooter's body slumped onto a car hood and slid to the ground. "You might want to lay low for a while."
Before Grayson could answer, the Silhouette hung up and disappeared into the shadows. There was a time when handiwork would have been admired, but that was many years ago.
***
"We're not going to blow up an apartment building, are we?" Coffee was a bit nervous. A murderer, he was not. Nor was there any intention to become one.
"No, no, no, sweetie," she demurred, stroking his cheek. She couldn't figure out exactly why, but Merlot loved to baby Coffee. Maybe because he ate it up, but maybe... nah... she shook the thought.
The roar of an accelerator signaled their target's approach and they both watched as the BMW they've been waiting for pulled into the parking garage. Merlot checked her watch, then returned her attention to Coffee. "We'll give him a few minutes. Tell me about these explosives."
***
Coffee's grand theft auto skills impress Merlot. Neither the primary or secondary alarm on the car even beep. She's not so much impressed with his driving, though, but he insists. Since he placed the explosives, he demands control of the vehicle under the auspices of safety or some such nonsense. Merlot relents, mainly because she's tired and won't mind a nap in the passenger seat. Besides, if he really wants to drive a 760i that badly...
"Do you know where we're going?" she asks, tilting the seat back. Her eyes are already closed, but she knows he's trying to check out her cleavage.
"Yeah, of course."
***
The explosion is marvelous. The Parc du Belvédère lights up as bright as day for a few moments, then dims as flash fades into fire. Coffee and Merlot sit on a bench off the Avenue Charles Nicolle and stare at the spectacle. He smiles widely, not having created an explosion that big since his Army days - shit, they probably heard this one in Sicily. Merlot's smiling, too, because she finds the whole thing quite funny.
Oh, Grayson, you poor bastard. You fucked with the wrong people.
Merlot leans her head on Coffee's shoulder and his smile runs out of face. Damn, she smells good.
*Continued in Mercury Costs More Than Cyanide
Coffee's rather passionate about the subject, it being one of the few areas he's clearly better than Merlot at. Her smile and wink never fails to distract him, but that doesn't mean he's going to stop trying to explain it.
"C-4 is a cutting charge, okay? You got that? A cutting charge." He figures this must be what fathers sometimes feel like when trying to explain things to precocious children.
"So, what? It's used for cutting?" Merlot smiles, winks, and successfully distracts and irritates Coffee. She's actually quite adept at demolitions and knows the difference between cutting and concussion charges, but allows Coffee the acknowledgment that, yes, he's better at blowing things up than she is. "What do you cut with it?"
Ah, finally... he gets to answer a legitimate question. Merlot sure looks gorgeous in black. It hides her curves and shows them off at the same time. "You know, metal. Steel is the usual culprit. You can usually use weaker explosives for other stuff."
She gives him a kiss on the cheek. Might as well soften him up before irritating him again. "You know what else C-4 can be used for?"
Uh oh, here it comes. Some smart-ass thing from a mouth so sexy... and vulgar. She does have a vocabulary like a sailor's. Coffee, though, simply stares at her in anticipation of her answer to her own question.
"Blowing the fuck out of Grayson's car."
They both turn and look at the metallic silver BMW 760i parked mere feet from the two of them. Coffee drops a backpack on the ground and unzips it. Green blocks of military-grade C-4. "M112" printed in yellow letters on each block. The backpack is completely stuffed with them.
"You need to change your name from Merlot to Overkill."
***
When Grayson first arrived in Tunis, he was ordered to obtain a vehicle that didn't stick out. Lucky for him, BMWs were not in short supply in this part of North Africa. Though he might have overstepped his bounds a bit by acquiring something so expensive, he figured it was worth it. He loved his fucking car. V-12, 535 brake horsepower, and a back seat large enough to quickly kick out the cheap hookers. All in the name of king and country. Well, country.
It was almost 11 PM when he pulled in to the parking garage under his personal safehouse - really, just an apartment, but he likes to call it a safehouse because it sounds cool - and had only just locked and closed the driver's door when his phone rang. It was from a number he'd been anxiously waiting to call.
"Is it done?" Grayson asked as he proceeded to the elevators.
He froze in his tracks and titled his head, trying to make out some background noise. "Is that gunfire?"
***
Merlot watched intently as the Fence counted the money. Licking his thumb every ten bills or so, he glanced up at her with an inquisitive expression. "You're paying double?"
"Actually no," she said, taking a sip of the wine the Fence had given her. It was an expensive vintage Château Ausone. To her it tasted like shit - she hates Cabernet Franc - and she only drank it to be polite. "We've got a shadow I'd like you light up."
Well, when she put it that way. The Fence always appreciated a wry sense of humor. He nodded and winked - the latter to no effect - then made a phone call.
***
The gunmen were no match in either movement or aim for the Silhouette. Making that obvious to bystanders was the fact that the Silhouette was having a conversation on a cell phone in between returning fire.
"Yes, it's gunfire." The voice was steady, calm. There wasn't even a smile or an expression of relief when a well-aimed shot created another eye socket in a gunman's forehead. "She manufactured an obstacle. It will be short-lived... correction, it's been overcome. But she's gone. I don't know where."
Finally, a smile as the last shooter's body slumped onto a car hood and slid to the ground. "You might want to lay low for a while."
Before Grayson could answer, the Silhouette hung up and disappeared into the shadows. There was a time when handiwork would have been admired, but that was many years ago.
***
"We're not going to blow up an apartment building, are we?" Coffee was a bit nervous. A murderer, he was not. Nor was there any intention to become one.
"No, no, no, sweetie," she demurred, stroking his cheek. She couldn't figure out exactly why, but Merlot loved to baby Coffee. Maybe because he ate it up, but maybe... nah... she shook the thought.
The roar of an accelerator signaled their target's approach and they both watched as the BMW they've been waiting for pulled into the parking garage. Merlot checked her watch, then returned her attention to Coffee. "We'll give him a few minutes. Tell me about these explosives."
***
Coffee's grand theft auto skills impress Merlot. Neither the primary or secondary alarm on the car even beep. She's not so much impressed with his driving, though, but he insists. Since he placed the explosives, he demands control of the vehicle under the auspices of safety or some such nonsense. Merlot relents, mainly because she's tired and won't mind a nap in the passenger seat. Besides, if he really wants to drive a 760i that badly...
"Do you know where we're going?" she asks, tilting the seat back. Her eyes are already closed, but she knows he's trying to check out her cleavage.
"Yeah, of course."
***
The explosion is marvelous. The Parc du Belvédère lights up as bright as day for a few moments, then dims as flash fades into fire. Coffee and Merlot sit on a bench off the Avenue Charles Nicolle and stare at the spectacle. He smiles widely, not having created an explosion that big since his Army days - shit, they probably heard this one in Sicily. Merlot's smiling, too, because she finds the whole thing quite funny.
Oh, Grayson, you poor bastard. You fucked with the wrong people.
Merlot leans her head on Coffee's shoulder and his smile runs out of face. Damn, she smells good.
*Continued in Mercury Costs More Than Cyanide
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Your Machete; My Cleaver
*a continuation of No Meat; No Creamer
"You want me to do what?" He scarcely believes his ears. No, he doesn't believe them at all. Merlot's lost her damned mind.
"Cut his head off." Her expression is blank. That it is underneath her dark red wig and behind overpriced Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses only adds to the effect.
Coffee doesn't speak Arabic, but he can only assume that the sudden sounds from the bound and gagged man tied at their feet are muffled pleas for mercy. "I..." Coffee doesn't know what to say. Or to do. "I've never killed anyone before."
He can't see it, but he knows Merlot just winked at him. "Baby steps, Coffee."
"Baby steps?" Coffee screams, clumsily brandishing the machete Merlot handed him a few minutes earlier. "You want me to cut his fucking head off!"
***
"Keep moving, Coffee," Merlot ordered, "And quit looking at the buildings. You're making us stick out."
He was used to observing his surroundings discreetly for cops - and even government agents, a bit - but an assassin presented a new challenge entirely. "What about snipers?" he whispered to Merlot.
She put her arm around his and gently nudged his cheek with her nose. "Snipers would have to know where we're going."
Damn, she smelled good. "Where are we going?" He almost didn't ask the question as he briefly wondered what her nose felt like just above his...
"I have no idea," she said through a smile. Her arm slid away and she grabbed his hand. "So how would they?"
Damn, she smelled good.
***
Grayson studies the imagery from the kidnapping. The local police aren't touching this one - the kidnapped man is a known terrorist - and that's a bit of a relief for Grayson. Less interference that way. Tying these loose ends has already taken too much time and the last thing he wants is more bureaucratic red tape.
The problem here is that the kidnapped man is also a known asset. Everyone's been too polite to ask - so far - but it's only a matter of time before Grayson's going to have to answer some questions.
For the briefest of moments, he considers sending out more muscle, but he knows such an action would be career suicide. Not to mention it would probably expose him. Though he excels at fudging numbers, he's aware that he's fast approaching the limit of feasible deniability. He's already spent too much of his operational budget on his pet project. His personal project, he reminds himself.
No, this should be over soon. Keep confident. He did bring in the best, after all.
***
She lied. She knew exactly where they were going. Coffee should've run when she pulled a .40 caliber pistol out of her waistline and handed it to him, but he spent too much time trying to figure out how she hid a gun there without interrupting her curves. He definitely should've run when she pulled another one out of her purse. There is no question he should've already been running when she yanked the 9mm hold-out from her boot.
She thought about it for a moment, then took the .40 back from Coffee and handed him the 9mm.
"What? Why do I get the small one?"
Ever concerned with their cover, she leaned into him, kissing him just on the side of his lips. "Grow up."
They stood in front of apartment 712. Merlot embraced Coffee fully, taking his mouth with hers and pressing his body against the door. He couldn't help it... she turns him on. To her credit, she barely acknowledged the erection and pressed against him more firmly.
Coffee didn't know it at the time, but she was testing the strength of the door. He figured it out after she threw him into it. He watched from the ground, lying on top of the broken door, as she apprehended the Arab. Bitch was fast. And smelled so good.
***
"Baby steps," she almost purrs. "Take a finger first."
"Oh," Coffee responds, bobbing his head quickly up and down as if in the act of losing his mind, "that makes it much better."
The bound and gagged man, Nassir, slowly realizes that the man standing above him is no killer. The woman, however...
Merlot takes the machete from Coffee and before Coffee can stop her, she chops two fingers off of Nassir's left hand. Well, two and half.
"What the fuck'd you do that for?" Coffee screams.
"Asshole. If you hadn't grabbed me, I'd have only taken one finger."
Coffee freezes. The look on his face is priceless. It makes him innocently cute. To those with maternal instincts, anyway. Merlot doesn't have many maternal instincts.
Nassir does his best not to scream in pain, but finds it impossible not to wince and cringe. He can't see the wound but knows parts of him are missing. Still, Nassir begins to doubt that either one of his kidnappers can bring themselves to cut off his head.
Just as Merlot planned. Fact is, she can't bring herself to behead Nassir. Or anyone, for that matter. But she had to prove that she's more than willing to dismember.
Nassir begins his canary song before Merlot can even finish pulling his trousers off.
*Continued in Matches? Check. Charcoal? Check.
"You want me to do what?" He scarcely believes his ears. No, he doesn't believe them at all. Merlot's lost her damned mind.
"Cut his head off." Her expression is blank. That it is underneath her dark red wig and behind overpriced Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses only adds to the effect.
Coffee doesn't speak Arabic, but he can only assume that the sudden sounds from the bound and gagged man tied at their feet are muffled pleas for mercy. "I..." Coffee doesn't know what to say. Or to do. "I've never killed anyone before."
He can't see it, but he knows Merlot just winked at him. "Baby steps, Coffee."
"Baby steps?" Coffee screams, clumsily brandishing the machete Merlot handed him a few minutes earlier. "You want me to cut his fucking head off!"
***
"Keep moving, Coffee," Merlot ordered, "And quit looking at the buildings. You're making us stick out."
He was used to observing his surroundings discreetly for cops - and even government agents, a bit - but an assassin presented a new challenge entirely. "What about snipers?" he whispered to Merlot.
She put her arm around his and gently nudged his cheek with her nose. "Snipers would have to know where we're going."
Damn, she smelled good. "Where are we going?" He almost didn't ask the question as he briefly wondered what her nose felt like just above his...
"I have no idea," she said through a smile. Her arm slid away and she grabbed his hand. "So how would they?"
Damn, she smelled good.
***
Grayson studies the imagery from the kidnapping. The local police aren't touching this one - the kidnapped man is a known terrorist - and that's a bit of a relief for Grayson. Less interference that way. Tying these loose ends has already taken too much time and the last thing he wants is more bureaucratic red tape.
The problem here is that the kidnapped man is also a known asset. Everyone's been too polite to ask - so far - but it's only a matter of time before Grayson's going to have to answer some questions.
For the briefest of moments, he considers sending out more muscle, but he knows such an action would be career suicide. Not to mention it would probably expose him. Though he excels at fudging numbers, he's aware that he's fast approaching the limit of feasible deniability. He's already spent too much of his operational budget on his pet project. His personal project, he reminds himself.
No, this should be over soon. Keep confident. He did bring in the best, after all.
***
She lied. She knew exactly where they were going. Coffee should've run when she pulled a .40 caliber pistol out of her waistline and handed it to him, but he spent too much time trying to figure out how she hid a gun there without interrupting her curves. He definitely should've run when she pulled another one out of her purse. There is no question he should've already been running when she yanked the 9mm hold-out from her boot.
She thought about it for a moment, then took the .40 back from Coffee and handed him the 9mm.
"What? Why do I get the small one?"
Ever concerned with their cover, she leaned into him, kissing him just on the side of his lips. "Grow up."
They stood in front of apartment 712. Merlot embraced Coffee fully, taking his mouth with hers and pressing his body against the door. He couldn't help it... she turns him on. To her credit, she barely acknowledged the erection and pressed against him more firmly.
Coffee didn't know it at the time, but she was testing the strength of the door. He figured it out after she threw him into it. He watched from the ground, lying on top of the broken door, as she apprehended the Arab. Bitch was fast. And smelled so good.
***
"Baby steps," she almost purrs. "Take a finger first."
"Oh," Coffee responds, bobbing his head quickly up and down as if in the act of losing his mind, "that makes it much better."
The bound and gagged man, Nassir, slowly realizes that the man standing above him is no killer. The woman, however...
Merlot takes the machete from Coffee and before Coffee can stop her, she chops two fingers off of Nassir's left hand. Well, two and half.
"What the fuck'd you do that for?" Coffee screams.
"Asshole. If you hadn't grabbed me, I'd have only taken one finger."
Coffee freezes. The look on his face is priceless. It makes him innocently cute. To those with maternal instincts, anyway. Merlot doesn't have many maternal instincts.
Nassir does his best not to scream in pain, but finds it impossible not to wince and cringe. He can't see the wound but knows parts of him are missing. Still, Nassir begins to doubt that either one of his kidnappers can bring themselves to cut off his head.
Just as Merlot planned. Fact is, she can't bring herself to behead Nassir. Or anyone, for that matter. But she had to prove that she's more than willing to dismember.
Nassir begins his canary song before Merlot can even finish pulling his trousers off.
*Continued in Matches? Check. Charcoal? Check.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
No Meat; No Creamer
Looking at them, one might think they are lovers. The way they dress, the way they stand, the way they walk. Everything about them screams of fitting together. The kiss under the streetlight does, too, but that is only a deception.
They are not lovers, but reluctant partners. Until this night, they'd never even met in person. But they are being hunted, and they are each other's only chance of survival.
***
Todd Grayson was not his real name, but it suited him. The alias was a not-so-subtle nod to his favorite comic book character and it reminded him that there was always someone else pulling strings. Even now, as he prepared to pull the strings of one of his charges, someone pulled his.
He sat by himself, alfresco, at a French-Italian cafe in Tunis. His appearance was somewhere between disheveled and clean-cut - really, it depended on the angle - and he both stuck out from and faded into the background. Passers-by had a tendency to see him, notice him, then forget him. And all in a few steps. Of course, that was the intent.
Grayson resisted the urge to check his watch (he had long since trained himself not to do so) and instead glanced at the sky as if in mid-thought. She was late, which was unlike her. Then again, he had made her wait the last time they met in public. Perhaps she was simply returning the favor. He finally noticed her as he signaled a waiter to refill his glass of water. He had turned to do so and saw her sitting three tables behind him and to the left. Clever girl. Though he felt the red hair didn't suit her.
She smiled, stood, and walked over to him. He would admit that she startled him and she would joke that he was getting old and sloppy. He would hold his tongue, knowing that it was the last time he'd ever see her.
***
The kiss over - she notes that his lips are soft - they break their embrace. Before he was interrupted by a passing black sedan, he was asking a question. "Why Merlot?"
She gently places her hand on his neck. Anyone watching from a distance will think they are continuing their intimate conversation. Anyone listening, however, will be thoroughly confused.
"Why not?" She winks. "It matches my hair."
He laughs, leaning in to her ear, gently exposing her neck. She must really think he's an amateur. "That's a wig. And you missed some roots."
That hits her sensitive spot. He notices the subtlest of winces, as if her professionalism is insulted. She turns into him and kisses him again.
No, she feels no insult. Merely alarm that she may have underestimated him. Thieves usually rub her wrong way, but this one is different. "We should go."
***
"You're Coffee?" Grayson was tired of operatives with silly code names, but didn't dwell on it long. Everyone went by stupid aliases these days, it seems. Blame it on the Internet and screen names.
The man called Coffee chuckled as a waiter quickly ran over with a mug and fresh pot of actual coffee, obviously having mistaken Grayson's question for a request. Must be security. That was just way too fast for a Tunisian waiter. Coffee waited for the "waiter" to leave, then leaned forward.
"You know I don't trust you."
Grayson smiled. "That one's mutual. Can you do it or not?"
Coffee thought about something for a few moments - he was secretly relieved that, like himself, Grayson preferred to get right to business - then nodded. "As long as your prep is as good as you say it is."
"She's the best."
Coffee's eyebrow raised at "she." He so very rarely got to work with female keys. Grayson took notice and smirked. Coffee's profile report clearly fit him like a glove.
***
Twice they both thought they had tails, and twice she lost the cars in question. Coffee hates that he's not driving, but he's extremely impressed at how quickly - and subtly - she maneuvers their vehicle through traffic. He couldn't do any better and he knows it. Hell, were he driving, they'd likely be engaged in a high-speed getaway. But Merlot barely brought their speed over the posted limit signs.
"Where'd you learn to drive?"
"Nevada. My dad taught me." She's well aware that's not what Coffee is asking, but she can't resist. Evasion and deception are built into her psyche, ingrained by years of training and experience. Of course, she loves sarcastic humor, as well, which she did get from her father.
"You're not from Nevada," Coffee says as he checks the rear-view. She keeps underestimating him on purpose, and it's starting to piss him off.
She tilts her head. "How do you know?"
"Quit asking rhetorical questions."
Yes, she pronounced Nevada like a non-local. And he picked up on it immediately. So, either he's from there or just, like her, well-traveled and/or well-versed.
"Start asking real ones," he almost commands. "I will answer, you know. You don't have to distrust me."
Interesting, she thinks. He broached the topic of trust from the opposite direction than nearly everyone else would. He's letting her know that he doesn't expect her to trust him, but they are in their current predicament together, and they're going to have to work together.
"It's my favorite wine. Barefoot, actually."
"What?" Coffee's caught off-guard, but only for a split-second. Ah... she's answering his earlier question. He grins. "I figured you for an expensive girl."
"All part of the deception. Why Coffee?"
"It's my name."
***
Grayson smiled as he listened to the scanners. All Hell had broken loose. It had been a few days past schedule - he had to admit that he had started to get worried - but if the reports from the Algerian National Police were to be believed, it appeared that the wait was worth it. Grayson was competent at speaking Arabic, but the rapid screaming over the radios had made it hard for him to translate everything he heard in his head. Still, he managed to make out "stolen" and "there is no suspect" and couldn't prevent the shit-eating grin that crossed his face.
Satisfied, he turned to the silhouette behind him, seated across the desk.
"We're back in business," Grayson said, his tone not even bothering to conceal his glee. It had been his error that caused the incident in the first place, but it will be recorded that it was he who also rectified it. And there would be no loose ends.
He slid a manila envelope to the silhouette. "Tie these for me, will you?"
"Of course," the silhouette replied as it pulled two pictures from the packet. One was of Merlot - the silhouette paused to admire how beautiful she was - and the other was Coffee. There was a wink and another acknowledgment, and Grayson was soon alone in his office.
It almost seemed like a joke. A spy and a thief, chased by an assassin.
He'll laugh later. Of this, Grayson was sure.
*Continued in Your Machete; My Cleaver
They are not lovers, but reluctant partners. Until this night, they'd never even met in person. But they are being hunted, and they are each other's only chance of survival.
***
Todd Grayson was not his real name, but it suited him. The alias was a not-so-subtle nod to his favorite comic book character and it reminded him that there was always someone else pulling strings. Even now, as he prepared to pull the strings of one of his charges, someone pulled his.
He sat by himself, alfresco, at a French-Italian cafe in Tunis. His appearance was somewhere between disheveled and clean-cut - really, it depended on the angle - and he both stuck out from and faded into the background. Passers-by had a tendency to see him, notice him, then forget him. And all in a few steps. Of course, that was the intent.
Grayson resisted the urge to check his watch (he had long since trained himself not to do so) and instead glanced at the sky as if in mid-thought. She was late, which was unlike her. Then again, he had made her wait the last time they met in public. Perhaps she was simply returning the favor. He finally noticed her as he signaled a waiter to refill his glass of water. He had turned to do so and saw her sitting three tables behind him and to the left. Clever girl. Though he felt the red hair didn't suit her.
She smiled, stood, and walked over to him. He would admit that she startled him and she would joke that he was getting old and sloppy. He would hold his tongue, knowing that it was the last time he'd ever see her.
***
The kiss over - she notes that his lips are soft - they break their embrace. Before he was interrupted by a passing black sedan, he was asking a question. "Why Merlot?"
She gently places her hand on his neck. Anyone watching from a distance will think they are continuing their intimate conversation. Anyone listening, however, will be thoroughly confused.
"Why not?" She winks. "It matches my hair."
He laughs, leaning in to her ear, gently exposing her neck. She must really think he's an amateur. "That's a wig. And you missed some roots."
That hits her sensitive spot. He notices the subtlest of winces, as if her professionalism is insulted. She turns into him and kisses him again.
No, she feels no insult. Merely alarm that she may have underestimated him. Thieves usually rub her wrong way, but this one is different. "We should go."
***
"You're Coffee?" Grayson was tired of operatives with silly code names, but didn't dwell on it long. Everyone went by stupid aliases these days, it seems. Blame it on the Internet and screen names.
The man called Coffee chuckled as a waiter quickly ran over with a mug and fresh pot of actual coffee, obviously having mistaken Grayson's question for a request. Must be security. That was just way too fast for a Tunisian waiter. Coffee waited for the "waiter" to leave, then leaned forward.
"You know I don't trust you."
Grayson smiled. "That one's mutual. Can you do it or not?"
Coffee thought about something for a few moments - he was secretly relieved that, like himself, Grayson preferred to get right to business - then nodded. "As long as your prep is as good as you say it is."
"She's the best."
Coffee's eyebrow raised at "she." He so very rarely got to work with female keys. Grayson took notice and smirked. Coffee's profile report clearly fit him like a glove.
***
Twice they both thought they had tails, and twice she lost the cars in question. Coffee hates that he's not driving, but he's extremely impressed at how quickly - and subtly - she maneuvers their vehicle through traffic. He couldn't do any better and he knows it. Hell, were he driving, they'd likely be engaged in a high-speed getaway. But Merlot barely brought their speed over the posted limit signs.
"Where'd you learn to drive?"
"Nevada. My dad taught me." She's well aware that's not what Coffee is asking, but she can't resist. Evasion and deception are built into her psyche, ingrained by years of training and experience. Of course, she loves sarcastic humor, as well, which she did get from her father.
"You're not from Nevada," Coffee says as he checks the rear-view. She keeps underestimating him on purpose, and it's starting to piss him off.
She tilts her head. "How do you know?"
"Quit asking rhetorical questions."
Yes, she pronounced Nevada like a non-local. And he picked up on it immediately. So, either he's from there or just, like her, well-traveled and/or well-versed.
"Start asking real ones," he almost commands. "I will answer, you know. You don't have to distrust me."
Interesting, she thinks. He broached the topic of trust from the opposite direction than nearly everyone else would. He's letting her know that he doesn't expect her to trust him, but they are in their current predicament together, and they're going to have to work together.
"It's my favorite wine. Barefoot, actually."
"What?" Coffee's caught off-guard, but only for a split-second. Ah... she's answering his earlier question. He grins. "I figured you for an expensive girl."
"All part of the deception. Why Coffee?"
"It's my name."
***
Grayson smiled as he listened to the scanners. All Hell had broken loose. It had been a few days past schedule - he had to admit that he had started to get worried - but if the reports from the Algerian National Police were to be believed, it appeared that the wait was worth it. Grayson was competent at speaking Arabic, but the rapid screaming over the radios had made it hard for him to translate everything he heard in his head. Still, he managed to make out "stolen" and "there is no suspect" and couldn't prevent the shit-eating grin that crossed his face.
Satisfied, he turned to the silhouette behind him, seated across the desk.
"We're back in business," Grayson said, his tone not even bothering to conceal his glee. It had been his error that caused the incident in the first place, but it will be recorded that it was he who also rectified it. And there would be no loose ends.
He slid a manila envelope to the silhouette. "Tie these for me, will you?"
"Of course," the silhouette replied as it pulled two pictures from the packet. One was of Merlot - the silhouette paused to admire how beautiful she was - and the other was Coffee. There was a wink and another acknowledgment, and Grayson was soon alone in his office.
It almost seemed like a joke. A spy and a thief, chased by an assassin.
He'll laugh later. Of this, Grayson was sure.
*Continued in Your Machete; My Cleaver
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