Fugue Page 6

  Rachel ran down the quaint little downtown street of cafes and shops and stopped under a sign that said 'Midnight Cafe' with a picture of a big cup of coffee with steam. She hesitated, but then went inside. Like the street outside it was quiet, only two customers in it. They each sat alone.

  "Take a seat," A young plump waitress said.

  Rachel sat in the nearest booth.

  "Coffee, hun?" the waitress said.

  Rachel nodded and the waitress brought over a cup and poured coffee into it.

  "Thank you," Rachel said barely audibly.

  "You bet," said the waitress and wandered off.

  Where was Tom?

  She waited there for five, maybe ten minutes, but it seemed like forever. A shiny black truck sped up and quickly parked outside. She almost started to run, but then Tom got out, and she was relieved. He rushed inside and sat across from her and grabbed her hands.

  "Are you alright?" he asked in an urgent hushed way.

  She nodded.

  "We should probably get a move on," he said, reaching for his wallet. He put a couple of bills on the table and grabbed her hand and led her out of the cafe.

  They ran to his truck and he opened her door for her and ran around to get in. And then he just started to drive.

  They said nothing as he drove aimlessly.

  Finally Rachel spoke, "Would they have a tracker on your truck?" she said.

  "Dammit," he said and quickly stopped the truck. They got out and he grabbed a backpack he had brought with him. "Food and clothing," he said when she glanced at it. He locked the door and they started to walk. It was a warehouse district. Easily they could have hidden in a warehouse, but not with the truck right there.

  This area started to seem familiar to her. From long ago. Like a memory.

  "Down this road," she said, jogging ahead of him. He followed.

  It was all coming back to her. They got closer and closer to an overpass. She used to play there as a child. She and a few friends. They'd put on old dresses and play dress up. Under the overpass. The road it passed over was broken down and rarely used now.

  They went and stood under the freeway above.

  She remembered more. She looked to her right and there was a brown metal door. With a hole where a doorknob used to be. They used to play in there.

  He saw where she was looking. She looked back at him and he nodded.

  They ran over and pushed open the metal door. She flipped a heavy switch inside the door, which turned on two light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The third bulb was missing at the far end of the room, where it was still dark. Where a man in a brown suit sat at a gray metal table as if he'd been waiting for them.

  He had.

  They froze. He got up from the table in a dignified way. He was in his 50's, sleeked back dark brown hair, his eyes looked black, but must have been brown.

  "Rachel," he said. "So good to see you."

  'Oh God, oh God, oh God...' Rachel thought.

  "Or is it Zane?" he asked, stepping around the table toward them.

  Tom slowly unzipped the backpack, opened it and showed its contents to Rachel. On top of her folded clothing was a gun. Oh how she wished Zane were here.

  She pulled the gun out of the backpack and Tom set the backpack behind him. Rachel pointed the gun at the strange man. This didn't even faze him. He seemed to be unarmed.

  "Who are you?" she said in a low firm voice. Trying to do what Zane would do.

  "I made you," the man said, almost proud. "I was the main programmer who trained you. I broke you into pieces, then built you up again." He almost said this sweetly.

  "You did this to me?" Rachel asked.

  "With help, but yes," he said calmly. He stood about six feet from her and looked like he would take another step.

  "Don't move!" Rachel said.

  "But Rachel," he said, condescendingly, like she was a child, "we are old friends." He stayed where he was anyway. "How do you think I knew you would come here to this room? It's one of your happiest childhood memories." He smiled at her, as if to coax her out of her gun.

  Where was Zane? Where was Zane? But it was fine now. Rachel had enough rage building up inside her of her own to take this man on.

  She said to him through gritted teeth, "I'm going to kill you."

  His smile faded, but fear had yet to make an appearance on his face. "I'd honestly like to see you try," he said coldly.

  "Wish spoken, wish received," she said with a steely voice. She cocked the gun and tried to fire it at him. Her finger would not budge. The man smirked. She had been programmed not to kill him.

  She tried to pull the trigger again, but could not make her hand do it. The man had taken a syringe with a needle out of his pocket, filled with a sedative no doubt.

  As Rachel struggled with the gun, the programmer lunged at her, but Tom quickly took the gun out of her hand and fired it at the other man. He shot him in the right shoulder. The man dropped the needle and fell to his knees on the floor in shock, gripping his wounded shoulder.

  "I'M not programmed not to kill you," Tom said angrily to the man. He raised the gun and pointed it again, this time at the man's head.

  The programmer laughed. "You love her, don't you?" he asked Tom.

  Tom paused, not seeing the relevance of this. "Yes."

  "Alumhagamora," the man said and Rachel immediately began having a seizure. She fell to the ground as her body convulsed and Tom went to her to help. But there was nothing he could do. She seemed to be in pain.

  The programmer had weakly gotten up and tried to run for the door.

  "Stop!" Tom yelled as he got up, pointing the gun at the programmer again. "Stop the seizure!"

  "Only I know the codes to control her," the programmer said with a wicked smile. "I made her," he said, leaning in the doorway. "I control everything about her. You never will."

  "I don't want to control her," Tom said angrily.

  "Right now you do." The programmer smirked at him.

  "Give me the code!" Tom yelled. He could hear Rachel gasping behind him.

  "I give you the code and you shoot me? Is that the deal?" the programmer asked calmly.

  Tom was furious now, and frustrated, and lost. "I will shoot you... in your arms, legs, hands, feet... groin," he said, with seething anger, raising his eyebrows, "until I convince you to give me the code."

  The man's expression grew grim. "Ikata dakrita," the programmer said clearly and Rachel immediately stopped twitching.

  Tom could hear him run away across the gravel outside as he bent down to attend to Rachel.

  "Oh, that hurt," she said.

  "I know, baby, I know," he said as he helped her up. "We can't stay here now. He'll send others back."

  Her muscles were sore as he helped her out of the room.

  "Can you walk?" he asked.

  "I think so," she said.

  But where on Earth to?

  "You choose this time," she said as she limped across the road. "They can't predict what you would do."

  "Okay," he smiled at her. "Okay."

  Chapter 13

  She lay awake next to Tom. They had walked 15 blocks or so to a cheap motel and gotten a room under fake names. Tom had used an ATM about a mile away so they could pay with cash.

  She could see the red light of the neon "Vacancy" sign shining through the curtains. She could not sleep. Her muscles felt better, after walking. But she knew she was doomed. Her time was limited. They couldn't run forever. How had her life gotten to this place?

  Mostly, she realized, it was the men's club. Her husband's friend, the man who had brokered the deal to sell her. What was his name? Rob. Rob Davis. She remembered meeting him.

  Without him her husband would have called an ambulance. Everything else would have been as it should be. Divorce, separate lives.

  Suddenly a memory flooded into her head. Her husband going out after dinner. She asked where. He said he had joined a men's club.

&nbs
p; She raised her eyebrows at him.

  "Don't worry, honey," he smiled. "There are no strippers there. It's just a place for men to go and unwind and smoke stogies."

  She was mollified by this.

  He kissed her on the cheek and said, "I'll be back late."

  "Okay," she said. She curled up in an easy chair with her poodle and a book she'd been reading. She could spend an occasional evening without him, she thought.

  She came back to reality now, lying in the bed with Tom. He was breathing evenly. He was asleep.

  What was the name of the club? She knew she knew this. She must.

  Her mind flashed back to her picking an object up off of her husband's nightstand. He wasn't there. It was a dark brown matchbook with a slightly lighter brown logo and the word "Staggert" under it. The logo was a stag's head, she realized. At the time she’d thought it was cheesy. She set it down again. She didn't smoke anymore and Geoff never had. But apparently he'd taken up cigar smoking now.

  She sat up carefully in bed, so she wouldn't wake Tom. Staggert. That was the name of the club. She felt energy surge through her now. She could do something about this. Maybe not stop them from doing it to someone else, but at least make them pay. Or at least make Rob Davis pay.

  She couldn't harm her programmer, and maybe she'd been programmed not to harm her handlers or her debriefers either, but it was doubtful they'd bothered to protect this guy. Maybe she could stop him from ever doing this to anyone again. Or at least for God's sake ask him why.

  She got up out of the bed and went to the backpack. She grabbed the gun. She also pulled on her long sleeved black shirt, over her T-shirt. She wore black pants and shoes and jacket. These were Zane's clothes. She wanted to feel like Zane right now. Cold and methodical. She needed to do this right.

  She took money from Tom's wallet. She would need to take a cab. She put the gun in her jacket pocket and quietly left the hotel room. She didn't take the key with her. If she died with that on her they could find Tom with it. And if she needed back into the room she could just knock. She gave him one last look as she closed the door.

  She ran over to the payphone at the end of the building and leafed through the phone book. It wasn't in the yellow pages. It was in the white pages, however. Only under "Staggert." But there was an address. Fools.

  Then she called for a cab to pick her up.

  * * *

  She had no plan, just to find him and demand answers. She paid the cab fare and got out, nervous. Where was Zane during all of this? Or Kayla?

  She walked up to the entry to the club. It was 1 a.m. Everything seemed quiet and discreet. How could she politely walk into a men's club? As a woman. She had no idea. But she walked into the entrance and was greeted by an older portly gentleman in a suit behind a desk, a booth. There was a windowless window between them.

  Without looking up, he said smoothly, "Could I see your key card please?" Then he looked up. "Oh," he said.

  'Uh oh,’ Rachel thought. What now? She put her hand in her pocket to get the gun, but the man spoke first.

  He said, "Are you the one who was sent to wash the filth off the windows?" He sounded almost frightened.

  Suddenly Zane said urgently from within, 'Say "Only if the price is right and the birds are merry"!'

  It startled the hell out of Rachel, but with a halting voice she managed to get it out, "Only if the price is right and the birds are merry," she said.

  He nodded and smiled as if relieved. "Indeed," he said. "Room 214." He handed her a key card.

  She nodded and took it. She walked past a coat check girl's booth and through a big heavy dark wooden door. It swung closed behind her and she found herself in a wide long hallway with dark red velvety carpet and painted portraits all along the wall. There was another big door at the end. It was closed. She was alone.

  "What was that all about?" she whispered aloud to Zane.

  'That's the code they use to greet an assassin discreetly, when one has been called to a location to take care of an immediate problem,' Zane said. 'So, another assassin is on the way.'

  'And headed for room 214,' Rachel said inside.

  'Yes.'

  'Have you been here before, Zane?' Rachel asked.

  'No,' Zane answered. 'How exactly do you think you're going to find this guy?' she asked.

  'I know what he looks like,' Rachel said hopefully. "Oh my God," she said aloud.

  She had been slowly walking down the hall, but now she stopped in the middle before the biggest portrait in the hall. It was a painting of the man she had murdered with the silk rope.

  The name plate said his name was Stuart Locke. He was the founder and head of the club.

  'He was hoarding research and information,' Zane said inside her head.

  "Is that any reason?" Rachel said.

  She stared at the painting some more. "They kill their own?" she asked in disbelief.

  'In this world they do,' Zane said.

  Rachel was stunned. She was starting to get more nervous. But she could not let this man get away with doing this to people. Rob Davis. She had to at least stop him before they took her down. She took a deep breath and turned and marched the rest of the way down the hall. She pulled open the heavy wooden door.

  The lights were dim. Smoke hazed the air. Glasses tinked, men's voices laughed and talked. There were tables, and along the wall couches. There was a bar. No one noticed her at first. She scoured the room with her eyes, looking for Rob Davis's face. There were about 17 people in the phone book with that name. But he was nowhere to be found, as far as she could see.

  She took a deep breath and walked over to the bartender.

  "I'm looking for Rob Davis," she said to him firmly.

  "What are you doing here, sweetheart?" the man said as he poured a drink. "Ladies aren't allowed."

  He nodded to someone behind her, probably some sort of bouncer or security. Suddenly two strong hands gripped her upper arms.

  Then Zane suddenly took over her limbs. Her heel kicked the man in the shin and she turned and slammed her hip into his groin.

  The man let out an "oomf," and let go of her. She spun around and kicked him for real in the groin, sending him to the floor.

  Wow. It was like she was doing it. With Zane's help. It was like Zane was letting her have all the training and knowledge she'd learned from the programmers.

  Another man, large like the other, no doubt another bouncer, came at her too. His arms were open as if he meant to grab her.

  With one foot she kicked him in both shins, then turned and kicked him back with one leg smacking into his stomach. He fell to the ground and she kicked him in the head just enough to knock him out. The first man tried to get up and grab her, but she kicked him in the head too.

  The bartender was calling someone. The men of the club were hushed, and then the braver of them tried to rush at her too. She panicked, but suddenly her body knew what to do. Kickboxing, martial arts, street fighting, you name it, she seemed to know it. And how to use her skills against bigger stronger opponents.

  She kicked and elbowed and back handed and flipped men as they came at her from every direction. She took a few hard punches, but was so full of adrenaline the pain hadn't registered yet. She knew her lip was bleeding. She couldn't do this forever. She kicked and kneed and shoved men away from her and managed to get enough space to grab her gun. She pointed up and shot into the ceiling. The rush almost stopped.

  One man tried to run and tackle her, but she quickly pointed the gun at him, and he staggered to a quick stop. She looked around at the men. All angry, some injured. Not likely she'd get Rob's whereabouts from them now. Just then the big door behind her started to creep open.

  'More security,' Zane said.

  Rachel went to stand against the wall near the door. Another big man entered. She put a gun to his head. He stopped walking.

  "Drop your gun," she said.

  He did.

  "Step into the room with
the others," she said coldly.

  He did as he was told. She picked up his gun. ‘They only have one more security person?’ she thought.

  'I guess they don't expect this kind of tussle every day,' Zane said. 'We'd better go.'

  Rachel looked at the men in the room. "You see what happens when you mess with me," she said. "If any of you try to follow me, you’ll get one of my 24 bullets," she said, holding both guns up.

  She put one gun in her pocket and opened the big heavy door and let it slam behind her as she ran down the carpeted hall.

  '"One of my 24 bullets",' Zane repeated in her head. 'God, that was dorky.'

  "Well it sounded good," Rachel said aloud.

  Just then the door to the club started to open and Rachel fired one shot back down the hallway and shouted, "What did I say?!"

  Zane laughed inside her head.

  "Shut up," Rachel said under her breath.

  The door closed again and Rachel had reached the other door. She shoved it open and ran through it. The coat check girl looked stunned. Rachel had blood coming from a cut on her head and her lip, and her knuckles she now noticed, and she felt a black eye coming on.

  Rachel walked quickly by the coat check booth and pointed her gun at the girl. "Don't interfere with me, sweetie," she said.

  She went right over to the man who had greeted her before and pointed the gun at him.

  He looked alarmed and raised his hands up.

  She said, "I don't have a lot of time and I know you have a computer back there and I need you to look something up for me," she said.

  He hesitated.

  "Look," she said louder, "I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna make it through the night, and if you piss me off I have no problem taking you with me." She was starting to feel the pain of her injuries now, though she was still fuming. "Understand?!" she shouted at him.

  "Yes," he nodded.

  "Rob... Davis..." she enunciated. "A member of this club. I want his address. NOW."

  The man stared at her as he moved over to the keyboard to type. He looked at the screen and waited for it to display the results.

  He looked up at her and muttered nervously, "3102 Hathaway Place."

  "THANK you," Rachel said, and continued to point the gun at him as she made her way quickly out of the building.

  Chapter 14

  It was raining heavily as Rachel ran from the building. She put her guns in her pockets and ran down the street.