Roses are Red?

           “Mrs. Berkowitz is it?” Brent asks, while staring at a file T.B. has generated for him in a matter of minutes. Man, really nothing is private anymore. I called T.B. 15minutes before we arrived while we were in route with the evil pin-up girl. When I walked in, he had everything from her Kindergarten Class Photo and Birth Certificate to her numerous nightly visitors at her apartment.

            “I’m not married, but if you’re interested, it could be Mrs,” she pouts through her lined and stained and glossed and reshaped red lips. At this point she’s either really stupid or really smart. It can go either way at this point.

            “So, Berki, it’s okay that I call you Berki now is it?” I ask rising from my seat.

            “Not really.”

            “Well, Berki, Brent and I here are having a bet. You are either playing stupid or are really stupid. For some reason here, this old muscular dope has some faith that your brain hasn’t been hindered by the tightness of your pin-up. I on the other hand, beg to differ.” Leaning against a wall, I glare at her. If one glares at you, you can’t help but glare back, no matter what character you’re in.

            “Now wait a second Rose, I don’t think you’re being that fair,” Brent interjects.

            “By all means, take the floor,” I pronounce with my over dramatic gestures.

            “Why thank you, Rose” he bends. “First off, by coming with the investigative crew and being interviewed, isn’t that the best way to find out what they do and do not know?”

            “But how do you exit once you’ve retrieved your information?”

            “Shoot out?”

            “She has no guns.”

            “Tracking device?”

            “T.B. is interfering with any signals.”

            “Good plan, didn’t work if true though.”

            “So she’s doomed?”

            “I guess so.”

            “Then she is stupid.”

            “What about a bomb?”

            “You mean the one Dan sniffed out 5 minutes ago, disarmed, and brought up for proper disposal?”

            “So it was the bomb,” Brent declares.

            “Then she is stupid,” I declare. “You owe me Twenty bucks.”

            “Oh, I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you and your stupid little lackey,” she feigns horror and disbelief. Folding her wrist faintly over her forehead and releasing her body to gravity in the chair.

            “First off, you’re not getting any Emmy anytime soon,” I sigh.

            “Your not in little league anymore Elizabeth, this is the big leagues, and you’re little town superhero act won’t play here,” she slowly breathes in a choking voice.

            “How do you know my name?”

            “For your information, Brent, or Jackson, I meant that line before, call me if you’re interested.”

            “I’ll know just where to find you. Saves on the phone bill,” Brent breathes onto her face.

            “Oh, and tell T.B. back there, or Eugene, though, I think his was the first name that was an improvement, that frequencies are the old technology.”

            “How did you know that, there are no records on us?” I inhale.

            “Do you like Literature, Elizabeth?”

            “Do you know that classic poem? Roses are red, Violets are blue, Sugar is sweet, and so are you,” She rises from her seat.

            “What does that have to do with anything that is going on right now?”

            “There are so many versions of it, so many different meanings. Just that simple structure people can build off. Using their words to fish for police on a killing spree to asking a friend out to prom. Beautiful, isn’t it?” She unpins her hair.

            “Words are infinite expressions,” Brent recites. Bating the woman in vocabulary heat.

            “Exactly, Jackson,” She picks her black blazer up and reapplies it to her slender frame.

            “I personally prefer Shakespeare’s poetic phrases myself,” Brent shares.

            “I know. You hate yourself for being cliché and joining the fan group of Hamlet Lovers in the To Be, Not To Be Speech,” her hands dig, scoop, and walk through her pockets and shoes.

            But Brent, his brows fury for an instant with hands clenched in his back pockets to try and hide it.

            “I personally prefer, Roses are blood, Violets are bruises, Rings are suffocation, and We’re married to the world.” She drops through the floor.

50s Vigilante?

“I didn't know we had an appointment on the books,” Mr. Winters said. “But, please, have a seat,” he motions to the two expensive cushions placed in front of his desk. He takes a seat in his overcompensating chair. Really, what is it with men and over-compensating chairs. Of all the things to overcompensate, a chair does not seem like one of them. Perhaps, a car or a condo, maybe even just some exercise equipment. But, a chair, really?

“Thank you for seeing us, this appointment was a little spontaneous. But considering what we found, we thought we should come see you right away,” I say graciously. Dan takes a seat, I stay standing.

“So, what have you found?” Mr. Winters asks. I walk over to Mr. Winters, unsuspecting and completely comfortable in his “boss” chair.

“We found out that you have been lying to us,” I state, leaning in on him.

“That’s preposterous,” he spits. Waving it off like an easy payment to a hookerly-affair.

“Actually, do you want to hear something really preposterous?” I ask, grabbing his arm rests. “A man hires an investigation agency and then doesn't predict the outcome that they would discover his lies. That, Mr. Winters is preposterous.”

“I've had enough of this, come back when you have something real. Like my flash drives. Get out!” Dan rises towards the door, locking it with one click.

“I've had enough of you, Mr. Winters. Tell us right now what is on those flash drives and why people would steal them in the first place!” I say throwing him in his wheely-chair to the corner of his office, invisible by his secretary and associates.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He shouts!

“Our headquarters were blown-up by some high weapons grade organizations. What is on the Flash Drive?” I scream.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Winters pleads again.

“It’s your company, how can you not know?”

“I honestly don’t know. I don’t handle what goes on the Flash Drives, I just give the information over for my assistant to encrypt.”

“Where is your assistant now?” Dan asks, peering over his shoulder. She could have Mr. Winters office bugged, she could be gone by now. Long gone.

“She should be outside seating some officials for my 3 o’clock meeting.” I leave Winters cowering in his chair in the dark corner, Dan unlocks the door, and we follow through. Haste over-taking our step. Why are there so many conference rooms in one legal office? We finally find her, brown hair pinned-up in 50s style, black skirt coming up to her waist and a tan blouse popping out from the top. With heels that could stab Fat Bastard in his multiple chins neck.

“ I was waiting for you to come,” she states. “Let’s go.”

Timeline

            “I think we need to take a look back at everything that has occurred, break it down into a timeline,” Brent instructs.

            “I agree,” I say. “We didn’t expect all of this in the beginning.”

            “All of this?” Dan spits incredulous. “I didn’t expect any of it. It was supposed to be a simple retrieval. Now we’re looking of this masked fellow Kez, we have two dumbos on our back, and someone just blew-up our headquarters. So what of that were you expecting?”

            “The two dumbos,” I reply.

            “If you two are done cuddling up there, will you kindly follow me?” Brent asks moving into a conference room.

            We all follow as though he enchanted us with some source of sorcery, though it’s most likely his sound logic. The room carries a long table with chairs surrounding it long way facing the large monitor hugging the wall. Brent leans into one of the masterful chairs while I lean on the table at the far most corner in front of the monitor. T.B. walks up buddy-buddy to the monitor like he was a child giving a presentation in school.  Dan leans against the table on the other foremost corner. Could he be more copycat like?

            “So,” T.B. begins bringing up a large timeline onto the monitor. “We became involved with this case when Samuel Winters hired us to locate these flash drives,” A plot is placed onto the timeline. “Samuel Winters told us that these flash drives were from his law firm and were encrypted. But based on the huge problem we had with decoding his encryptions, I believe he was lying to us. But why did he want us on the case?”

            “We’ll figure that out after we have the full picture,” Brent states swiping his hand in that pretentious keep going manner.

            “Next, Rose and I went to Winter’s office to survey the location of its theft. We found Brute 1’s fingerprint.” Another dot was placed onto the timeline. “Then Dan made a composite of notes on Brute 1 and his comforts and mannerisms. By doing this we were able to close down his possible area of residence and who he was committing his thefts with, of course, Brute 2.” There goes another dot. “Brent made a compilation of empty warehouses and construction projects in the 10 mile radius Dan created. We were able to narrow it down to two possible places: a warehouse on the far right of the radius to the town house under construction after Sandy. Rose went to the warehouse and Dan to the townhouse.”

            “It’s still stupid you didn’t wait for me,” Dan intervenes.

            “Why so you could be my knight in shining armor?” I ask.

            “Well. Yes.”

            “It’s not how my fairytale goes,” I remark.

            “Enough,” Brent states firmly.

            “Of course the Brutes happened to be residing in the warehouse.” A new dot is born onto the timeline. “Rose retrieved the flash drive, and of course a stunning exit off of stage. Kudos by the way,” T.B. says bowing to me.

            “It’s always nice to be appreciated,” I state taking a wide curtsy.

            “However, something on those flash drives are encrypted and self-destructive so our headquarters were destroyed.” One more dot. “The Brutes are working for this masked figure Kez who wants these flash drives for a reason.” And there goes the last dot.

            “So Mr. Winter’s has lied to us and Kez is after them,” I repeat.

            “It appears so,” Brent states getting up. He slowly strides up to the board and takes a fierce stare at it. As though a stare down would work on a monitor.

            “So are Kez and Mr. Winter’s working together?” Dan asks.

            “But Winter had the flash drives he didn’t need to steal them. Though I doubt those flash drives only have legal documents now, I also predict it must look bad for him having lost these, even though they were stolen. T.B. and I both saw an actual office, so what could it possibly be that he’s not telling us?” I ask.

            “I think it’s time we ask him, don’t you?” Brent turns me.

            “Hell yeah I do.”

A Special Touch

            Dan and I strive into what I have coined the T.B. Project. He’s there, he’s here, he’s on that, he’s under that, he’s everywhere, and nowhere long enough to catch him. Scurrying from one monitor to another, cords draped along his arms and his button down shirt making it’s way down. “You want to catch T.B.?” I ask Dan.

            “Not particularly,” he replies.

            “Will you catch Dan?” I ask.

            “For a price.”

            “What’s your price?”

            “One kiss?”

            “How about I don’t tell Brent your use of the company gadgets to woo females at bars?”

            “That works too,” off Dan goes trailing T.B. and shouting as he goes. When T.B. gets this way, it’s very hard to get him out of his zone, Dan tends to be the one with the best track record in beating him back into reality.

            “Look who finally decides to show-up,” Brent bounds.

            “Excuse me Mr. Prudent, I was a little busy at the moment,” I say climbing the stairs to his littler cavern.

            “What did you find out?”

            “A fellow known as Kez hired the Brutes to track down the flash drives. I don’t know why, but I know he covered his tracks very well. He calls the Brutes on a cellphone he arranged for them, that doesn’t record his number to send them to various pick-up spots for their assignments. The Brutes should be getting out of their predicament soon, so we’ll see soon if they truly can’t call him.”

            “Good work Rose.”

            “Thanks. Now you, what did you find out?”

            “The explosion was very central to our offices, specifically the flash drive’s position. It was measured accurately and by a professional. It was also a controlled experiment, whoever shot us down wanted to make sure they only got us and not anyone around us. “

            “Could it be government espionage or something of that nature?”

            “Sounds likely by the car of bystanders. However, the government is not usually keen to loosing their toys.”

            “Then what is it?”

            “I’m not sure. I think most of this won’t make sense until we combine all of those flash drives.”

            “I just hope there is a way we can get ahead of Kez in this hunt, if we have to keep following him, it’s going to cause us more danger than most.”

            “What are you guys discussing up here without me?” Dan asks striding into the on-look with T.B. following.

            “How you ever snapped T.B. back I will never know,” I say.

            “I just have a special touch,” Dan says. “You’re welcome to find out what that touch feels like anytime.”

            “I’m assuming that T.B. taught you that touch, so maybe I should just go to the source,” I fire back.

            “Anyway,” T.B. interjects. “First off, I’m prepping the control system downstairs to be off of the grid and hide our spectrums as well as emit opposite signals, as a prevention method from another attack.”

            “Thank God, we’re running out of headquarters,” Brent sighs.

            “Secondly,” T.B. states. “I did teach Dan that touch.”

2 Bulges

            Brute 1 has his arms tied up and connected to the bumper of Dan’s car. Brute 2 is hanging by his arms to a fire escape. I have a bat in my hands and Dan is sitting in his driver’s seat waiting for my word.

            “So this is how it is going to work,” I say beating the bat in my hands and crossing from one brute to the next. “I’m going to ask one of you a question and if they refuse to answer or give me an answer I don’t like, the other will pay,” I say stopping my pace. “Understood?” I scream.

            “Shut your bloody mouth you whore!” Brute 2 screams.

            “Now what do you know about my sexual track record?” I ask coming close to him with my bat. “Go Dan!” I scream. I see Brute 2’s eyes wander to Brute 1, as Dan revs his engine and then spurs a couple feet as Brute 1 drags along the hard pavement. Dan stops a couple of feet away.

            “We’re going to try this again, got it!” Both Brutes kept quiet this time.

            “Who do you work for?” I spit.

            “We don’t know,” Brute 1 quivers, still in pain from his little ride.

            “I don’t like that answer,” I say. Striding over towards Brute 2, I push the bat out to take a wide swing and lunge.

            “It’s true!” Brute 2 screams with some blood spilling with his words. “We’ve never met him.”

            “How do you get your assignments?” I ask.

            “He sends us to them in an envelope through the mail,” Brute 2 answers.

            “Where do they arrive?”

            “It’s a different spot each time,” Brute 2 responds.

            “How do you know where to go?”

            “He calls us,” Brute 1 shares.

            “On what?”

            “On our cellphone from him. He has our number, we don’t have his,” Brute 1 says

            “Do you have the phone with you right now?”

            “It’s in my front right pocket,” Brute 2 says.

            I walk over to him and toss the bat aside. My hand slides into his pocket where I find two bulges. Only one I need though, and that one was bigger than the other.

            “Dan,” I yell. He runs out of the car and trots beside me.

            “What’s up?” He asks.

            “Has T.B. taught you any new tricks?”

            “Yeah, why?”

            “I think we may need one?”

            Dan seems to catch on, and takes the phone from my hand. He runs back to the car and unlocks his gift from T.B. Though I’m sure there are other surprises in that car T.B. hooked him up with that Dan doesn’t know of yet. As Dan becomes acquainted with his hook up, I become more acquainted with the Brutes.

            “What’s his name?”

            “We call him Kez,” Brute 1 answers. Brute 2 seems to be having problems with his other bulge.

            “What does he call himself then?”

            “Kez as well.” Brute 2 looks like he I going to be preoccupied for a while.

            “Do you know why he wanted the flash drive?”

            “We’re not that important in his schemes. He gives us a mission and we accomplish it. We don’t know why he wanted the flash drive.”

            “Do you have another mission from him?”

            “We’re probably going to die because we didn’t get all the info from that flash drive.”

            “I wish you luck with that,” I say turning from Brute 1. “Dan are we good?” I scream.

            “We’re good.” He tosses me Brute 2’s phone. It sucks for Brute 2, it seems he was just getting his bulge situation under control. Until I stuck his second bulge back in there.

            “Here’s what is going to happen, we’re going to untie Brute 1 from our car and leave, so good luck with that living thing,” I say. Dan is untying the rope from his bumper as we speak.

            “You fucking bitch!” Brute 2 shouts! Why do they still think I need a bat or some sort of instrument to hurt them?

            I walk over and punch him in his nose. “Good luck with that broken nose as well,” I say strutting over to Dan’s car.

            We leave the Brutes squirming and bleeding in the alley. “So what’s the plan?” Dan asks.

            “Learn what Brent found out and keep track of this Kez fellow.”

More Than One?

            “Not again,” Dan says.

            “I was really starting to like this office,” I add.

            “How about you guys start sketching out construction plans after we go up the 20 floors to street level?” Brent asks.

            “Can T.B. help?” I ask. I am not an art major nor will I ever contest to the opposite.

            “I will be glad to, but first I need to survive,” T.B. shouts chasing off towards our ‘emergency exit.’

            “Oh right, bomb, time, we’re supposed to be running for safety,” I inform.

            “Gotcha,” Brent says, taking off in T.B.’s dust.

            “We could always do that romantic dying thing were the male and female confess their love to one another in their final moments,” Dan suggests.

            “You really need to stop watching Nicholas Spark’s movies,” I say taking off.

            “So is that a no?” Dan asks meeting my pace.

            “That’s a; I need a male to do that with first,” beating him to the car.

            “I swear I have the junk to prove it,” Dan states taking a seat across from me.

Brent closes the doors, and pushes ‘the button.’ You know that big red button? The one you’re obviously not supposed to touch incase of extenuating circumstances, that’s the button. It pushes our little train underground to severe speeds to another safe location a safe distance away. So much safety, I don’t think I like it.

            “I know you do Dan, I saw the plastic surgery bills.”

            “How are you gonna come out of that whole Dan?” Brent asks, intrigued as the car was already speeding away.

            “I’m thinking P.D.A. what are your thoughts on the matter Brent?”

            “I’m thinking she might kick that impressive plastic surgery loose if you do P.D.A.”

            “T.B. are you on my side?” Dan asks.

            “Hell no, I like this laptop, and would like to keep it in working condition.”

            “Have you made up your mind yet Dan?” I ask.

            “I’ll give you a 24 hour notice of my move.”

            “Thank God we never played chess together Dan,” T.B. says rising from his seat as the train pulls to a stop.

            “I just can’t win today can I?”

            “What day did you win?” we all ask.

            “You’ll all find out one day,” Dan says swaying out of the train and into our temporary office.

            “I want a 24 hour notice of that too,” Brent says leading us to T.B.’s temporary workspace.

            “So why were we just bombed?”

            “I don’t know,” T.B. says taking a seat in front of his monitor children.

            “Who bombed us?”

            “I am unsure.”

            “What do you know?”

            “I know that whatever information you have on this stick is incomplete. Someone broke the information up from each stick, I’ll need to download each set and then comprise it together. Until you have all pieces, these won’t tell us much.”

            “Can you make out what type of information it is?”

            “Not accurately, no.”

            “Do you know where we could find the missing sticks?”

            “Not included on the disk.”

            “So until we have all the sticks you will be of zero help,” I infer.

            “Precisely.”

            “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Brent takes charge. “I’m going to take our train back to our old office and survey the damage, look for any manufacturing clues or something, anything that will narrow down our suspect pool. Dan and Rose, you two are going to pay another visit to Brute 1 and 2.”

            “At least I didn’t get the chance to change my clothes.”

            “Hmm?” Dan mumbles as we go up to the garage.

            “I would hate to ruin two outfits.”

Bashing Balls and a Flash Drive

            “What am I going to have to pay today?” Brent asks perched in his over-compensating chair.

            “Other than me?” I ask strolling in and taking a seat on his over-compensating desk.

            “I have to pay you?” he asks placing his dirty shoes next to me on his desk. I wouldn’t call Brent a manager or my boss, more like the banker. But if you see him in your neighborhood Chase, I would run. He’s darkly handsome. Stubble lines his hard features; his hair is as dark as midnight and always bed head beauty. Probably the only guy alive that can pull off the bed head look and not be accused of trying to look like Harry Styles or Robert Pattinson. I think it’s because Brent does it better.

            “No, but you have to pay me,” Dan says. He strolls in and leans against his arm placed on the desk behind me. “She got blood on my seats.” Dan wasn’t bad looking either, his dirty blonde hair waving in all different directions. Though, both of them were built.

            “Blame Brute 1 and Brute 2 then,” I say.

            “Why would I do that?” Dan asks and Brent silently wonders.

            “It’s their blood.”

            “Then what are you doing on my desk?” Brent asks kicking me off.

            “Cleaning the blood off of my coat,” I reply pushing off. I round his king-sized chair. I slowly bend my head down onto his laid back shoulders, bring my hands around onto his firm chest, and rub all the dirt, blood, and musk onto his nice white shirt.

            “Well now you’re definitely not getting paid.”

            “What about me?” Dan asks.

            “What did you do, you drove up under the window.”

            “You didn’t give me a chance to park.”

            “It’s not my fault you need to psych yourself up to perform.”

            “Ohhhh,” Brent coos.

            “I’m ready to go whenever you need me babe,” Dan says leaning forward to be square in my face.

            “How can a girl turn that offer down?” I ask leaning onto my arm to put my face into his.

            “They don’t,” Dan winks and smirks.

            “When Dan actually has the confidence to offer,” Brent interjects.

            Now it was my tern to coo “Ohhhhh.”

            “If we’re all done bashing balls, can we see what’s on this flash drive in the first place?” Brent asks moving towards his glass door. 

            “That would make my day,” I say pushing off of the desk. “But so would getting paid.”

            “I say amen to that,” Dan says pushing off of the desk as well.

            We follow Brent out of his office and downstairs to the computer farm. Who do we find in the center, none other than our technology cowboy. TechBoy if you will.

            “T. B. get your butt over here,” Brent shouts as he continues his brisk pace to the main monitor.

            T. B. runs like a lab rat in a race for the cheese. He made it in record time too. This time it is his turn to sit in the over-compensating chair in front of the over-compensating monitor. There must be a pattern with the men in this company. However, that’s the only similarity between T.B. and the other guys. He’s not built the same; he’s tall and lanky. His hair isn’t dark as midnight or beach sandy; it’s a dirty brown. “What do you guys need today?”

            “The information on this flash drive,” Brent says handing him the tiny plastic figurine.

            “May I ask why?” T.B. says taking it from Brent’s menacing hands.

            “I’m hoping you can tell us,” Brent says.

            “So it’s one of those cases.”

            “Yeah, it’s one of those.” Brent says.

            T.B. starts hastily typing away, green numbers and letters fly across the monitor.

            “You know you owe me a new shirt,” Brent says. We’re all still watching the monitor, hands folded across our chests, but we still manage to have the multi-tasking ability to snide towards one another.

            “Put it on my tab,” I retort.

            “Did you hear that Dan?” Brent asks.

            “Loud and clear Brent,” Dan replies.

            “What did you guys here?” I ask.

            “Progress,” they reply in unison.

            “Progress towards what, stupidity?”

            “No, to you in debt,” Brent begins.

            “Enough debt, more leverage,” Dan continues.

            “More leverage, more power in suggestion,” Brent picks up.

            “More power in suggestion, more payment options,” Dan follows.

            “Better chances of getting you to come to work in a bikini,” they finish together.

            “Sorry to crush your dreams, but I’m pretty sure my paycheck is 10x that shirt,” I answer.

            “Who said my new shirt was going to be a replacement of this shirt?” Brent asks.

            “I hate to end your guy’s delightful repartee,” T.B. interjects. “But we might want to get moving,” T.B. rises from his chair. He grabs a laptop nearby and the flash drive.

            “Why is that?” Dan asks.

            “Because they’re about to bomb our hideout.”

The Beginning

            My lips taste like glue. Ew. I run my tongue over my lips, moistening them and loosening the tape.

            “Have you had enough yet,” the dirty mug spits at me. To be honest, it was more saliva than voice.

            Considering my hands were tied behind my back, my feet tied to the front chair legs, and my mouth has many layers of duck tape restricting my voice, I just don’t know how to respond to that. Sign language isn’t even an option, not that I believe he has the comprehension for such. Mumbling seems like the best idea, I could shake my head, but would that piss him off as much.

            Though it sounded like “Mmmmgsdmmmmma asasdmmmmmdfmmmmm,” what I really said was “I didn’t know you already started. Performance issues?”

            As I predicted, he got mad. Steam fumed from his ears, his head transformed into a tomato, and he smacked my arm with a bat. Little did he know that most of that arm had no feeling left in it from a bad explosion in my rookie days.

            He throws the bat aside and it bounces from one side of the spectrum to another; good, bad, good, bad, good, bad, perpetually repelling one side. As the cycle continues until it rolls to a still medium, the thug begins hurriedly removing the tape he layered on me.  Moving his head closer and closer to me, until he was just to close. I brought my head back and slam my forehead into his skull. He falls instantly.

            Idiot. I stay where I am. I can remove at least one more brute from this vantage point. Though more than two would look suspicious.

            Just as I thought, another tattoo addict walks through the dinged door moments later. “What happened?” he screams. I really should learn these guys names. For now I’ll call the incapacitated tattoo Brute 1, and the walking tattoo Brute 2. That’s so much better.

            Anyway, I start jumping, what I can with legs and hands unavailable. I also release this high pitch squeal and shaking my head in astonishment. As well as widening my eyes and even managing to pull some tears out of them. Brute 2 quickens his pace. He comes closer to me and begins unwrapping some of the duck tape as well. But, like before he makes a huge mistake. He brings his head way too close. Bam, I head butt him as well. He falls instantly.

            I am so over tape at this moment. I shimmy my arm and my knife falls out. I cut the tape around my hands. I unwrap the tape around my mouth. I kick my feet free.

I so hate sitting for too long as well. I walk across the room and regain my equipment they were too enthusiastic too remove. I put my burgundy shirt back on, zip-on my leather jacket, pull my leather pants on, and complete my look with my boots. I re-clip my thigh holsters, my ankle holsters, and make sure some of my hidden pockets are still in working condition. The pistol-38 goes in the right thigh holster. The steyr-m in the left thigh holster. The patriot knife in my right ankle holster. The applegate in the left ankle holster. And to keep some of the mystery alive, I’m not even going to tell you where the hidden pockets are and what are going into them.

            Now re-armed, I begin my exit. Out the dinged door and through the steal ones.

            “Did you guys miss me?” I ask as I barge into their ‘headquarters.’

            You think they would figure it out, don’t just get-up and ram. You think, then get-up, and then ram. That first step is important people. But, they get-up and they try to ram. One dives, I swing my leg around and kick them straight in the side of the face. He lands by my feet; head first, and out cold. Another one decides to throw a punch. I catch his fist, turn it down, his head lowers with his arm to try and save himself the pain, and my knee comes up into his chin. I didn’t know someone’s head could go back that far. He’s out cold on the other side of me. The last two had a light bulb go off. Don’t just all go one at time; two huge brutes have a better chance at taking this little girl down. I hate to be cliché, but brains over brawn. One from my left one from my right and they lunge. I don’t do that superhero move where they pull out that gun thing that has that tri-hook where they get pulled up.  I just jump up, reach for a waterline on the ceiling, hold myself and kick out in both directions. I jump down, and they fall backwards. Well, now that that is taken care of.

            I retrieve the flash drive from the computer on the crumby tables. I look around the worn-out building. There’s a window on the far right. I think I found my escape route. If you’re going to go home, you might as well do it in style. I inhale my adventure and lunge. I come crashing out the two-story warehouse and land in the back of a backseat of a 1964 Mustang Convertible. “You know you should be more careful.”

            “Why?” I ask scooting to the front.

            “Because I’m not always going to be here,” Dan says.

            “That will just make it more fun.”

            “Now I know why people call you the Bleeding Rose, your thorns sting.”

            “Look who learned what metaphors were!”

            “Why they don’t call you the Patronizing Rose, I’ll never know.”

            Dan floors on the gas and we’re off.