Lady Smith Loc and Ey

The 2021 Readers Choice awards is currently voting. I'm nominated for best Novel/Novella, so if you got time stop by and check out the nominees.

-Lady Smith-

Wednesday - May 5, 2021

The Caesar seems more on edge after a phone call. Early this morning law enforcement from multiple agencies flooded into the city and rounded up his entire operation. Everyone flying the Legion's colors was just arrested. More arrests were being made after those people were interrogated, and now their non-member affiliates were being put in handcuffs as well. A handful of members were in the right place at the right time and managed to avoid capture and tipped him off before being ordered to go into hiding. What's scaring him the most is that Dante has gone dark too.

"Dante won't talk sir," a member says after he's informed of the situation.

"I know he won't. Not his first rodeo," the Caesar says.

"We get paid, use the money to start some legal defense?"

"No," the Caesar replies, and the member is shocked. "Other people got hanged because too many talked. We can't trust any of them. Only person who manages to contact us we trust is Dante. That's it. Assume anyone else is flipped."

"What's the plan?"

"We get the cars, kill the girl, and then get paid. We split that and scatter. I got a few friends who owe me favors, I can hide out easy."

When they know they're just going to kill me, they talk openly around me. These would normally be hush-hush conversations.

It's just after midnight and we're pulling in front of the Kings Chariot. The parking lot is empty, but we still stop a good distance away to make sure none of the exterior cameras catch us. I know a few routes where we can approach on foot with almost no coverage. Once inside I will be on tape, but I also have full access to the cameras. I can delete all the footage and stop future recordings.

"Lady, you're up," the Caesar says. I sit in the car seat with my head toward my lap. My body is still aching from his punch, and I have crusty tears I haven't bothered to scrape off the bottom of my eyes. "Fast death or a slow death. We got at least a half hour before I say it needs to happen. How we spend that time is all up to you."

I slowly lift my head up and look at him. He's rotated his body around in the passenger seat, a gun resting in his hand for added affect. It's not the gun I'm scared of. I do this and get shot. Or I get gangraped, then do it, then get shot.

"See that red dot in the corner of the camera?" I ask. He turns his body over and looks toward the building. Even at this distance you can see the slight glow of red. "Once that goes away, they're off."

"Get to it," he says.

I exit the car, and the man sitting next to me exits as well. Even at this juncture they're still wearing their colors. He has a black undershirt that accents the vest well. Terrence is in another car nursing his beat down, still bitching that he should be allowed to fuck me seeing how I'm a walking corpse. He rolls down the window and grins at me through his bloody teeth.

"It'll be my gun that ends you. Just not the gun I'd prefer," he sneers.

I get to the edge of the building by skirting around the side with my escort in tow. I don't have a key for the main door, but I do have the pin code for the side entrance next to the shop. That camera is pointing straight down onto it.

"You're going to erase the footage, right?" he asks, looking up at it as I type the pin. I say nothing as a digital tone indicates it's open, followed by the snap of the deadbolt. He grabs the door the moment I open it. I was hoping he wouldn't think to grab it. The door reengages after five seconds, and he couldn't follow me. I'd be safe enough for long enough, but it didn't happen that way.

I walk ten feet to another pin pad and type the code to turn off the security alert. I have twenty seconds to do that. I could just let it go off, and they'd be caught in a matter of minutes. But I'd be dead in a matter of seconds. I know he's been told if I do anything hinky to shoot me immediately.

I lead him down the floor and he starts whistling at the cars.

"Goddamn," he says in admiration. "Always wanted a Royce."

"Now you have ten of them," I say.

"Damn right."

We exit the shop and enter the main administrative offices. We walk past the reception desk and take the next hallways to the offices. Mine is the last door on the right. We pass Lucas and Ryan's. CEO. VP of Sales. Bianca has an office as well, but she's hardly ever in it. I almost miss her combative attitude with me at the reception desk. That glare started as disdain and had slowly softened over time. Now I'll never see her harshly judging me with her eyes again.

I open my office door and he follows me inside. He keeps the door ajar and leans out into the hallway. Just in case someone wants to start work early.

"Turn them off," he orders. He's tense now. He just walked directly in the line of sight of several cameras. He wants to make sure they're dead. "Hurry up."

"I need to log into my computer, takes a second to boot up."

"Hurry," he repeats.

My computer hums to life. I look up for a moment and see he's focused on the hallway. The screen turns on and I wiggle the mouse to watch the curser move. I open the CCTV software and wait for it to load. The program is always running in the background, so it populates the screen quickly. I look up again and see he's still looking out the hallway. While he's occupied, I discreetly create a clip of the last five minutes from the camera in the reception room and save it as a file I name '

Legion

'. I drop it in my trash folder on the desktop just as he looks over his shoulder.

"I can still see the red dot..." he starts.

"...and off," I say. He turns back and the red dot is gone. The fact I continue to click the mouse sets him off.

"What are you doing. They're off, let's go..."

"...you don't want me to delete the footage of you in the building?" I ask.

"Hurry up."

I drag and drop all the footage from the cameras and add them to the discard folder. He's focused on the hallway again with a more nervous disposition. While he's distracted, I write '

trash

' on the top of a stack of sticky notes and flip it over. When I say I'm done he walks around the computer and has me show him they're gone. He's just smart enough to ask about clouds and server backups, which we do have, and I show him they're removed from there as well. He leaves satisfied but not knowing of my last fuck you to the Legion.

"Let's get the bay doors open," he says, and drags me off the computer chair by my arm. "On your feet, let's go."

I jerk my arm away from his hand, and my reward is being push out the door to stumble into the opposite end of the hallway. He points the gun straight down at me, and gestures for me to pick myself up and keep moving. I slowly pull myself up and use the wall to support myself. I was already aching, but now walking is a significant achievement.

We exit out the reception area and back to the shop where I point out the button next to the bay door. He presses it, and it roars to life and grinds up and open. The Caesar is standing in wait. Down the street I see two semitrucks towing car haulers crawling toward the building. They start backing up, the reverse beeping most large vehicles make echoes across the empty parking lot.

"We do her now?" the man behind me asks.

"Not yet. We load the cars then do her. No surprises."

All the vehicle keys are kept in lockboxes attached to the wall that I don't have a key for. Lucky break that someone here can pick locks. Several men who appear to not be members of the Legion start cycling through driving and loading the cars up on the first truck. They're focusing on the more valuable cars first. All the Royce's and Porsches are loaded first. Before they load them, they lift the hoods and remove the trackers. Then the BMWs and Mercedes get the same treatment

The first truck is loaded with ten cars and the Caesar walks up to the driver and gives him instructions. That truck pulls away and the lights on the back eventually fade away from my view. The second truck pulls up and they start the process all over again. I hear the men speak, and it's not English. I don't know much about foreign dialects, but they sound Russian or Eastern European.

They're about halfway done when the Caesar starts pacing and looking at his watch. He's on a timetable. Terrence is leaning against the wall next to the opening of the bay. Just waiting for the order to shoot me.

They have a limited window to get these cars across the border. I don't even know if they have the same plan anymore. After the police raided them, he likely had to improvise or got his cut reduced to make it happen in such a short turnaround. Besides the guys openly displaying the Legion's colors, I don't recognize any of this crew.

"Anxious?" I ask.

"You really fucked us..." The Caesar starts.

"...I'm not the one who killed a cop and a woman."

The Caesar turns to me sharply, almost displaying the back of his hand to strike me. He stops, and exhales loudly.

"No, no you're not," he says, and looks over his shoulder to his nephew. "Terrence did say you seemed pretty buddy-buddy with the cop he shanked."

"Or that was the cop tailing me, as you know he was, and he attacked me in front of someone obliged to intervene," I point out. The Caesar checks his watch again.

"Keep talking. You're dead as soon as that car is loaded," he says, pointing to the last car getting the tracker removed. They slam the hood down and jump into the driver's seat. "And done. Do it."

Terrence checks his pistol for a round by pulling back the slider before he raises it to my head. I clinch my eyes shut, wondering if I'll be alive long enough to hear the gun shot.

"What the fuck?" The Caesar says, and I peel one eyelid open. He's turned his body and starts to walk toward the open bay door with Terrence in tow. I step to the side a little to see what's caught their attention. A car is driving up the driveway to the company at normal speed with its high beams on. The Caesar shields part of his face with his hand, mouthing obscenities as he tries to determine friend or foe.

The car stops, but because of the light I don't know how far away it is.

"Who the fuck is that!" The Caesar shouts. The car door opens and shuts. "Who the fuck is..." he starts to repeat before gunfire erupts. I curse and duck down for cover. The two sides trade bullets for several volleys.

The closest Legion guy is dropped immediately, and now the rest are just firing at the blinding light. Whoever this is, knows exactly what they're doing. The light illuminates their targets but obscures themselves. The gunfire is wild and frantic from my side, but the return is controlled and precise. One Legion guy aims around the side of the truck, and I hear the bullets trace across the front of the truck before striking him square in the chest. Another tries to run for better cover, but I watch mist halo his head midstride.

"Get the truck moving! Go! Go!" The Caesar screams over the gunfire. The truck hums to life slowly but starts picking up speed. The Caesar jumps on the side of the truck and fires as it barrels toward the light. The door opens and someone drags him into the cab as they ram the attacker's car.

I turn to run, but feel my hair get pulled back and dragged toward the back of the shop.

"Let me go!" I scream and see that it's Terrence.

"Change of plan, you're a meat shield now."

I'm shoved into the passenger door of a Mercedes and ordered to climb over into the driver's seat. The gun is at my temple, still hot from the freshly fired bullets. I flinch away from the heat as I'm told to follow the truck. I hesitate too long and get the hot barrel to my side. It burns through my shirt, and I yelp.

"Drive!"

I start the car and gun it out the bay. They apparently missed the attacker who starts shooting at us. I watch as bullets dance up the hood and toward my face. I instinctually duck and hear the windshield crack and my headrest take the bullets for me.

"Catch up with the truck, go!"

--

We've been on the road for a good hour. It didn't take long to get out of Billings, and now we're driving north on US 87. They had mentioned taking the cars through Wild Horse to get them into Canada, but now I'm not so sure. That is easily a five-to-six-hour drive. We can't exactly drive two massive trucks loaded with precious cargo for that long on this much open road. Not to mention they probably only have a few hours before someone notices the cars not to mention the evidence of a shootout.

87 is pitch black this time of night. It's a barren stretch of highway, mostly two lane, with very few lights to guide you. All I can see in front of me is the red lights of the semitruck a safe distance ahead of me. During the day it isn't more interesting. Flat grassy plains on both sides as far as the eye can see. Sometimes it gets exciting and throws a hill or some rock formation out there just to spice it up. Mon-fucking-tana. If I get out of this somehow, I'm done with flat.

"Who the fuck was that?" Terrence asks. It didn't sound like he was asking me. I look at him from my peripheral and see him staring straight out. "Any ideas?"

"Whoever it was took a shot at me too," I say, pointing out the bullet holes meant for my skull.

"Probably just trying to take out the driver," he says, and curses to himself. "Keep up with the truck."

"That's what I've been doing for the last hour," I snap, and he grabs my throat. I grunt and crane my neck around to him. I notice he's not wearing his seatbelt. With his hand on my neck, I discretely clip mine in. The car gave up trying to remind us.

"Pull over. I'm done waiting," he says. Instead, I press my foot on the accelerator. "I said pull over!" We're gaining on the truck fast. The speedometer says I'm nearing 90mph. I drift into the oncoming lane and start to surpass the truck. "Pull the fuck over!"

I grumble something at him, but he can't hear me because he's holding my throat. He lets me go just enough to hear me say, "Buckle up."

He looks at me in confusion before I pull the e-brake up and slam on the brakes hard. He is thrown against the windshield, but not through it. He discharges the gun, the bullet hitting my left thigh.

"Motherfucker!" I shout, swerving the wheel hard on accident. The car fishtails and is now traveling sideways down the road parallel to the truck. The back-end slams into the back wheels and whips the car like a spinning top. Terrence slams into the passenger window, and he's desperately trying to cling to anything. I try to pull the wheel back but only make it worse. I start to feel the car tip, and then spin. I'm thrown around, but the front and side airbags deploying save me from a lot of harm.

I'm dizzy for what feels like minutes until the world starts to feel normal again. Normal as hanging upside down in an overturned vehicle can feel. Blood starts dripping onto my face from my leg. I need to get that under control before I bleed out. I try and fail to control my fall from the seat, but land on my neck and shoulders hard. Rolling to my side, I look to the passenger side and see that Terrence got ejected out the window. I crawl out of the broken window from underneath the once fully inflated air bag.

I drag myself over broken glass, ignoring the pain screaming from every fiber of my being. Once at the side of the road, I have no light to determine how injured I am. I touch my leg with both hands and feel the warm blood oozing out. I can't grip with my left hand because my index finger is pointing the wrong direction. Keep pressure. I know that much.

As expected, the truck just keeps going. Terrence isn't worth the trouble to come back for.

A soft roar echoes up the highway. I face the sound and see a single headlight approaching fast. It's a motorcycle. One last member of the Legion is trying to catch up. I curse to myself and crawl deeper into the brush to hide. The motorcycle growls to a stop near the car, and I hear the kick stand get pushed out. I can't make the rider out, but they slowly walk down the road until they're about ten yards behind where the car finally stopped. The light of the motorcycle is shining on the barely alive body of Terrence Novak.

The figure stops in front of him. They shove him onto his back with their foot too look at his bloody and road ravaged face.

"Terrence Novak?" a female voice asks. Even under the idle hum of the bike I can hear his pathetic, whistling breath.

"Help," he winces out, slowly stretching out his hand to her. She aims a pistol at his face and finishes him off. His hand drops onto his chest, and she shoots three more times. Not to make sure, but for her own enjoyment.

The woman starts walking toward the car, and I shy myself down lower. She gets to the driver's side, and I watch her eyes trace something on the road toward myself. My blood trail. She follows it and shines a flashlight at my face. I raise my hand to the light, before she turns it off. I hear the gun enter a holster and her steps crunch over the glass.

"Come on," she says. I notice her hand silhouetted against the light. She helps me to my feet, and rests me against the car where there isn't much glass. "You hit?" I nod and move my hand off my thigh enough for her to notice. "Let me see."

She shines the light on my leg and instructs me to put pressure above the wound. It hit my mid-thigh, so she tells me to keep the pressure at least three inches above it.

"Doesn't look like femoral. You got lucky," she says. Lucky my ass. I look at her eyes and realize who it is.

"Dinah?" I ask. Why is Dinah here with a pistol strapped to her thigh, a knife on the other, and a long rifle slung on her back? She's also wearing body armor by the looks of it. The kind those amateur militia guys wear when the news needs to remind me militias are bad. The armor has pouches for several magazines of ammo and I hope that isn't a real grenade.

She says nothing as she cuts into my shirt with a knife to tear off a long strand of cloth. She wraps it under my leg and tells me to move my hands so she can tie it off.

"This is going to hurt," she warns right before she wrenches down as hard as possible. I initially start yelling, but bite into my arm to contain myself. The painful part was still to come, because she cranks down on it harder with a piece of the car laying nearby. When it's done, I'm literally gasping for air because I was full body clenching so hard. She hands me a phone and says, "Don't take that off yourself. Get to a hospital."

Dinah stands up and walks to the motorcycle.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

Dinah sits down and pushes her heel back against the kick stand.

"To kill the rest of them." Dinah roars off down the road, and I never saw her again.

--

-Trixie Kirkpatrick-

The parking lot for Kings Chariot is littered with three bodies and nearly one hundred shell casings from several calibers. On the far end of the parking lot is a bullet ridden car that got pancaked by a truck with twenty some odd casings of 5.56mm. Near the bay doors are three dead Legion members and brass for 9mm,.38mm, and a few.45mm. This was a two-way gun fight, and it looks like the 5.56mm won. There isn't a body on this side.

"Your girl use five-five-six?" I ask Special Agent Shelby.

"She prefers seven-six-two, but the other is easier to get out here. She'll make do with what's available," he says while crouched over a body. The forensic team is severely overworked at this point. They're used to a few murders a year, not six in a twenty-four-hour period.

"What are you doing here?" I hear Ronda ask as she emerges from the bay door of the building. "You're on leave. Or not a cop, I'm a little fuzzy on your intent."