[All characters in this work of fiction are over 18]
*
I should never have taken the job.
I'm a criminal. We do these things for different reasons, we killers and thieves. Sometimes for profit, sometimes because we want to self-determinate beyond whatever it is the bounds of the law dictate, to live in defiance of any and all authority. As with anything, it was probably a mixture of these for me. Mainly though, the skills I garnered in the military didn't land me anywhere close to a desk, or any kind of decent income in civilian life. But the bottom line is, I am a mercenary, and therefore a criminal. Ever see the TV series, Burn Notice? I love that show. I sometimes imagine I'm one of the bad people they kill on the way.
So when someone like me says that Ramona was evil...
It probably wasn't her real name. I remember watching her from the passenger side of the cab of the semi. She chewed gum with her mouth open, teeth showing like a shark, bobbing her head slightly to Rage Against The Machine's "How I Could Just Kill A Man" on the stereo. I could already tell someone was going to get hurt today.
I didn't come gunning for this job, I was approached. This is how it usually goes when your skills or talents are unique and uncommon. Someone puts feelers out looking for certain qualities, and they come up with you. This job, any man could have done. But what Ramona wanted was a woman.
So it made me uneasy the way she looked at me. I've been expendable. I've been viewed as a sex object. It was the way I felt like both to her that made me wish I'd stayed in Toronto. The maintenance crew outfit she'd "issued" me was several sizes too tight.
"Hey, Merc. Heard about the shit you did in Fallujah," she said.
Of course you did, I thought. It was a bloodbath. I just nodded.
"Hot shit," she said. "Merky-Merc. I'm gonna call you Merky-Merc. Like that? 'Cause you don't give your real name and you don't say anything. You're not clear, you're all...murky-like."
I looked over at the vans tailing us, containing the rest of Ramona's crew and hoped like hell at least some of them were mentally stable. I looked from the rearview mirror to the road ahead. There it was. It was a women's college in the middle of the city. I knew it was going to be hideous.
---
So there we were. We'd established ourselves in the atrium, which overlooked the entire city through the biggest plate-glass window I've ever seen, in ridiculously full view of the public. I was getting more and more uncomfortable.
Crazy as Ramona was, her crew, all female, were a collective machine. We'd taken the entire University Union building and rounded up over a hundred girls as hostages. I think the final count was 127. She hadn't told me the rest of the plan, saying we'd "wing it from there." I wanted to demand more information, but I seem to recall gagging on all the money the job was paying.
Ramona had decided she liked me. It may or may not have had anything to do with how I'd handled the initial entry and sweep of the grounds. At least she wasn't leering at me in that tight jumpsuit anymore and I was back in my work outfit. Boots, BDU pants and assault vest, an FN-P90 resting in my black gloves. I'd made it clear I was a professional. I wonder if that just turned her on more. Either way, she had important errands for me to run from the get-go.
"Go get me," she said, holding up a photo, "this." She jammed it into my cleavage and turned to her lackeys. "You two, go with her. Do whatever the fuck Murky-Merc says, she can kick your ass."
Before long, I was standing over a blond Queen Bee surrounded by several lesser girls, huddling in a corner. They were praying. I rolled my eyes. "Take her," was all I said. The two attending me lifted her and started carrying her off to the distress of her brood.
"I've got the queen bee," I said into my earpiece. "I'm taking her up."
"Fuck yeah," came back Ramona's voice. "The cavalry's almost here, I can't wait."
It was unbelievable. She'd taken the place so fast the LEOs hadn't even arrived yet.
I hauled Miss Priss up to the top floor, which was offices with no windows. The crew had already set the place up. It looked like torture equipment, electrical stuff. I dropped the queen on the floor and left before I had to see what they had in mind, but I could guess. Hostages are a commodity, and to make your point you usually have to kill one. Threaten to torture them, and you get a lot more mileage. I was pretty sure we were going to be there for at least a few days. I got ready to live in the gas mask I was wearing. They'd been issued to all of us to cover our faces.
"Did ya do it?" said Ramona in my ear.
"She's taken care of," I said.
"Good, the bulls are here. Grab me that teacher bitch."
That "teacher bitch" was a faculty member we'd managed to grab ahold of. She wore a suit and a skirt and wouldn't look at me. She must have only just arrived at her thirties and was fit and attractive. No wonder Ramona wanted her.
I stood over her. "Move," I said, nodding to the door. She looked stable enough to walk under her own power. The two crewmembers walked on either side of her as we made our way to the atrium.
"Awesome!" shouted Ramona, "I'm so happy! All of our friends came to the party!"
As I approached the window, I could already see a huge police perimeter forming outside. I grimaced behind my mask. I heard a tinny voice coming out of the radio Ramona held to her ear.
"Hello?" she said. "Hello? Mr. Negotiator Man? Can you hear me 'n stuff?" she waved to the outside. "Yeah. Here's how this is gonna go." She then threw it to one of the attending crewmembers, and picked up a magic marker. On the plate glass window she apparently had already written the frequency (backwards from here) she'd wanted the police to contact her on. Now she reached up and drew two circles on the glass at just above head level.
"Okay!" she said to the teacher. "Hands on the circles!"
