St. Clair Ch. 04: The Angel

Cindy walked over and looked through the gap in the curtains and began watching the group.

Shasta, a relatively new dancer, looked over at them. "What's a heartbreak tour?"

Amber, who could barely remember being the "new girl" after almost a year at the club, smiled gently. "It's usually a military thing. One of their guys gets dumped or divorced, they drag him through strip clubs and pour booze into him, usually end up finding him a hooker. The broken-heart patient is the serious looking woman with the short brown hair. I overheard them talking. Her girlfriend dumped her. They'll probably buy her a couple of lap dances."

"Oh." Shasta looked decidedly uncomfortable.

Amber shook her head at Shasta's naiveté. "What's the difference? They're just buying a dance. Money's money. Pays the rent. She doesn't seem like the grabby type."

Cindy pulled back from the curtain, eying the soldiers with a wicked grin. "Bet you ten bucks, I can get that Cuban girl up on the stage with me."

Amber snorted, then pulled ten out of her tip box and tossed it on the makeup table. "I know I'm going to lose this, but if you do that, the crowd will amp way up and I'll make it back anyway. I'll tell Mike what you're up to so he can warn the bouncers. And tell Trish." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "And make sure this one knows she has to keep her clothes on."

"I remember the last time. Tell Shelly I'm changing the song."

"What do you want?"

"'Funky Cold Medina.'"

"Oh Lord."

By the time Cindy was halfway through her set, she'd won the bet.

As they stepped down off the stage, Cindy grinned at the dark-haired woman, who grinned back with almost manic exhilaration. "What's your name?'

"Marina."

Cindy nodded toward the woman with short hair, who looked like the tequila might just be starting to take the edge off her misery. "I'm Angel, in case you missed the introduction. What's the story?" She had to almost shout to be heard over the noise of the club.

"She's our squad leader. Best ever. Her puta of a girlfriend just dropped her for a civilian - a guy. So, since she takes care of us every day, it's our turn to take care of her."

"What's her name?"

"Tina. Goes by TJ."

Cindy waved Amber over. "I think Amber and I can make her feel a little better. The first lap dance is on the house as long as we can do it right out here, and we're making it a double."

Marina Pruitt grinned even wider. "That works, but I won't be a tightwad - we collected money from the whole squad and most of the rest of the Company. Everybody loves her. The Brigade Command Sergeant Major even kicked in a bill. You make her smile, and I'll make your fuckin' week."

###

Luck. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. It was luck that kept Cindy late at the club that night. Which made her run late heading home, which made her take the longer, but better lit route to the nearest RTC bus stop. The odds of running into anyone in particular in a city of over half a million with over 36 million visitors per year were astronomically low.

In Las Vegas though, Luck is a religion; a religion with rites, priests, and believers. Maybe even living Gods. Perhaps, if Cindy had ever really thought about it, the odds of something happening in Vegas are not so low as they would be anywhere else.

So as Cindy rounded the corner, bag over one shoulder and her mind on the extra money in her bag - she and Amber really had managed to get "Tina" to crack a smile - she slammed right into one of the two people, out of the six billion inhabitants of the planet, that she least wanted to ever see again.

It took Levi a fraction of a second to realize who she was, and even then, it took a second to process what he should do. And by that time, a terrified Cindy was already around the corner and bolting for a nearby police car.

The officer saw her face as she headed towards him, and with an experienced nose for trouble, he began scanning the crowd. "Are you okay?"

"There's a guy... "

"That big Uncle Fester-looking bastard?"

"Yeah, that's him. He's wanted for killing my sister in Atlanta."

He'd already keyed his digital radio and began relaying information. Unfortunately, even as fast as the officer's reaction was, Levi had faded into the crowd and was gone.

Within a few minutes, Cindy was in the police station facing an investigator. "I need to make a phone call."

"Who do you need to call?"

Cindy dug a creased piece of paper from her bag. "The FBI."

###

Karen shook her head. "I should have talked you out of the Vegas idea. WITSEC would have made you change jobs completely."

Cindy grimaced. "So now what?"

"We'll move you again, but this time you really change. You have your choice of Maine, Missouri, or Idaho. No more stripping."

"I'd freeze my ass off in Maine or Idaho."

Karen pulled out a folder. "Missouri, then. We're working a deal with the Victim Protection Office there, trying to get a new program in place. They'll let you know what options you have."

"Somewhere away from big cities. I'll learn to farm or something."

"We can get you enough money to get you started."

###

PRESENT DAY: Chillicothe Correctional Center, Mental Health Segregation Unit, Missouri

###

Angie's face twisted in a combination of pain and relief. Relief at finally being allowed to do the one thing in the world she wanted to do with every fiber of her being.

"Push!"

The doctor and nurses had been telling her not to push for what seemed like hours and now; she'd been fighting the incredible building desire. Now, finally...

"Push!"

Tammi gripped Angie's hand. "You can do this Angie."

One doctor, two nurses, and three armed guards, who were watching carefully from various points in the room.

It was a bit more complicated than the usual delivery; the guards refused to even consider unlocking the cuffs that linked each of Angie's wrists to a handrail. Tammi agreed with that. Even she accepted just how dangerous Angie could be, though she was convinced Angie would never endanger her baby. After all, she'd refused to consider any treatments for the tumor growing in her brain. Angie would rather die than risk any harm to her baby.

Still, it wasn't worth the risk.

Tammi looked at the strain on Angie's face then across her at TJ, who was holding the other hand. Maybe it was to comfort Angie. Maybe it was to make sure she didn't get loose. Still, TJ wanted this as much as Tammi and Angie. "You've got this, Angie."

A flash of something lit Angie's face as she looked over at TJ and caught her one eye - something secretive, but smug and victorious. It was immediately erased by the next contraction.

"Push!" Tammi and Angie urged in a chorus.

It was another hour before a sweat-soaked Angie ecstatically pushed baby Courtney into the world.

Tammi held her up to Angie. "She's beautiful."

TJ reached over and ran one fingertip along Courtney's cheek. She was wordless, unable to make a sound. She caught Angie looking at her, as if she was calculating something.

Then Angie smiled at her.

###

More bad luck.

As with all government agencies, even the FBI suffers the indignity of oversight. There are a variety of types of oversight such as legal oversight and disciplinary oversight. Even oversight of intelligence related activities. But, as with most government agencies, one of the most critical pieces is financial oversight. A number of mechanisms ensure that FBI finances are examined to prevent inefficiencies and fraud. And some of those mechanisms lead to Congress. An overworked intern in a congressman's office, still working on her degree in Economics, received an email at work from a friend, with a link to a webpage of family pictures embedded in it. The link apparently failed to work, bringing up a webpage that apologized deeply for not existing. The intern closed out the webpage and deleted the email thinking briefly to herself that she needed to contact her friend sometime. A small part of her was glad the link hadn't worked - she was falling behind and with fast approaching deadlines, she certainly didn't have time to be paging through pictures of her friend's new son.

The link had, however, actually worked just fine, and a sallow not-yet teenager in Norway pulled reams of FBI financial data from the intern's computer. He posted it on a message board used by hackers to show off their latest trophies.

One note, buried in the last field of a string of accounting information referenced a case number and a monetary transfer to the Missouri Witness Protection Office. The odds of it being noticed by anyone were low. The odds of the case number meaning anything to anyone were even lower.

Unfortunately for Cindy, the message board was visited by thousands of entities including governments, and criminal cartels. One of them, well informed in a roundabout way by that dutiful Cuban agent, understood quite well what the information meant.

Cindy's run of bad luck continued to hold.

###

Chillicothe Correctional Center, Mental Health Segregation Unit, Missouri

###

Tammi held another picture up to the visitor room glass. "And in this one, she's in one of the outfits Swede got her."

"I can see Jenny had to have a hand in it. Swede couldn't have put that together. The bow even matches."

"Yeah, she's been a huge help. She babysat a lot when she was a teen-ager, so she coaches Swede through diaper changes and bottles when Courtney is over there. TJ was worried he'd diaper the wrong end." Tammi stopped. Swede and Angie had seen each other for a long time. Weirdly, Angie didn't seem put off by Swede seeing Jenny, even though she'd tried to kill both of them. Maybe it was because she'd tried to kill both of them.

"They still seeing each other?"

"For now. Swede's frustrated, he kind of feels like he's in it all the way, but that Jenny's kinda treading water a bit. She's been burned too many times and she's waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe she believes in that old family curse."

Angie shrugged, then examined the next picture Tammi held up. "Is that the Maria you told me about?"

"Marina. Yeah, she was coming through. She stops just for her 'thirty-four.' Truckers have to take a thirty-four-hour rest break every seventy hours. She mostly sleeps and does laundry. TJ and I aren't even sure she thinks anything is real anymore."

Angie studied her. "She looks..." She stopped, looking for words. "...like she's a million miles away."

Tammi nodded. "Sometimes, just once in a while, there's like a real person there, but it only lasts a few minutes at most. She's like a robot most of the time. She'd sleep in the truck, but we won't let her. We had Swede help us close up and insulate a section of the back porch and make it into a mini bedroom with no windows just for her. She's more comfortable that way."

"Is it safe to have her around Courtney?" Angie's eyes hardened.

"If she wasn't, she'd be somewhere else. TJ wouldn't risk Courtney for anything. Marina doesn't really react to anything much, but I've seen her tuck Courtney's blankets up like it's a reflex. Maybe she babysat a lot when she was younger, before everything happened." Tammi gestured helplessly. "She does react, kind of, to music. She has that pirate radio station in her truck and the last time she came through, she'd stopped somewhere and had a couple used full size concert speakers put in behind the airfoil on top of the cab. A professional had to have done it. It'd be louder than a jet engine if it was turned up. TJ said Marina use to have an experimental sound weapon on her vehicle in Iraq. They used it to break up crowds and riots. Maybe having the speakers is comforting to her somehow."

"That's just weird."

"She also had a huge black 'bull guard' put on it. Like a brushguard for a pickup truck but a lot bigger and solid metal. Up north they call them 'elk guards.' TJ says they had push bars on the front of their vehicles in Iraq that were similar. They used them to break through barricades. Maybe it makes Marina feel more comfortable, reminds her of the armored vehicle she used to have."

Angie stared at the picture, studying it for a second them, shrugged. "So how's TJ doing with Courtney?"

"She's a machine - Courtney makes the slightest sound and she's awake and checking on her before I even hear it. When Courtney went through her colicky spell, I thought TJ was just gonna move into that rocker full time." Tammi held up a picture of TJ and Courtney asleep in a huge wooden rocking chair.

"Wow. All three of you could fit in that chair."

"We do. Luther McCabe brought it over, I'm pretty sure he made it for us, but he says it was just layin' around in the back room. He also brought over that beautiful pink crocheted blanket from Mae." She rolled her eyes. "And three quarts of pear brandy."

"I could use that brandy."

"I'm pretty sure the guards wouldn't let me bring any of that in."

"Yeah. They're no fun at all. You guys are doing good?"

Tammi held up another picture. "Work's always crazy busy. But with Swede and Jenny watchin' Courtney, too, TJ and I still get plenty of time together."

"Still catching up on those promises you made at Bert's?" Angie smirked.

Tammi's eyes narrowed. "You'd think people'd get tired of bringing that up."

"One of the guards showed me the video on his smart phone and asked if that was you."

"That explains those looks I've been getting."

"You get those looks all the time. It's just that much hotter when they know you're with her. It's the whole kinky forbidden fruit thing."

Tammi sighed. "It's just us being us."

Angie shifted, a bit more serious. "You having any trouble with people over that?"

"Not really. There's one Board member who's not happy about it, what with TJ going to the Board meetings now. She's made comments to people on the side about our 'unnatural relationship,' but they ignore her."

"Who is it?"

Tammi tried to keep a straight face, but failed, breaking out in a big goofy grin. "Our old middle school principal. Miss Charlotte."

"Oh my God. She's still got her mad on about that skunk we smuggled into the school assembly doesn't she?"

Tammi couldn't help it, breaking out in a fit of laughter, quickly joined by Angie. "She's also pissed at the Sheriff for other reasons. You know that huge sugar maple in front of her house?"

"Somebody teepee'd it? She never did have a sense of humor."

"Nope. Somebody stole it when she was on vacation in Branson."

"Stole it? How do you steal a tree?"

"Swear to God. She was gone to Branson for a week and came back and somebody had cut that tree down to the ground, took every leaf, twig and stick. Neighbors heard chainsaws, but she's always having something done over there, so they never even thought to check it out. She's been pestering the hell out of Shannon over it. But what's he supposed to do? Search every cord of firewood in a three-state area for incriminating sap?"

"Bug-eyed old bitch. Serves her right." Her voice carried humor, but there was an undertone of something else. Hunger maybe.

Tammi eyed her cautiously. "You can't do that Angie."

"Do what?"

"I can hear it in your voice. You can't just kill everybody that annoys you." She thought back to something TJ'd said to her. "Cuts you off in traffic or insults you or whatever. I know it's that thing in your head, but you can't let it do that. You can't just kill people."

"You tried to kill me."

"I tried to stop you. I was defending TJ. You made me do it."

Angie looked at her curiously, then shrugged. "So that's allowed?"

"What?"

"Defending someone."

"Of course it is." Tammi eyed her suspiciously.

"Okay. Remember when we were kids and we wanted to form our own league of girl superheroes?" Angie grinned and held one hand up as far as the chain would allow. "I, Cannibal Girl, solemnly swear, as a member of the Distinguished Order of Superchicks, to only kill bad guys in defense of the innocent."

"I'm serious Angie."

Angie tried to keep a straight face, only succeeding halfway. "I am serious, Tammi. I'll keep that promise. I won't even try to sneak out and go after Charlotte. She'd probably be all dried up and bitter anyway." She stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes. "Yuck."

Tammi sat still, her tropical blue eyes boring into the floor. "I love you Angie, I just don't know how to fix this."

"Isn't yours to fix. You can't go around saving everybody, and it isn't your fault when they fall. Besides, I'm going to try to fix it."

"How?"

"They said the tumor was inoperable, but there's a doctor from Saint Louis who wants to try an experimental procedure to remove it. They won't take me to Saint Louis for it, but they agreed to let him do it in Jefferson City. One of hospitals is supposed to have a new secure wing for treating people like me."

"Is it risky?"

Angie shrugged. "I could die. I could have serious brain damage, I could end up a vegetable. All kinds of stuff. But my chances without it are exactly zero, so it's worth a try."

Tammi felt sick, but Angie was right. "And if it works, will it make you... better?"

"At least the tumor won't kill me."

They chatted for a bit longer, running the clock down as close to an hour as they were allowed, Tammi showing her a few more pictures of Courtney. Finally, the time was up and the guards came in to cautiously retrieve Angie.

"Hey, Tammi, have Space Pirate come by and see me sometime."

"What?"

"TJ. I guess we have to make her a member of the Superchicks now. The Blonde Fury with her Flying Walkie Talkie of Doom, Cannibal Girl, Space Pirate." She paused and grinned. "Jenny can be 'Voodoo Child,' or maybe 'Nature Girl.'"

"You're a goofball, Angie."

"Yeah, I know. But send her by soon, okay? I owe her an apology. I want to talk to her before the surgery."

###

Baton Rouge, Louisiana

###

"You should have killed her when you had the chance in Vegas."

Levi scowled back at Ramon. "Like you should have in Atlanta? If you'd have aimed better, we wouldn't be in this shit show." He shook his head. "I couldn't touch her in Vegas, she was right next to a cop car and pointing at me."

Ramon bit back his gut response. He and Levi had been on each other's nerves for the last couple years, taking low-level shit jobs to keep some money, living in shit hotels and trying to figure out how to fix everything. He was pretty sure Levi was using meth now that he couldn't afford coke. All of this shit was really Levi's fault anyway; he'd come through the door into backroom of the strip club last and hadn't locked the door. "Gutierrez is really pushing this. Says if we take her out, we're back in. She's the only one who has a chance of identifying him."

"Missouri?"

"It's not much help. We can check the strip joints in Kansas City and Saint Louis, but that will take forever. If she's still dancing."

"I know some guys in Saint Louis, used to have some police contacts, maybe they can help."

"If it's anything like WITSEC, I'm not holding my breath, cops aren't going to be able to help with that. We gotta do something though."

"I think they had some Federal agents on the payroll for a while."

"We don't have enough money to buy anything like that."

Levi shrugged. "We can take a shot. If we don't find anything, we can make some more meth runs, get a little more cash."