15, Rescue

“I swear to you on everything holy, if you hit another pot hole, I will kill you and everyone you’ve ever loved.”  Special agent Death’s hangover was awful.  She was holding her head while trying to breath through a migraine induced by an all nighter of rum, revelry and ridiculousness.  “The murders will be committed with a spoon, that’s a promise.”

Pilot Porter was impervious to the negativity and replied with her usual sweet, chipper voice.  “That last one was the least amount of bumping I could navigate, Death!  The other holes in the road were massive.  Don’t blame me for the poor infrastructure choices of the local government!”  The van bumped as Porter cheerfully navigated through more rough roads.

Sergeant Schuman was in rough shape from her first ever loss at a bare knuckles boxing match a few days before.  Despite her swollen lip and black eyes, she was in a great mood.  “Death, if you do the crime, you pay the time.”  Her own buzz was slipping into a hangover but she didn’t care.  She was in love with the stranger she’d boxed against, and her non stop smiling annoyed agent Death.

“I’m never coming back to Bogota,” Death muttered.

“I blame Dirt,” muttered special agent Bradley McVandalay.  He was buzzed and exhausted but in good spirits.  Dirt was a local expat living in Colombia who’d helped agent Blacktide get out of a sticky situation, and then proceeded to get the crew very drunk in a cantina with a bartender he called his therapist.  “That man is a blessing and a curse, all in one.”

“I really do think he’s gay,” Death blurted.  “No straight man wears shoes that clean.”

Special agent Dale O’Connor was taking a sip of rum from his flask.  “His kicks really do have their own sheen, like an angel from Shangrila.”  He offered the flask to Death as a reflex.  “I’d be gay for those shoes, not gonna lie.”

Agent Death waved the offer for a drink away and shook her head.  “All you, Doc.”  She was nauseous and holding back the ever growing desire to puke.  

O’Connor offered the flask to McVandalay and Schuman.  “Bradley?  Sarge?” 

Schuman shook her head no as McVandalay smiled and said, “Nah, I’m good, and I’m too afraid that you’ll say you wanna be gay for my shoes too.”

“Ha!  Nope, your shoes are average.  I’m just gay for your man musk, brother.”

“And the truth shall set you free,” McVandalay joked.

O’Connor lifted his flask to his friends “Death, if you never come down, you never have to worry about a hangover.”   Death gave O’Connor an angry glare.  “More for me then,” he shrugged as he finished the flask. 

The four highly trained powerful secret agents were half drunk, half hungover, completely exhausted from an all nighter and they were all armed to the teeth.  They’d just kidnapped a cocaine drug pin named Tiberon by apprehending him at a food truck.  The drug czar was knocked out cold, drooling on a van seat.  His shallow breathing was the only way the agents knew that he was even alive.

Porter looked at the screen of her tracker.  The team was headed to the location of Trent Murdock’s communicator wrist watch.  He’d been missing for a day and a half, but they’d partied all night instead of going to find him.  They weren’t necessarily punishing him for getting drunk and drugged at a mission, but they weren’t happy about it either.

“Who wants to bet that Murdock is naked?” asked O’Connor.

“No one will take that bet,” Porter laughed.  “We all already know that he’s naked.  It’s Murdock.”

O’Connor nodded approvingly.  “He’s a legend.”

“In his own mind,” Death quipped.  “That fucker owes me a night of dancing and drinking.  If he hadn’t been so shit canned trying to bury his face in that hookers cleavage, we’d already be headed to the next target.”  She stopped talking to take a big breath in through her nose.  She exhaled slowly, trying to tame her protesting guts.

“There’ll be time for dancing when the dust settles,” assured McVandalay.  “Let’s make this a smash and grab job, then go pass out at the safe house for a few days.”

“Smash and grab,” Porter interrupted, “How fitting.  We’re a block from Murdock’s beacon.”  She pulled up to an intersection and saw the building ahead.  “It’s a warehouse and it looks fairly deserted.”  She smiled and half giggled to herself.  “Yup, Murdock’s naked in that building, no doubt.”

She dropped McVandalay, Death and O’Connor off as Sergeant Schuman stayed behind.  “If Tiberon wakes up, I’m gonna break the other side of his jaw.  Get Murdock and then let’s get some damn food.  I’m famished.”

Porter pulled around the block as the three agents split up.  It was mid day, there was no traffic making the whole area eerily silent. 

McVandalay walked up to a tattered door and gingerly tried to turn the door knob.  It was unlocked.  “Well that was easy.”

O’Connor’s voice spoke in McVandalay’s wrist communicator.  “Death is at the back door, and I’ve got the side door.  You go in and do your thing.  If we hear gunshots, we’ll come in after a few minutes.  I mean, Death is a mess and I’m drunk, so you already know that you’re pretty much on your own.”

“What else is new?”  McVandalay could hear O’Connor giggling on the other end of the call, but it was time for business.  “I’ll see you in a few, Doc.”  He took a deep breath and entered the warehouse.

The door opened up to a small office.  The lights were on but no one was in the room.  He crept through to the back of the office to see another door that was cracked open.  He could hear voices speaking in Spanish from the other side.  He peered out the cracked door and saw three thugs sitting at a table.  Next to the table, special agent Trent Murdock was hanging by his ankles from a rafter with his hands tied behind his back.

McVandalay lifted his wrist communicator to his lips.  “You called it, Doc.  Murdock is naked.”

“Shocker.”

McVandalay gripped his Desert Eagle hand cannon and whispered to it, “let’s do what we do, sweetheart.”  He opened the door and walked towards the three bad men.  When they noticed him, it was too late to be startled.  All three lay dead in a fraction of a second. 

Murdock had been passed out but the gunshots brought him back to consciousness.  “I recognize that gunfire!  What took you so fucking long?”  His body ached and his head was pounding from being upside down for a day.

“The crew had group therapy.”  He raised his hand gun and placed a perfect shot at the rope that held Murdock suspended.  Gravity greedily pulled Murdock’s two hundred pound body to the hard ground but McVandalay was able to catch him with minimal effort.  He set his friend down and holstered his gun.  After cutting Murdock’s hands free, he looked around.  “That’s it?” McVandalay asked.  “Three guys?  Anyone else in here with you?”

“Oh McVandalay, I’ve never loved you more.”  Trent Murdock sat up, removed the blindfold from his eyes and rubbed his wrists.  He stretched and about lost consciousness.  He’d been tortured with electrical shocks for a day and somehow had survived the pain.  “I mean, I still won’t sleep with you, but I love you.”

“Buy a guy a drink first, for fucks sake.”  McVandalay surveyed the scene with distrust.  “There’s gotta be more people watching you, right?”

“I don’t know, brother.  I’ve had a shockingly bad time since we last saw each other.”  Murdock grinned at his own electricity joke and noticed that smiling hurt his face.  He was in pain, but he didn’t care.  He was free.  “I need help, McV.  Tiberon fucked me up pretty good.”  His voice was weak but still had defiance.

“I got you.  Porter has the van outside.  Doc and Death are guarding the other exits.  We’ll get you loaded up and get some lunch.” 

“You’re a good man, Bradley, no matter what Doc says about you.”

“Well earlier he admitted his undying love for my man musk in a very homoerotic way.”

Despite Murdock’s weakness, he smiled.  “You do smell fairy nice for a man.”

“Fairy nice,” McV giggled.  “I’m stealing that.”

“You’re fairy welcome, brother.  Now help me up and let’s get the fuck out of here.  Tiberon is out to lunch and he’s coming back anytime.”

“Yeah, about that,” started McVandalay, but he stopped the explanation as his effort went to helping his friend to his feet.  Murdock couldn’t stand and collapsed back to the floor.  McVandalay shrugged and said, “dammit Murdock, why in the fuck are you always naked?”

Lying on his back, Murdock panted, “this one wasn’t my fault, I assure you.”  

“Well technically it is your fault since you were the one who got drunk and drugged at the bar.”

Murdock grinned and shook his head.  “Oh yeah, that whole bag of nickels.  You can’t blame a man for trying, Bradley.”  Murdock tried again to roll over to his knees but couldn’t muster the strength.

“I’m carrying you out of here, fucker.”  He grabbed Murdock and heaved him over his shoulder like a sack of lumpy potatoes.  

Murdock could barely breath but he still had enough power to say, “this is the sexiest thing a man has ever done for me.”

“Don’t push your luck, fuck face.”  McVandalay lifted his wrist communicator to his face and told the team to meet him at the door he’d entered.  Half a minute later he walked into the sunshine.  Porter was pulling the van up to meet them as Death and Doc hurried to load up.  

“Good to see you, brother,” O’Connor muttered to Murdock.

“Doc!  I call dibs on being gay for McV.  I’ll fight you for him.”  McVandalay gingerly laid Murdock into shotgun as Schuman leaned up from her seat to help steady him.  Murdock’s eyes were blurry but he could see her face beaming, complete with black eyes and swollen lips.  “Looks like your night was as fun as mine,” Murdock joked.

“I’m in love,” Schuman said matter of factly to her friend.

Agent Death clinched her teeth as she got into the back of the van.  “Sarge, I will gut you…”

“WITH A SPOON, we know Death, we know,” interrupted Schuman.  “Got it.  But when you find your one true love, I promise you I won’t be as rude to you as you’re being to me.”

Murdock had only gotten a glimpse of the limp body splayed out in the middle seat of the van.  “What’s the story with the dead guy, there?”

Pilot Porter was upbeat as she put the van into drive.  “Oh he’s not dead, Murdock.  He’s alive!  It’s Tiberon.”  

Murdock’s eyes were closed and he was breathing slowly.  He was too weak to turn his head to look, but his eyebrows went up.  “Well well well, how the tides have turned.  Paybacks are a bitch.”  A moment later, his chin dropped to his chest and he started snoring.

MvVandalay spoke with compassion, “thanks for driving, Porter.  When we get back to the safe house, I’ll tie this asshole up and we’ll let Murdock recover.  When the time is right, we’ll let Doc and Murdock torture this guy to death.”

O’Connor grunted.  “We’ll need a lot of whiskey, and I promise you, I’ll open Murdock’s eyes to the brilliance of the Beatles’ hit albums.  Murdock thinks they’re overrated, but he forgets that they literally were pioneering a whole new sound.  What a dumb fuck.”

“Jesus Doc, don’t start now, fucker.  Save it for Tiberon, won’t you?”  Death wasn’t having it and O’Connor knew she had good musical tastes, unlike his useless friend, Murdock.  He dropped it.

In the distance, the other agents from Team Whiskey who’d been taking a nice nap in the safe house woke up to the good news that Murdock was safe, Tiberon was in custody and that their next mission was a humble request to purchase lots of Irish Happy Juice from a liquor store.