47, Confusion
“If it turns out they’ve been selling meth, I’ll gladly castrate each one of them myself.” Special agent Alexi Blacktide had firm boundaries in her morals and ethics. She hated pills, powders and crystals, but she had no problem with plants or drinking. She took a big swig from her cold beer and smiled. “For real, I say we interrogate each one of those fuckers and get to the bottom of this.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lex.” Agent Death was used to Blacktide being the type to shoot first and ask questions later. “All we know is this biker gang was running Mexican weed around the state up until a year ago, but they recently switched over to Colorado weed.” Blacktide’s eyebrows went up. Death asked in defense, “Well shit, Lex, wouldn’t you?”
Alexi Blacktide leaned back against the wall as she watched the two women play pool. “Wouldn’t I, what? Do you mean, if I was selling illegal drugs, would I get my supply from Mexico or Colorado?” Blacktide had no problem with cannabis or alcohol unless it affected people to exhibit violent behavior.
Death hunched over her pool stick and held it with both hands, as if it were a walking stick and she was taking a break from a long hike. “Yes, that’s what I fucking mean. Jesus, lady! Do you want shady fucking reefer from south of the boarder that might be laced with nasty shit, or would you want high end weed from the Rockies?”
Alexi Blacktide rolled her eyes. “No one calls it reefer, dummy. What are we, cops from the eighties?”
“Reefer, Devil’s lettuce, whatever you wanna fucking call it, I don’t give a fuck. You’re closing your eyes to the situation from their perspective, Lex.”
Grimm sipped a whiskey sour impatiently and snapped at the two arguing women. “Are we playing pool or are we not? It’s still your shot, Death.” She took another sip and said, “Don’t miss or it’ll be game over.”
Agent Death examined the pool table and realized, yet again, she was fucked. She didn’t drop the subject. “Dammit, Lex, you gotta start seeing this from the bad guys’ perspective.”
“What in the fuck would make me care about the cartels perspective?” Blacktide asked.
“Not them, for fucks sake! I’m talking about the bikers! Think about it, these guys stopped sending hundreds of thousands of dollars to Mexican cartels and now send their money to Colorado growers. All of a sudden their bikes are torched in a very calculated way where all eighteen of them got drugged. They know they got drugged which means they know it was personal. Their bikes were stolen out of garages and right in front of their normal bar. They want revenge.” Agent Death grinned as she finished her pint. “We assumed it would start a biker gang war here in Texas, but they think they got hit by the cartels, not the other gangs.”
“So what do we do about that?” Blacktide asked sincerely. “Do we arrest them? Drug them again? We started a shit storm and if innocent people get nicked from this, I’m gonna kill them all.”
Death exhaled in an attempt to calm her muscles, then missed her shot by millimeters. “Fuck, there goes my ten bucks.”
Grim laughed a carefree laugh and slithered around the table like a stripper sliding across a stage. “You didn’t possibly think you were gonna hold onto your money when you challenged me, did you?” She lined up a super difficult shot, then looked up at Death and smiled. She hit a no look shot with ease and sunk three balls in different pockets. “You know I’ve beaten world champs in this pool hall, right?”
Agent Death was cool under pressure, but she grumbled, “I don’t know how you do what you do.”
“And I don’t know how you do what you two do. This week has been the most fun I’ve had in years.”
Alexi Blacktide was still chewing on the problem they’d created and had an idea. “What if we tail the bikers into Mexico, get intel, then smoke some cartel thugs for fun?”
Grimm and Death looked at each other in disbelief, then they both looked at Blacktide like she was nuts. She was, of course, but this was a new level of crazy.
Without warning, Blacktide’s comm watch rang. It was Porter. She greeted her friend with the usual pleasantries and informed her that Death was listening, then asked, “what’s up?”
Porter was typically chipper, but her voice was strained and they could tell she wasn’t her normal self. “Hey Death, Hey Lex, I just needed to talk to someone on the team. I’ll be real with you Alexi, I’m kind of going stir crazy. I flew back to Russia yesterday.”
Porter’s pause made Blacktide wonder what she’d missed. “And?”
“And I left that jet I stole on a civilian airport runway outside of Moscow in the middle of the night. I had a local connection of mine drive me into town, and now I’m at a hotel and I can’t stop crying.”
Grimm made eye contact with Death, but Death waved off her concern. She whispered to her pool hustler friend, “Our whole team is bat shit crazy. This is par for the course.”
Blacktide was concerned. “Porter, are you ok?”
An explosion of crying erupted from the tiny watch speaker. Blacktide had to turn down the volume. After thirty seconds, Porter seemed to pull herself together. Blacktide wasn’t known for being the most diplomatic of friends. “Are you fucking crying over that shit bag Russian pilot guy, the one who’s ass you kicked in that highway race?”
More sobs erupted from Blacktide’s speaker. “Fuck,” she muttered to herself, “Porter is in rough shape.” She raised her watch to her mouth. “Porter, I’m gonna call you back in fifteen minutes.” She terminated the call and looked at Death and Grimm. “So much for tailing some bikers into Mexico. This is a plea for help, you guys.”
“Your friends are fuckin bonkers, Death.” Grimm had resumed knocking in ball after ball until she’d cleared the table clean of her obligations. The other two agents processed the call they’d just heard as they watched a master work. The eight ball went into the corner pocket as easily as a skinny sorority girl slipping on a perfectly fitted pair of jeans. “Wanna lose another ten spot, Death?”
Death put her pool stick down. “I have a few calls to make. I don’t think I’m gonna part with any more money tonight unless I’m giving it to a bartender.”
“Smart girl,” Grimm joked. “I’ll get us another round. Wait,” she joked as she picked up the ten dollar bill that had been waged on the pool table, “looks like you’re buying this round.”
Death flipped Grimm the bird, then beckoned to Blacktide and they stepped outside. “You call Miller and Lorenz. They’ll be up for a Mexican shootout, for sure.”
“Lorenz told me that the last time she was in Mexico, she wanted to take out the trash. She was referring to killing gang members, of course, but she was so drunk that her hangover lasted two days.”
“Her headache might’ve been because of the lack of water quality, you never know.” Death smiled at her own joke but Blacktide was all business. “Tough crowd. Look, let Miller and Lorenz know what’s up here in Austin, and I’ll get ahold of Owens and Boothausen. I think they’re gonna bail in the next day or two for Kentucky. They’re itching to start recon for that prison break.”
Blacktide shook her head. “I still think it’s a terrible fucking idea to break into a god damned max security prison. And for what? To bust out a thief? I mean, breaking in is gonna be a bitch, and then getting out will be a nightmare. Hell, it would just be easier to…” Blacktide’s jaw dropped at her thought. She gasped and realized she had the answer. “I need to call Murdock.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started to walk down the street absentmindedly.
“Yo! Lex! Focus! Bikers and cartel. Shootout in Mexico. Lex, hello???” Death snapped her fingers as if to break her friend from some enchantment and bring her back to the present moment, but it was no use. Blacktide walked off in her own little world. “Fuck,” Death muttered to herself.
Agent Death called her friends Laura Lorenz and Jack Miller on a three way call. They answered and she got right to business debriefing them on the current situation. By the end of the story, Lorenz was howling with laughter. Her appreciation for the weirdness they all lived on a daily basis was greater than normal. “Why am I not surprised that Owens had high temperature burn fuel with him. I mean, who doesn’t?”
Miller was enjoying the story as much as his girlfriend. “You guys are assholes for not calling us, Death. Lorenz and I used to race motorcycles back in the day, you know.”
Death was caught off guard. “No! I had no clue!”
Lorenz corrected her boyfriend. “We really just drove fast and chased each other. He’s never beaten me in a race, just for the record.”
Without skipping a beat, Miller joked, “If it’s in the record books or in the bedroom, I love it when you’re on top.”
Lorenz’s voice went sarcastic as she flirted, “Oh honey, you’re so romantic with that silver tongue of yours.”
“Well let me get you reacquainted with it tonight, baby.”
Agent Death rolled her eyes as she remembered how public and intense their flirting always was. “Jesus you two! If you’re turned on already, wait ’’til I get to the good part!”
Lorenz had the best sarcasm on Team Whiskey. “What could be sexier than burning motorcycles in a shitty part of the bluest city in a red state?”
Death had to laugh but collected herself. “The biker gang thinks that a Mexican cartel is to blame. Obviously we know that the cartels just kill people if they wanna send a message, but these bikers aren’t the brightest bulbs on the Christmas tree.” She explained the history of this biker gang and the lost revenue to the cartels, then filled them in about Porter’s literal cry for help. “I’m asking you two to follow these bikers into Mexico and maybe clean up whatever mess is left by either side. I’m gonna call Von Stryker next and get back to Russia.”
Miller was jovial. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked us to bring our pistols to a Mexican shootout yet.”
“Blacktide said you’d agree to this if I called it that.”
Miller grunted. “That woman knows us way too well. Of course we’re in.”
The agents said their goodbyes. Agent Death sent a group text to McVandalay and O’Connor asking if they’d like to go back to Russia. McVandalay responded that he was going to lay low and watch the NFL playoffs because his face and finger prints were now circulating through the Russian law enforcement computers. O’Connor replied that he was “game for another Russian drinking road trip.”
Blacktide had walked around the block and now was moving at a fast pace to chat with agent Death. She was a little out of breath but Death could tell it was from excitement. “I chatted with Murdock and told him my plan on how to help Owens and Boothausen. He’s on it. Did you call Porter?”
“Not yet, but I’ve got Lorenz and Miller on the biker situation. Doc is gonna join us, but he’s in Tokyo at the moment. McVandalay is out.” Death chuckled. “Men and their sports.”
Blacktide shrugged. “It’s the fucking playoffs. Besides, the Russians will be looking for him. Schuman too. It’s a good idea if they don’t come. We could use Mickey if she’s around.”
“Last I heard she’s in Tokyo too. She told me she was drinking way too much sake while singing karaoke every night with their national wrestling team.”
“Lucky bitch,” Blacktide mumbled. “The only question is, if Porter is stuck crying in Moscow, who in the hell is gonna fly us to Russia?”
“Shit. I didn’t think that part through,” Death said. “I’m calling Rice.”
While Death’s phone was ringing, Grimm walked outside with another round of drinks. “Looks like you two are having fun out here.”
“Well I’ve figured out a way to help my friends get someone out of a max security prison in Kentucky while Death got ahold of our sniper friends to tail those bikers into Mexico. Now she’s trying to figure out a way to get us to Moscow. You know, the usual.”
Grimm smiled and raised her cocktail. “I’m not insulted if y’all gotta ditch me. I always forget how exhausting it is to be Death’s friend.”
“Try working with her.”
Agent Death heard the insult and flipped Blacktide the bird. A few minutes later, Death hung up her phone. “Rice said we can catch a ride south with her but she’s leaving in four hours out of San Antonio. Get this, she’s gotta do some political fuckery tap dance with the brass in Bogota of all places.”
Grimm smiled and opened her arms to hug the two women. “Then I guess this is where we part ways! Safe travels, ladies.”
Death smiled. “I’ll text you to fill you in on the biker situation. I’m hoping they all kill each other in a Mexican blood bath.”
Blacktide grinned. “Mexican Blood Bath. That would be a good name for a death metal band.”
Grimm hugged Blacktide and laughed, “You and your fucking band names.” She raised her drink to her secret agent friends one last time and retreated back into the pool hall.
Death shook her head. “Is it even worth it to go to Bogota? Do you know anyone shady enough in Colombia who could fly us half way around the world?”
The two women gasped and made eye contact in a moment of mental synchronicity. They both said simultaneously, “Dirt.”
In the distance, eighteen very determined bike-less bikers loaded automatic weapons and stashed them inside a series of vans in an attempt to get across the boarder and take retribution on Mexican cartel war lords who were completely unaware that pissed off American thugs were coming for them.
