75, Return

“A fight with him would be over faster than sipping tea with the queen on a calm day and making an off color joke about a cloud passing by looking like a penis.”  Dale O’Connor joked about his body becoming hamburger as easily as if he were a butcher.  

“The queen died, asshole.  Where in the fuck have you been?”  Alexi Blacktide clicked the computer mouse and enlarged a section of security footage to see more clearly.

“The queen died?” O’Connor hiccuped.  “Which one?”

“Nice try, pal, but you’re paler than bleached rice.  Don’t pretend you’re not racist.”

The joke made O’Connor grin.  “You know me, holding down those groups of people.”  He crinkled his brow.  “Which group of people am I oppressing again?  Help me out.”

Blacktide ignored him.  “Did you for real not know that the queen died?”

Being obstinate, O’Connor asked, “Last I checked, there are over a hundred queens alive, and that’s not counting the late night bars in San Fransisco.”  

Ignoring the dumb gay joke, Blacktide snapped at her friend.  “You know, the one that all those soccer fans sing about at their games over the pond?  Yeah, that queen.”

As if the news wasn’t important, O’Connor changed the subject.  “I think a one armed Mexican man named Carlos stole my gun.”  He patted his waist line and couldn’t find his concealed firearm.  He swore under his breath at his luck.  “That fucker.”

“Christ on a popsicle stick, dude.  You gotta get your shit together, man.”  Blacktide exhaled a deep breath through pursed lips as she said, “for real, where in the fuck have you been, Doc?”

“Undercover, on Rice’s orders,” he said plainly.  

Blacktide was annoyed at his absence for the past two months.  At the end of the summer, O’Connor had set off a series of industrial grade stink bombs outside of an apartment in Mexico City where a couple dozen Russian thugs were hiding out.  The stench had enraged the Russians into a very violent frenzy.  Arguing broke out and the thugs started shooting and killing each other.

The six surviving thugs had cleaned up the dead bodies while gagging through the awful stench of the stink bombs.  When they’d picked up the last corpse and had taken it inside of their apartment, they closed the door behind them.

No one ever left the apartment again.  After a week of surveillance, Team Whiskey broke into the apartment to find an underground tunnel to a nearby neighborhood sewer system, so the few surviving bad guys had gotten away, including Gosavich.

As Blacktide zoomed in on the computer footage from the airport in Mexico City from weeks earlier, O’Connor could see the outline of the main Russian thug.  A chill of fear went down his spine.  “With his magic, he’d vaporize me like an overcooked perfectly pounded meat sandwich.”

“Overcooked meat sandwich.  Good one,” Blacktide said with no emotion as a chill also went down her spine, not from fear, but rather from the cool autumn evening breeze coming through her D.C. office at CIA headquarters.

Team Whiskey had fucked up humor, but O’Connor’s irrational fear of Goasavich turned his brain into mashed potatoes and his twisted mind was on a roll.  “I mean, if you’re gonna kill me, at least cook my skeletal muscle to a sizzling perfect medium rare!”

“You’re seriously a sick fuck,” Blacktide again said with no emotion.  She realized that O’Connor was possibly the weirdest person she’d ever known.  For whatever reason, the thought made her smile.

“I call greatness when I see greatness.  You can’t shut me up about it.  Gosavich is the most terrifying bad guy I’ve ever witnessed.”  Even though the event was now two months in the past, the lingering stench from the fart bombs detonated that evening were still powerful in his olfactory memory.

“You shouldn’t be so superstitious, Doc.  It’s not good for your mental health.”

O’Connor shook his head and looked up at the sterile looking ceiling panels in Blacktide’s office as if he was trying to shake off a rush of the cold.  “Sorry, Lex, I missed what you were saying about superstition.  I just got a chilly willy and wasn’t paying attention.  My bad.”

“Fuck, here we go,” Alexi Blacktide muttered to herself.  She looked at O’Connor with sincere, patient eyes and said, “you don’t have to pull this fucking shit with me, you know.”

“What the fuck are you taking about, Lex?  Me?  Pull some shit?”  O’Connors’ emotionless voice sounded calm but his eyes had gotten distant and fearful.  When his body got chilled, he always thought a spirit was trying to possess him, or possibly communicate with him.  His superstitious mind was racing as he asked, “Did I just interact with the spirit of one of these dead Russian thugs that’s still lingering around this realm?”

Blacktide could tell that O’Connor’s fear was real.  She marveled at how a man so competent at his job of killing humans with no remorse could be so stupid with paralyzing superstition.  “No, you did not feel the spirit of a dead fucking Russian thug, you idiot.”

O’Connor looked at an office wall, but his eyes were distant.  Alexi Blacktide knew that O’Connor could lose days worth of work with his stupid superstitions, and even though he’d been gone for two months without as much as a text to anyone in the crew to let them know where he was, Blacktide was glad to be working with him again.  “Stay with me, buddy.  Look at me!  In the eyes!”  Blacktide stood up and walked towards him.  She had never told O’Connor that in the right situation, she’d bang him, but she threw caution to the wind.  She grabbed O’Connor by the cheeks and forced him to look her in the eyes.  “Pretend you’ve asked me to dinner and you’re trying to fuck me!”

The statement was so random that it caught O’Connor off guard.  His superstitious A.D.D. brain was circumvented by the crazy cognitive dissonance dancing in his male mind at that very moment.  He’d always known that all the women on his team were off limits when it came to sexual encounters, but the direct statement just offered to him by his coworker was bouncing around the horny part of the male brain that talks to itself.

Fortunately, Blacktide’s words had their intended effect and landed O’Connor back in reality.  “Fuck ghosts, or whatever it was that just gave me a chilly willy, I just wanna say that you’re a bitch.”  O’Connor pointed to Blacktide and gave her a grin, then a nod.  “Thank you, Lex.  We’ll get these Russian fuckers, even if Gosavich kills us all in one swoop of his magic.”  He stared off into the black, Mexican night sky and spoke as if he were already defeated.  “Someday, someone is gonna get him, dammit.”

As dry as a bone, Blacktide said, “He’s not magic, Doc.”  She turned, and under her breath, she said to herself, “You are.”

In that moment, she felt it.  She’d genuinely missed O’Connor while he was gone.  Despite his conspiracy theories and constant drinking, she was attracted to the idiot.  It was a new sensation to process for her.

Ever the oblivious male, O’Connor missed the moment to have a connection with a girl who actually liked him.  His soldier brain was still on carnage mode, and he couldn’t just turn his superstitions off like a light switch.  “Gosavich will kill us both if we get too close, Lex.  We have to keep our distance.  It’s pointless to try and get him with a sniper, and I promise you, fighting Gosavich to take him down will be exactly like that super popular video game, Warcraft World.  It’ll take four or five strong warriors to take down that dark mage.”

“Dark what?”

“Dark Mage.  I didn’t stutter.”  O’Connor was speaking slowly, dryly, and his fear of Gosavich radiated through his body.  

“I repeat, you’re a fucking idiot,” Blacktide said as she shook her head.  Did she actually think in her mind for a moment that she could bang this dipshit?

“We don’t have a dark mage to fight back with,” Doc said.

“What in the fuck is a dark mage, or do I even wanna know?” Blacktide asked in her annoyance.

“Mage means magician, and we don’t have a dark one.  Or, hell, even a wizard of the light for that matter.  Well, McVandalay might be holding out on me.  I have my suspicions about him.”  O’Connor shook his head in disgust but his heart wasn’t ready for defeat.  “Look, if we can take out Goasavich but we lose Murdock or me during the fight, it’ll be totally worth it to rid the world of that bastard’s dark magic.”

Crazy shit always had come out of O’Connor’s mouth in the past, but Blacktide was also bat shit crazy, so it never bugged her.  However, this insane nonsense he was saying about the imaginary world of Harry Potter being real was on a new level.  “Doc, what in the fuck is going on with you?”

A whole parallel universe of reality existed in Dale O’Connor’s head that no one else could see.  Sometimes that reality could interact with the real world, other times O’Connor was simply in his own mental la la land.  Occasionally, O’Connor’s innermost thoughts saw the light of day in small conversations like this one.  “I’m in a weird place, Lex.  The world is changing right in front of us and I guess I’m just coping weird, you know?”

O’Connor always came through on every mission, even when he went silent for a bit.  “You do drink a lot, yeah.”

Randomly, O’Connor got existential.  “I’m talking about the ultimate fight of good versus evil, where the light battles the dark, and all of existence will count on complete strangers uniting in arms against a tyrannical force that has used centuries of psychological programming to blind us from who our true enemy is.”

Blacktide was a tough bitch, nuts in the head, good at her job and didn’t break down easily, but in the end, she was still a girl.  Girls don’t like conspiracy bullshit.  It was in this exact millisecond that Blacktide decided she wanted to get a buzz.  “Doc, is there any chance that you’ve got a flask that you could share with a girl?” she asked smoothly, hoping for a second time that it would distract him from his conspiracy hangups.

Without skipping a beat in his rant about imaginary tyrannical forces, he reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a fairly large flask.  “Help yourself,” he sad genuinely as he handed it over.  “It’s the truth juice that they don’t want us sharing.”

As she rolled her eyes, she took the flask and indulged in a large sip.  “Saludos,” Blacktide said as she raised the fire water to the sky, then enjoyed the heat sensation as the liquid burned down her throat like a lava flow.  She used her hands to pull her straight, black shoulder length hair behind her ears as her short bangs sat perfectly on her forehead.  “That’s good shit,” she said of the whiskey as she twisted the cap back onto the flask.  “The burn just lingers for minutes on your tongue.”

“That’s the sweet taste of freedom, darling, and it’s the best taste in the world if you ask me.”  O’Connor got serious.  “If we don’t stay vigilant, our access to this amazing product will someday be blocked by autocratic governments who have their own private militaries to enforce their oppressive trade policies, which of course will protect their heavily funded monopolies on all goods and services that we depend on for our day to day lives.”

“Like whiskey?” Blacktide asked with a tone like, “are you kidding me?”

“That’s how they get us.”  O’Connor took the flask from Blacktide and muttered, “Evil bastards,” as he removed the top and took a tiny swig.

Alexi Blacktide reached out to grab the flask right back.  She did not want to hear about government tyranny, social psychological programming, shit about the pyramids, or any other far fetched horse shit.  The first hit of booze was euphoric and the inhibitions of her boundaries began their disappearing act.  Blacktide wanted to explore this newly discovered attraction to O’Connor while getting a buzz, but her head knew that the biological arousal she felt would surely lead to disappointment, awkwardness, and eventually an ongoing prescription to antidepressants and dozens of hours of therapy.  “Here’s to tonight,” she said as she raised the flask in a toast.

“Drink up, Lex.”  O’Connor plopped down in an uncomfortable government arm chair next to Blacktide’s desk.  He picked up a small camera from her desk and examined it.  “When the fuck is the brass gonna learn that cameras and batteries are cheaper, easier and more defensible in international war court than Team fuckin Whiskey ever will be?  Jesus.”

Blacktide absentmindedly handed the flask back to O’Connor as she put her eyes back on her computer screen.  “We’ve had fifty analysts from Langley looking for days at every bit of Mexican security footage that we can dig up, but we still haven’t figured out when or how they left Mexico.  Hell, they may still even be down there for all we know.”

The bottom of the flask flung up towards the sky as a pulse of delicious Jameson whiskey flowed down O’Connor’s gullet.  He swallowed, smiled, then asked Blacktide, “What’re your instincts, Lex?”

Alexi Blacktide sighed a long exhale of defeat.  “I personally think they’re gone.  They gotta be.  If I had to guess, they’ve been back in Russia this whole time.”

O’Connor nodded.  “All six of them, you think?”

“At least half of them,” she joked back.  “That still means there are three thugs in Mexico, you know.”

Smiling, O’Connor realized how much he liked Blacktide’s humor.  “Dang, Lex, you’re really good at math.”

“High school valedictorian, what can I say?” Blacktide said with a shrug.  She felt flirty.

“Well I was an elementary school dropout, but…”  Out of the blue, O’Connor felt another chill.  “Shit,” he muttered.

“What?” Blacktide asked nervously.

“The spirits are really active.  They’re flowing through me, trying to tell me something, I’m sure of it.”  O’Connor shook his head and said, “I just wish I knew what they were saying!”

“Oh, for fucks sake, Doc!”  Alexi Blacktide threw her hands into the air in frustration.  It had been a few months since she’d been laid, and now that she was actually considering the idea of sleeping with O’Connor, she was horrified at what a fucking idiot he really was.  “There are no spirits that are trying to talk to you!  That’s called a breeze from the air vent, you idiot.”

The demolitions expert paused, then grinned.  O’Connor appreciated Blacktide’s complete lack of charm in the sterile office setting.  “You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said.  

“And you’re a fucking retard who needs some fucking sense beat into you!” Blacktide snapped back, but the compliment she’d just received out of the blue made her female brain fly into overdrive.

Missing all of this, the joke simply made O’Connor laugh.  He never minded being the punch line to a story for anyone of his friends on Team Whiskey.  “I admit, I’m a dumbass, but I’m good at some shit, Lex.”

“Yeah?  Like what?” Blacktide chirped back with a grin, flirting heavily, waiting to see what O’Connor might come up with.

Suddenly the lights simultaneously went on in O’Connor’s brain.  He really did think that Alexi Blacktide really was cute.  Their years of friendship working together had been comfortable, but the fact that she was such a bad ass all of a sudden made him giddy and nervous.  “Lex, I have skills,” O’Connor said with a whispered intensity as he found himself grinning.

Heart pounding, Blacktide said with a seductive smile, “I’m serious about wanting to know what you’re good at, Doc.”

At that exact second, O’Connor’s wrist watch lit up with a call from General Rice.  “Dammit,” O’Connor muttered to himself.  He was enjoying discovering that he had feelings for Blacktide, but his current predicament with Rice was gonna be a cock block.  “Well it turns out I’m damn good at stirring the pot ’til a mess pours out everywhere,” O’Connor said.  He pulled his wrist watch communicator to his face and looked at Blacktide.  “I deserve this,” he said to his friend as he clicked on the screen to answer the call.  “Hey boss,” he muttered to Rice.

“Where in the fuck are you, Doc!?  I told you if you missed the briefing tonight that I’d bench your ass for a year, god dammit!!!”  Rice was normally a very chill boss, but she was clearly angry beyond belief with O’Connor.  “Fuck you and any bullshit excuses or reasons you may pull out of your ass, fucker!  You have one god damn day to get your ass to headquarters… and bring your fucking gun and badge!”

Blacktide’s eyes were huge, as if to ask, “what in the fuck is Rice all pissed off about?” but she said nothing.  

O’Connor grinned at Blacktide and shrugged as he talked to his wristwatch.  “This sounds like a shitty cop movie, boss.  You’re the police chief, I’m the rogue officer that’s about to crack the case, and now you’re…”

Rice’s voice was pure anger as she cut him off.  “You haven’t cracked shit, you idiot!  Seventy five grand worth of shit, to be exact!  You’re up shit fucking creek, pal!”

O’Connor dropped the flirting with Blacktide.  He had no emotion as he replied, “Fair enough, boss.  Tell the brass I’ll report to you at 9am.  Arrest me, fire me, whatever it is to get the fucking brass to leave you alone.  This ain’t on you.  This is all me.”

The silence from Rice’s end made it clear that she was not expecting this response.  After a second, she yelled, “Good!  See you at 9am sharp, asshole!”  Even though the call terminated with no noise, O’Connor imagined Rice slamming an old school phone down on the receiver.

“Doc, um, what in the fuck was that all about?” Blacktide asked confusedly.

“Yeah, well,” O’Connor paused, “when I was undercover for Rice, I may have purchased seventy five grand worth of opiates from an underground drug dealer, but the deal fell through and the money is gone.  Rice was so pissed that I guess I forgot to tell her that I finally located the bastards.  Hell, that’s the original reason I came in here tonight was to fill you in.”

It was plain to anyone that O’Connor wasn’t a strung out drug addict, nor was he a thief.  “So the brass thinks you’re stealing money.  That, or maybe you’re a secret junkie without us knowing and that’s how you stay so thin.”

“Funny,” O’Connor joked as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.  He started to send a text to someone when he added, “Hey Lex, got anything going on tonight?”

Even in spite of the phone call she’d just witnessed, knowing that a shit storm was coming O’Connor’s way in the morning, Blacktide’s heart instantly doubled it’s beating at the thought of being asked out to dinner.  Trying to be cool, she said, “I’m all yours tonight, Doc.”  She didn’t mean for her comment to be that forward, but once she’d said it, it felt right.  “What do you have in mind?”

Emotionless, O’Connor replied, “I’m gong to take advantage of your flexibility.”  He turned and walked towards to door.  “Now I know what the spirits were trying to tell me earlier.”

Blacktide was turned on by his charm while also being turned off by his idiocy.  Deciding to play along, she inquired, “And what, pray tell, are the fucking spirits saying to you?”

Pausing in the doorway, O’Connor turned to look at his beautiful coworker.  “They’re telling me that I’m not supposed to tell the DEA about the warehouse full of drugs I found.”

Not having a clue what he was saying, Blacktide simply said, “and why not?”

Matter of factly, O’Connor said impatiently, “Because now I know the spirits want me to kill everyone of those drug dealing fuckers and burn their operation to the ground.”  He started to walk off and added, “All before I have to resign my position and possibly be arrested at 9am, of course.  Grab your shit, and if you have an extra gun, I seem to have misplaced mine.”  Again O’Connor muttered under his breath, “Fucking Carlos.”

In the distance, a group of over confident drug dealing scum bags counted stacks and stacks of cold, hard cash, while never expecting that their lives would be over before the sun would rise again.