Dizzy

Another bit of this universe for open mic night. The challenge was to include a love letter or a ransom note. I think Sam and Viv will end up with open-ended chapters now and then, depending how the muses visit.

This happens some undefined point in the future from the first chapter (which I really should have split into two chapters, but I didn't, so I won't). No sex this time 'round - it just didn't suit the story.

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Body

“Come on Viv. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Vivian Falcon sighed, “No Sam. I need to see who his contact is.” She grinned to herself, picturing her girlfriend’s annoyed scowl. Sam Peterson had become something of a loyal watchdog since they’d become a couple, and Vivian had to admit she liked it. She also liked it when Sam barked back – deliver her from simpering women who had no backbone and couldn’t take care of themselves.

“I don’t like this joint. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I told you-”

“And I’m telling you, let me do it. Go home. A dame like you sticks out.”

Vivian smiled at her – Sam called it her ‘shark smile’. Sam only called her dame when she was trying to be hard-assed and butch. It worked if you didn’t know her, but it wasn’t easy for Vivian to treat her as the macho woman she wanted to be when she was such a pussycat in the bedroom.

Sam was dressed the part at least. She wore one of Vivian’s favorite outfits – boy jeans, skinny red t-shirt, leather jacket, and vintage red combat boots. She was positive the outfit concealed at least three weapons – probably more; Sam liked toys even though she didn’t need them. She was probably right about Vivian sticking out though – she was well aware that her looks and attitude seemed to carry over anything that she wore. Even wearing second-hand jeans and a worn denim jacket with her bright red hair twisted and held up by one of those cheap plastic clips she knew she stood out. It was damned inconvenient at times – unlike fictional detectives like Sherlock Holmes she completely failed at the whole disguise thing. It was frustrating as hell even though Sam was trying to help her – it just wasn’t working.

“Knock it off,” Sam growled. “You know I’m right.”

She was about to agree – they’d been here for two hours and nothing had happened – when Sam cursed. “Did you know who he was going to meet?”

“Who is it?”

Sam looked pissed and worried, managing to spare her a glare before returning her attention to the two men meeting across the room. “Lenny Grave.”

Vivian made a little nod of understanding. She’d read his file – an assassin like Sam used to be, but the difference was he enjoyed his work a little too much. Grave was his own morbid joke – that’s where everyone who went up against him ended up. His weapon of choice was a knife and he lived for difficult cases.

Sam seemed to be hyper alert, studying the room again with renewed interest.

“How did you know Mickey was going to be here?”

“Tip – one of my informants,” she answered, getting the same itch she was sure Sam now had. Grave wasn’t one for being seen much in public. Mickey Wood and Grave talked for only a minute or two. The envelope exchange was smooth, but she’d been looking for it, Grave making it quickly vanish into a pocket. A few seconds later Grave stood, shook his hand, and left via the front door.

Sam had caught the exchange as well; she was practically vibrating with tension.

“We’re leaving now. Back door.”

She nodded and rose, leading the way through the kitchen, ignoring the staff who tried to head them off. Even though they seemed nonchalant, she knew Sam was acting as rear guard before putting on a little burst of speed to get to the door first.

“Hang on,” Sam said, blocking the exit. Vivian wanted to protest and tell her she could take care of herself, but this wasn’t the time for an argument. Sam slipped out the door, moving quickly into the shadows. Less than a minute later she pulled up in an unfamiliar car. “Get in.”

Vivian gave a resigned shake of her head and slid into the passenger seat. She’d have to add the vehicle’s owners to the list of Sam’s victims who needed to be bought off. “Get tired of our car?”

“No time to check it for explosives. I want to get you home where it’s easier to protect you.”

She sighed and stretched out, leaning her head back against the rest. “You really think he was there for me.”

“Yes. This whole thing was a setup and we fell for it.”

“I fell for it. You were suspicious the whole time but I didn’t listen.” They knew her better than she liked to admit – fed her a tale of endangered kids, abused women and forced prostitution – and she fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Once she got into the house she’d be relatively safe – the security measures were some of the best – but until then she was in danger. She should be used to it by now – this wasn’t the first contract on her life – but it wasn’t the adrenaline rush it used to be.

“There’s a baseball cap in the back seat. Get it for me and then get down,” Sam said when they got a few blocks from the house. Sam put it on backwards, concealing her bleached spikes, and turned up the radio full blast. Vivian curled up on the front seat, making sure she couldn’t be seen by anyone they passed. Sam bounced her head to the music, singing along, playing the part of annoying teen; she claimed there were times when best way to be invisible was to be completely in your face. She made a full circuit of the block in character, looking for suspicious people or vehicles.

“Anything?” Vivian asked. Under other circumstances she would have taken full advantage of having her head in Sam’s lap. As it was now, any distraction could get her killed. And knowing Grave, he’d be more than willing to kill Sam as well just for the fun of it.

“No, nothing.” Sam was much too tense – she was fine on a hit, but got completely wound up at the thought of anyone wanting to hurt Vivian.

“So let’s go home.” She started to sit up, but Sam pushed her back down.

“Not yet.” She pulled into a driveway and honked the horn. “This is the Milton’s.” The Miltons lived next door in a house similar to her own. They were out of town and had rigged their house with security lights and timers for ‘that lived in look’. Sam must be trying to make the vehicle so loud and obnoxious it wouldn’t look suspicious when approaching her own house. If something looked wrong they could bolt without anyone realizing it was them. After a few minutes Sam cursed loudly and pulled out of the drive. “Still nothing,” she said in a quieter voice. “ I’m going to pull in the drive and do the honking thing again. Then I’ll get out and knock on the door. Wait 15 seconds from when I get out of the car and get your ass into the house. I’ll have the door unlocked. “

“I can-” Vivian began to protest. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Hell, wasn’t she the one who had caught Sam in the first place?

“Don’t argue with me,” Sam grumbled. “This is my show.”

She desisted as they pulled into the drive. Sam went through the routine again, honking for the performance before slamming out of the car, pissed and complaining. Vivian started her countdown, shifting around in the seat so she’d be able to get out with a minimum of effort.

At 15 she popped the door open and began to sprint along the gravel drive to the door, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. She’d only taken a few steps when she realized they had an echo. Some instinct made her dodge to the left, pivoting on her right foot, bringing up her left for a round kick. In the split second of switching from evasion to offense Grave moved in, his blade catching her right side. Her kick caught a piece of him, but he was ready, thrusting at her for a second strike. She recovered enough to retreat and block, hoping her jacket would give her some protection to keep her arm from being sliced open. He was moving in again, completely on the offense, her own blows having little or no impact.

She wondered where Sam was, and why it was taking so long for her to help – it seemed like minutes since Grave had first appeared even though she knew it must have been seconds. Just as she was becoming convinced she was not going to get any help she became aware of a series of thumps as Sam leapt from the hood to the roof of the car, vaulting at Grave in a move Vivian could only call kamikaze.

Grave must not have ever expected someone to throw themselves at a knife and stood stunned for the vital microsecond Sam needed. Her arms wrapped around his neck and head and as they fell she used her momentum to swing her weight around, twisting his neck around until it stopped with an audible crack. They landed, Sam releasing him and rolling to her feet, ready to attack again. She didn’t need to. Grave lay sprawled on the driveway, his face looking back over his shoulder at an angle not attainable by anyone living.

Sam crossed over to where Vivian had stumbled when she tried to get clear of Grave’s blade during Sam’s attack.

“You okay?” Sam asked a little too breathlessly, eyes wide and slightly crazed.

She touched a hand to her side, wincing when it came away bloody. “I think so. I’m pretty sure he just grazed me.”

“Hospital?”

“Not if I don’t have to.”

Sam nodded and glanced over at Grave’s body and then at the car. Vivian saw her think for a minute before shaking her head. “Will you be okay getting into the house? I need to take care of that before the neighbors notice,” she said, gesturing at the corpse.

“Yeah. Help me up.” Vivian didn’t think it was too bad a cut, although it was rather bloody. At least he kept his knives clean – anyone that obsessed with blades should take good care of them.

She let Sam take charge, all energy suddenly draining out of her. That had to be the shortest contract on her life ever – and the closest anyone had ever gotten to succeeding. The adrenaline rush definitely wasn’t worth it and left her with a migraine. Sam apologized repeatedly for her supposed failure to protect her while cleaning and bandaging up her injuries – he had managed to get a piece of her arm as well; the rip in the jacket was sobering. Vivian was upset to realize Sam had almost been killed - the collar of her leather jacket had been sliced through. If not for the metal snaps and rivets he would have succeeded in his desperate attempt to cut her throat.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said, putting her to bed, leaving a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin handy. “If it bothers you that much, you can buy me a new jacket.”
Vivian smiled up at her. “My hero. It’s a deal.” And maybe new leather pants…and cuffs…and rope… and maybe a motorcycle. She’d seen pictures of some very interesting things that could be done with motorcycles. Yes. They’d definitely have to go shopping. She smirked. Sam deserved lots of rewards for saving her life.

Sam grinned at her. “You’re thinking of sex, aren’t you?”

She nodded.

“Sorry hon,” Sam said before bending to kiss her. “Not tonight. You need to rest up and heal a bit and I need to take care of the car and the body before morning.”
The next morning Vivian rolled over, wincing just a little, to find Sam stretched out on her back, snoring contentedly. She decided to let her sleep – Sam hadn’t gotten to bed until a few hours ago and deserved her rest.

She padded out to the kitchen and took her favorite porcelain cup from the cabinet. She smiled to herself when she found an envelope in the cup labeled “Bill for services” in Sam’s messy handwriting. In it was a ransom style note assembled from magazine clippings. She grinned and glanced at the kitchen table – the magazines and paper shreds were still scattered over the surface. Sam must have been too wound up to go to bed as soon as she got home from destroying the evidence. And she must have remembered Vivian’s joking complaints that she had never received a ransom note and it hardly seemed fair, so she had made one for her:

There’s no body worth more than your body
You owe me a leather jacket.

If that wasn’t a love letter, she didn’t know what was.

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The end of the chapter - but the story of Sam and Viv might continue if the muse strikes. Or licks. You know how those lesbian muses are. :)