Retrieval Martin Kane A Delphi Agency Tale: 2 women sent to pick up 1 guy. --- Author's note: Anyone wishing to contact me may do so via the DtV messageboard for Readers & Writers. I invite anyone to send any comments, good or bad, should they wish to. I'm always interested in what others think of my little tales. Copyright is mine. I'd be flattered if anyone wanted to use this tale elsewhere, but please seek permission first. Needless to say this story is purely a fiction and all characters merely the products of an overwrought imagination I'll abstain from the adult content warning, if you've got this far, you're certain to know what kind of thing to expect anyway. --- The car pulled up opposite the block where Little Richard’s big sister lived. It was a standard inner-city, slum-housing, mass- populace, low-income brick-shit coloured building - a maze of inter connecting maisonette houses designed to cram as much of the city’s underclass into as few precious real-estate square-feet as was inhumanly possible. Sarah was behind the wheel. She switched off the engine and they sat, checking the surroundings. She was the older of the two, having five years on her colleague and about a thousand active duty hours on the street. She was smartly dressed, her thick brown hair in a tidy bob. With her suit and driving glasses on, she looked more like a businesswoman, lost on the wrong side of town than a soldier of fortune. Julie clicked off her seatbelt and stretched her back like a cat, hating the confines of the seat. The anticipation of the job in hand made her all the more restless. Her muscles ached and she longed to get into the thick of it, get them into action. "OK, what are we expecting up there?" Julie asked. "At a guess: Larry, Moe and Curly, our intended and his sister, assuming she’s at home." "Big Bob?" "I phoned in before we headed out," Sarah told her, "the Dean is having the bar watched. He’s still there." "Doing the accounts?" Sarah offered a cynical smile at this. "Well, even if he is, he’s too late." Sarah had gone to visit Big Bob the previous day. She had gone along for the ride; Eddie Dean needed to make a courtesy visit and didn’t trust his client to play nice. Normally the Dean wouldn’t bother with any backup, his job being a fairly routine door-to-door administrative one. However, this situation had the potential to spiral out of control. He didn’t want to take any chances, and he didn’t want to walk into the Cellar Bar without a wide trench-coat behind him. So he had called the Delphi Agency and asked if anyone was free to accompany him. Sarah was free. She liked the Dean though she had only met him on a few occasions. He worked for a small independent company that had the rare privilege of an open account with the Delphi Agency where she worked. He could call upon them for assistance whenever required. Sarah liked him because he hadn’t balked in the slightest when she was first introduced to him, Ms T calmly explaining that she hired women as well as men to attend the cases. He had merely shrugged and winked at her, saying: "OK, let’s go." He was gentlemanly, old fashioned even, yet without being condescending. Despite the age gap, he must be getting on for fifty, compared to her own thirty years, he never missed the chance to flirt or drop a risque comment, as some men are wont to do. The twinkle in his eye allowed him to get away with such without causing offence or any reaction harsher than a ‘typical man’ roll of the eyes. The fact that she had biceps larger than baseballs didn’t inhibit or influence his behaviour one way or the other. To him she was just another chick, and treated in exactly the same way: respectful, yet still an undercurrent of sexual flirtation. And more that all that, she liked him because he retained an utter faith in her professional position. Sarah had followed the Dean as he descended the metal stairs, slippery with the rain, and knocked on the door. She wore a wide trench-coat, the collar turned up against the harsh weather. The Dean wore his usual pinstripe, looking the part of a walking cliche. The door was opened to them and they walked inside. The Cellar Bar was small, even when empty as it was now. Enough room for the bar, TV sets hooked to sports channels, a jukebox and pool table. It was a fairly standard arrangement and fit all the familiar criteria. They were here to see Little Richard, the owner and manager of the bar, though, as the Dean had explained to Sarah, it was unlikely that he would be here. Two men stood by the pool table, cues held lightly but in preparatory grips. Larry was tall and skinny, a fuzz of shaved hair and pointy head that made him look absurdly like the cue he held tightly to. Moe was shorter, stouter, stockier and more stupid looking. He had a round scrunched up face, as you would imagine a bulldog to look if it were evolved almost into human form. Both men looked mean and ugly, in short, your typical dial-a-thug. A third man, Curly, sat at the bar. He was bald, despite his name. He sat, sipping delicately at a glass of orange juice. He stopped to watch the newcomers. Behind the bar stood Big Bob. He was a big man, thick muscles and aggressive demeanour. He was the man that no one started trouble with in a bar, the man that thought nothing of walking down a dark alley at night. He wore testosterone like a coat-of-arms, a protective shield of potential violence that scared children and adults alike. He was dressed in a suit with a tidy tie and a smooth sheen of hair gel. His appearance still that of a thug, albeit a well dressed one. Big Bob was doing his accounts, a series of notebooks open before him on the bar and a chewed pencil rolling from one corner of his mouth to the other. His confused expression changed as the newcomers entered. He pulled the pencil out and rested it in a nearby ashtray. The act was apparently unconscious. "Well if it isn’t the Dean," Big Bob declared as though he hadn’t been waiting for this moment all day. Larry, Moe and Curly remained still as the Dean walked up to the bar. Sarah stood by the door, keeping the whole bar in view. She exchanged fearless glances with each of the dial-a-thugs in turn, but always watching the scene intently. Her arms were loose and apart, ready to move, were it required of her. The Dean took a seat half a bar length down from Curly, directly facing Big Bob. "Doing the books?" he enquired, pleasantly enough, though his tone was as cold as ice. "Just seeing how things stand," Big Bob told him. "Keeping abreast of the situation." "Sure," he nodded. "I’d offer you a drink but we aren’t open. Wouldn’t want to serve you alcohol when we weren’t open, that would contravene our licensing regulations and we wouldn’t want to contravene our licensing regulations." The Dean’s body language changed visibly; when he spoke, his voice could have cut glass. "Where’s Little Richard?" "The thing is, see," Big Bob told him, his tone lowering to match the Dean’s, "Little Richard has decided that the bar managing-slash- ownership business isn’t really for him. It’s the stress you see, not good for the heart. So he decides he’s gonna give it a rest for a while, take a sabbatical, and let someone else take the stress for him. Someone less susceptible, if you will." "That’s not what I asked," the Dean told him evenly. "What I asked and what I want to know is: where is Little Richard?" "Well this is what I’m saying," Big Bob told him. "He’s not here." "That is something I’m aware of," the Dean said slowly. "That is something I noticed as soon as I came down those there stairs and walked into this cosy little place. I saw the three stooges, I saw a big wanna-be gangster behind the bar, looking for all the world as though he ran the place, but what I didn’t see is the one thing I wanted to see. I didn’t see Little Richard." "Yeah, he’s not here, like I say. You see, he’s decided he’s gonna get out of the business for a while and so he’s left it up to me to take over. Run things like, keep it ticking over, just ’til he’s feeling better like. He gets stressed you see, and that’s not good for the heart. So I’m in charge, as it were. Anything you want to say to him, you say to me. Anything you want to ask him, you ask me. Any business you got with Little Richard, you got with me." "I see," the Dean said and he nodded slowly to himself. Silence filled the bar. The Dean could feel all eyes on him, but he stood his ground, not flinching from Big Bob’s harsh gaze. Sarah watched the scene play out, watched the stooges watching the scene play out. All three stood in a pseudo pose of casual indifference. Neither Larry nor Moe had put down their cues, though neither one had taken a shot since this began. Curly still clutched his glass though it was now empty. Sarah stood and watched and waited. "So what business is it that you had with Little Richard that you wanted to discuss with him, coming here today such as you did?" Big Bob insisted, finally breaking the tense gap. "As you’re going through the books, I’ll not bore you with the specifics of the details but it’s suffice to say that Little Richard owes me, and he’s getting behind on his repayments." "Well I’ve yet to go through the details you understand, I’ve just got myself a kind of overall picture as it were. As I’m sure that you are aware, this business is having a few problems and Little Richard is trying to dig himself out of the hole. That’s why he called me in, kind of a problem solver as it were." "Good," the Dean said. "The sooner he’s back on track, the sooner we can put these little set-backs behind us all and get on with living our lives in peace." "You understand that I’m here to get him back on track. Sort through the in-goings and out-goings, payments and receipts. I’m here to cut the fat, to plug the holes and tighten the belt. I’m here to prioritise the bills and keep all the necessary people happy." The Dean nodded slowly. He understood alright. "Well, that’s fair," he agreed, adjusting his hat with a carefree carelessness. "I’m here paying a courtesy visit, seeing how the ground lays, keeping abreast of the situation." He stood, apparently readying to leave. "I’ll leave you to your accounts. But I advise you to be careful about prioritising the bills. Make sure you appreciate the urgency of some of his debts, because there are some that need to be paid - without fail. There are certain people that you really don’t want to let down" "Oh, you can be sure, I know what I’m doing," Bid Bob told him. "I’m sure my reputation speaks for itself." "It does," the Dean assured him. "I always know exactly who I’m getting involved with. Do you?" Big Bob merely stared back at the Dean. "You were leaving?" he murmured eventually. The Dean adjusted his coat carelessly. "Make sure the man pays his debts," he concluded, pulling at the lapels of his suit. This motion was apparently taken by Curly as potentially threatening because he took it upon himself to stand, still clutching at the empty glass. Sarah stepped forward immediately. A cue fell across her path, a blatant, warning wielded by Moe. Sarah smiled, an expression that should have been sweet, but for the malice she was effortlessly able to convey - the simple confidence of damage which she was both able and willing to inflict. "You want to take that out of my face before you find it shoved up your arse," she suggested in a voice that was far too gentle to be genuine. Slowly, the cue retracted. Curly stood still, making no move towards the Dean, knowing the scene would escalate if he did. As casual as anything, the Dean walked out the bar, past the three stooges, past Sarah standing guard and to the metal staircase, still treacherous thanks to the rain. Sarah grasped the cue that Moe still held between them. She placed a thumb above her fist and carelessly snapped the top half of the pole as though it were no thicker that a pencil. She saw him flinch at the snap and she smiled cruelly. She held up her other hand to reveal the pool ball she had surreptitiously taken from the table. The point was clear as a warning, for she had taken it from under their very noses, right at the point when they had been watching her closest. But she had one more point to make before leaving. She wrapped her fingers about the ball then began to squeeze. If Moe had flinched at the snap of a cue, his reaction to the crunching sound coming from her fist was a thousand times more intense. Sarah opened her hand to let the crumpled remains sprinkle from her grip like sawdust. Julie had laughed when Sarah told her this. "I love that trick," she enthused. "It got the right reaction?" "Their eyes just popped out their head," Sarah said. "They couldn’t believe what they were seeing. It was hilarious. I just turned and swirled out. One of the benefits of that coat - it doubles as a cape." "Yeah. Talking of which, back to the present. How are we going in?" "The direct approach seems to suit us best, don’t ya think?" Julie giggled. "Dressed for success?" "Don’t see why not," Sarah agreed. "Looks like you’ve got a head start on me though." She motioned to her companion’s dress: Lycra shorts, a running-T, cut off to expose a rippling midriff. "I like to look the part," she remarked with a smile. She knew she had an extrovert streak and given her passion for bodybuilding, the two factors contributed towards her awesome presence. Sarah stepped out the car, removing her suit jacket as she did so. Beneath she wore a dark but stylish and businesslike blouse. Then, beneath that, a sport bra in black. Her muscles were as large and obvious as her companion’s. There was little doubt that either woman was a bodybuilder of great accomplishment. And given their current dress, both liked to exploit the fact. Sarah stepped out of her skirt to reveal the skin-tight hot-pants she wore beneath. She walked to the boot of the car, opening it and pulling out a suit carrier and her long leather trench-coat. She carefully hung her suit within the carrier, zipped it up and lay it flat in the boot. She kicked off her shiny black shoes and replaced them with a pair of far more practical trainers. She closed the boot and slid on the coat, leaving it flapping open, exposing the bulging of muscles beneath. "Ready?" Julie asked with a smile. "I think so." Julie raised an eyebrow. "You sure?" She motioned to her friend’s face. Sarah realised she was still wearing the glasses. She took them off, reopened the car and tossed them into the glove-box. "I forget I’m wearing them," she admitted. "Though why I can’t go into action with them on, I don’t know." "It’s a matter of appearances. What’s the point of dressing up like a comic-book super-chick, muscles out, if you’re gonna look like a bookworm?" Sarah raised an eyebrow. "I look like a bookworm?" "You know what I mean. Besides, it’s a vulnerability and you don’t want them to get broken." "I suppose," she agreed. "Come on, let’s go to work." They went through the open courtyard, surrounded on three sides by the depressing buildings. Puddles had collected on the uneven surface; an abandoned line of laundry had been soaked and dirtied far worse than prior to its washing. It was beginning to dry out again and smelt truly bad. A group of kids, pre-teens probably, of a variety of races, sat on bikes around the stairwell of one of the buildings. It was where they were heading. The kids looked about to make some smart-ass comments, seeing these two unusual and freakish women approach. Then they caught the no- nonsense expressions and thought better of it. Kids have an in-built instinct to attack only those they can easy best. There was little doubt that these women were fearful advisories. Sarah checked the graffitied sign. "This is it. Third floor." They took the stairs but paused by the balcony that led the length of the building, in front of each of the lines of flats on this level. "Take a minute," Sarah told her companion. Julie was impatient, eager to get going, needing the fix of action. She tensed her muscles, flexing for the sensation it gave her. Sarah was more meticulous, carefully stretching and rolling her muscles, warming up ready. "Keep it cool," she told her partner. "Remember, there’s an innocent and our patient is to be kept fresh." "Hey, I’m a pro," Julie protested, a little hurt. "I know you are, I also know that in the heat of it, it’s too easy to let loose. Bear in mind that with your power, just one punch is enough to take a man out permanently." "Trust me." "I do, Babe, I do. You ready?" Julie smiled and threw her arm into a flex before her chest. "Darling, I was born ready." The front door they stopped at was fully wooden and as graffitied as the rest of the housing block. Number thirty-two. Julie knocked, a no-messing double rap of tensed knuckles. There was no response. A pause with only silence, save for both women’s heartbeat and breaths. Sarah gave the nod and Julie knocked again, as before. It was loud and certain. There was no way the occupants could have missed it. Then, the metal click and slide of a chain and the door cracked open. A woman clutching a babe-in-arms peered fearfully from the three-inch gap the chain permitted. "What?" she demanded from the two bodybuilders standing outside. "We’re here to see Little Richard," Julie told her, her voice full of authority. "He’s not here," the woman hissed and slammed the door. At least she would have slammed it if Julie’s foot wasn’t propping it open. "Then if you don’t mind, we’ll come it and wait." The woman panicked, leaning her weight onto the wood, trying to force Julie back. It was a hopelessly outmatched contest. "Ma’am, you have to let us in. Right now." "Please, he’s not here, just go away." Sarah gave her partner the nod and Julie proceeded. She reached into the gap, grasping the chain in her powerful fist, and tore the metal free from its fitting with ridiculous ease. The woman shrieked and backed away as Julie pushed her way into the dingy little flat. Julie pushed past her and began exploring. Sarah followed, offering the now weeping woman a "sorry about this," as she past. A room to either side of the narrow hallway and they took one each. Julie found the kitchen - empty. Sarah was luckier, walking into the living room with Larry, Moe and Curly looking up from the sofa, wondering was the noise was all about. They stood to face the assailant. Sarah barked over her shoulder. "Find the man," she said and stepped into the fray. It might have been unfair on her partner, Sarah knew she was aching to break some heads, and these three were the only ones they were permitted to hurt. However, she was the one who’d randomly come across them first, and besides, she was hardly adverse to benefits of violence herself. Why should Julie have all the fun? Moe was first, apparently eager to reprise the delayed fight from their previous encounter. Sarah was fine with that and she punched out, shattering his delicate face with a blow that would have cracked stone. He fell back, propelled by the force of her punch, and the other two stooges launched at her. Julie was searching the rest of the tiny flat, finding the bathroom empty, one bedroom empty and then the locked door. "Paydirt," she called and then kicked it off of its hinges. The door flew into the room, cracked down the middle where she’d struck it. The room appeared to have no one inside but was so cluttered with junk and old furniture that she couldn’t take that fact for granted. Sarah took the blows that the two remaining stooges laid upon her with the regard a mother cat does for a kitten’s vicious assault only without the love and intimacy. She caught one fist, Larry’s, and held him, taking the opportunity to kick sideways at Curly, grounding him as his solar plexus was crushed by her foot. Then she focused on the trapped Larry, his arm held pinned between her chest and hugely swollen arm. She loosened the grip in order to fold his arm around, twisting the man effortlessly about until his back was to her. The arm snapped as he ran out of joints to fold and strain that direction and she simply wrapped a muscular arm about his throat. Even through the thick leather coat, he could feel the hard swelling of her massive biceps muscle as it cut off his windpipe. She squeezed and his neck snapped. Sarah heard a crash from the other room, but finished her business here before checking on her companion. She stepped up, over Curly. He was helpless and moaning on the ground, clutching at his squashed stomach. She simply placed her foot onto his chest and flexed a hugely muscled thigh. His chest caved and she stepped away from the carnage to join Julie. As she passed Moe, his face a pulped mess, she stomped his throat just to be sure, crushing it completely. The man didn’t flinch but it was better to be safe than sorry. Sarah found Julie amongst a broken mess of what had been a wooden wardrobe. She was furiously slamming her anger into the splintered boards that she stood amongst, tearing them apart and angrily throwing them aside. Sarah saw the handcuffs, saw the radiator that Julie was attached to. She saw the large open window, the access to the fire escape. What she didn’t see was Little Richard. "Where’s the fucking patient?" Sarah asked, too surprised to think straight. "Don’t start," Julie hissed, truly pissed. "He threw a fucking wardrobe on me." "Shit," Sarah said, already across the room and out the window onto the fire escape. She heard the clang and gravel crunch as Little Richard landed and took off. She started after him, taking the metal rungs a leg-length stride at a time, clearing the stairways in huge, athletic bounds. Julie kicked apart the reminder of the wardrobe and focused on the handcuffs. She swore and grasped hold of the radiator. She pulled her trapped arm away, flexing her muscles as hard as she could. The radiator was tough, so were the cuffs. The chain between them snapped first, leaving her with the steel bracelet still attached. She could live with that for now. And she took off after the other two, through the window and onto the fire escape. She saw that Sarah was already off the escape and heading out of the estate. Julie ran after them, not seeing Little Richard but following her colleague instead. She ran with fire in her limbs, with adrenaline surging and blood pumping. This was action, this was physical expression. She could exhaust herself with aerobics or weights in a gym but it would never come close to the sensation she got from being on a case. Sarah disappeared down an alleyway and Julie sped on. The little weasel could run, she’d give him that. Both her and Sarah were fast and strong, but he was leading them a fair chase. The alleyway led to another street, a residential street. In the distance she could see the patient running for all he was worth. She could also see that Sarah was gaining on the little bastard, which was heartening. He might be fast but he wouldn’t be able to keep up the pace for long, certainly not as long as the two athletes pursuing him could. The street was a cul-de-sack, but it had pedestrian access out at the end, another long alleyway. He disappeared inside, Sarah shortly after him. When Julie got to the alley, long and dark, there was no sign of either of them. She hammered down the alley nonetheless her heavy footfalls echoing around her. The other end and another residential street, apparently heading into a richer area of town if the large houses were any indication. Julie glanced left and right and saw Sarah as she disappeared down another turning. She took off again, breathing hard. She reached the street and saw down the length of it. She saw Little Richard still fleeing madly, though his lead was considerably smaller now. She also saw a potential problem. The parked police car up ahead. Little Richard ran sidelong into it, though not purposefully. He slammed into the bonnet and fell, quickly picking himself up to skirt around the car and pelt into the alley beyond. Sarah was close behind and not about to slow down. She leapt, scaling the car like a hurdle, picking her muscular legs up and out to make the jump with room to spare. Then she was in the alley and gone again. The policemen in the car apparently noticed something strange and reacted finally, getting out the car and following Sarah into the alley. Julie slowed her pace a little so as not to let the police see her. She had nearly caught up and quickly followed the group into the alley. It was a dead end. She saw Little Richard pinning himself against the far wall of brickwork, paralysed like a rabbit in headlights. He had apparently been attempting to scale a railing fence when Sarah finally caught him. That had been when the police caught up, demanding to know what was going on. Julie arrived next, stepping stealthily up behind the two uniformed men. Sarah had her hands on her thick thighs, bent over and regaining her breath. "Fellas," she said to them, "I know this is corny, but you wouldn’t want to look behind you a minute would you?" They didn’t. However, that didn’t stop Julie from placing one hand against the side of each helmeted head and slamming them together like two cymbals in an orchestra of violence. They went down and stayed there. Julie walked up to the now gibbering patient, feeling her rage boil once more. Little Richard shrank away from the towering fury of female muscle, all to aware of her intent and capacity for carnage. "Be cool," Sarah told her. She had wandered over to the cops and was checking their vitals. "Tie him up and help me with these guys." "Tie him up with what?" "Improvise." "Can’t I just punch him out?" "No. No damage." Julie sighed and made vicious face at Little Richard. He shrank from her. She looked at the railings, checking the thickness and length of the metal vertical bars. She ripped one free and tried it, happy with its strength. She then bent it, flexing her muscles hard and pressing it against her powerful thigh for the added leverage necessary to mould the thing. It was a tough job and her muscles were pounding. No way was the little guy about to escape from this. She bent a loop about his wrists and another about his ankles. Once she was done, he was helpless. Sarah had picked up the two unconscious policemen and slung them over her shoulders. She carried them to the back of the alleyway, found a convenient spot beneath a pile of cardboard boxes and cuffed them to each other. "They’ll be fine here," she stated, crushing each of their radios in turn, the fragmented machinery falling between her fingers much as had the pool ball at about this time yesterday. "The car shouldn’t attract too much attention; not for a while at least." She picked out their keys and found the ones for handcuffs. She tossed them to Julie. "Try these. Unless you want to keep that bracelet as a fashion accessory." She tried it. "No joy. Don’t worry about it, I’ll work them off while you go for the car." "I can leave you alone with this guy?" "I’m cool." "Even after he dropped a wardrobe on you." "I’m cool," Julie repeated. "Besides, you’re gonna attract less attention on the streets than me." "I can easily loan you the coat," Sarah protested but was happy enough to trust her colleague. She smiled and couldn’t resist pushing. "He handcuffed you to the radiator." "Shut it," she warned but was more embarrassed than annoyed. "Shit girl, he weights less than you can curl." Julie couldn’t help smile at the absurdity of it. "He caught me by surprise OK? Just go get the fucking car?" "I won’t be long," she promised and left the dingy alleyway to head back towards the estate. She whistled cheerfully to herself. The rain was finally clearing up and the sky had that wonderful clear and fresh smell. It was actually turning out to be a nice day.