The Plan-B Bust: 5 / 5

An Altered Fates Story
by Iolanthe Portmanteaux

Caresse woke up groggy, feeling… hungover. Hungover? No. Drugged. It was the aftermath of being drugged. Her whole body sensed the disgusting chemical in her blood. It was in her head. It was on her skin. It soaked all through her, in her viscera, in her bones. The whole world felt nauseous and shaky. Her head slowly cleared, and as it did, she gradually realized what crimes had been done to her. Every part of her was sticky, dirty, sordidly unclean. Her vagina, her ass, her mouth had all been used without her knowledge or consent. She needed water, a river of water, to rinse her mouth and to wash herself clean. She sat up and saw the two culprits, Joseph and William, lying naked on the floor next to her bed, their middle-aged bellies sticking out like perverse unliving pregnancies. William, inexplicably, was still wearing his socks and shoes, which somehow made him even creepier than before.

She was angry: angry in a way she’d never felt before. It was an existential anger, a profound sense of wrongness that nothing could correct. A wrongness as wrong as death. Was she angry enough to kill the pair of them? Angry enough to find a stick and beat them with it? No -- it was not that kind of anger. It was a mournful, offended, god-like anger. She could happily see them both dead, but she was not their executioner. She did not want to be bound to them in that way. However, she was angry enough to do something else. She stood up, naked as she was, and went downstairs. She wanted to find the drug they’d used on her.

It didn’t take long to find it. The bottle of rohypnol was in Joseph’s suitcase. She had no idea of the proper dose, but one pill per man ought to do something. It ought to impair them a little; long enough for her to get the hell out and gone. With the flat of the biggest kitchen knife, she crushed two pills, and gathered the powder on two folded pieces of paper. She filled a teacup with water, and carried it, a teaspoon, and the the two powdered pills, upstairs.

Luckily, the two men were sleeping on their sides, with their stupid mouths open. She dumped the powder inside their cheeks. Then she spooned a teaspoon full of water over the powder. Each man licked his lips and swallowed. She spooned another teaspoon of water over the powder, and they swallowed again. She did this six times, pausing once to refill the cup. I’m not sure this will do anything, she told herself, but at least it’s something.

She picked up Andy’s gun, checked it, and put it in a plastic bag so she could take it with her into the shower. It was only 4:10 in the morning, but there was no way she was going back to sleep. Not with those two assholes in the house. She was going to leave, just as soon as she could get the filthy stickiness off her.

She didn’t hurry in the shower, but she didn’t make a day of it. She just wanted to get clean, and each time her hand touched the remnants of her ex-colleagues’ debauchery, she trembled with renewed fury.

When she emerged, wearing clean clothes and drying her hair with a towel, the boys were still snoring, so she threw a few toiletries and a few more clothes into a tote bag, along with her police laptop and charger. She went downstairs and took the blanket off the couch. She went outside and spread the blanket on the ground in the crawlspace so she wouldn’t get dirty while retrieving her go-bag. She shoved the tote bag and her gun into the go-bag so she’d only have one thing to carry.

She stood outside the house for a moment, breathing hard. The sky was beginning to lighten, but the sun wasn’t quite up yet. She could see well enough to get around. The birds were quietly chirping, and a soft wind made the trees rustle, as if some giant was breathing softly over the landscape.

I should tell Reacher goodbye, she thought, even if she wasn’t sure she’d find him. She started down the path to his house. If she didn’t find him right away, she’d just leave. He’d understand. At least, he said he’d understand.

About halfway down the path, she had a sudden intuition. She didn’t know why, but she felt the need to hide the go-bag. She tucked it behind some bushes, and checked from different angles to make sure it wasn’t visible. There were two baseball-sized rocks on the ground, and she picked them up. As she walked, she tossed the ball-like rocks and caught them, and clacked them against each other. It didn’t make a loud sound, but maybe Reacher would hear her coming.

Just as she caught sight of his house, she stopped, remembering his warning about the tripwire. She looked along the path, following it with her eye from where it began and all the way to where she stood, and then she spotted the tripwire: it was right in front of her feet! She clacked the rocks twice, pleased with herself.

She heard footsteps approaching from beyond the head of the path. She couldn’t see him, but it had to be Reacher. She smiled, happy that he was there; happy that she’d get to tell him goodbye. But it wasn’t Reacher. It was a man about as tall as Reacher, but thinner. And unlike Reacher, he was ugly, inside and out. He was wearing khaki pants, a blue t-shirt, and a light jacket. Underneath the jacket he wore a gun. Slowly he reached for it. As he did, in a soft voice he crooned, “Caresse Desmesne, as I live and breathe! Danny Plice is going to be so happy to see you!”

Without thinking, she let fly with one of the rocks, and beaned him in the head. It bounced off his right forehead, where a blotch of blood appeared. He swore, but he didn’t fall down. “You goddamn bitch! I’ll make you pay for that!”

She turned and ran, as quickly as she could. He took off after her. She wanted to make him move fast. His footsteps pounded into the ground, one, two, three, four, five, six -- then ooof! thud! He fell heavily to the ground. The tripwire had done its work. She stopped and turned to look. He’d done a full faceplant into the ground. Before he could recover, she was back on him, and smacked him in the back of his head with the other rock. It took three blows before he stopped moving. She looked at the blood on the rock, and the spatter on her hands and clothes. Then came the sound of more footsteps, and she looked up to see Reacher standing nearby. “Nice work,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t get him first. I did take care of the other guy, but this one was a lot sneakier.”

“What other guy?” she asked.

“Let me finish this one off and I’ll tell you,” he said as he dragged the unconscious body off the path.

“What do you mean finish him off? You don’t need to kill him!”

“Do you want him to jump back up and come after you again?”

“No.”

“Then I’m going to finish him off.”

She didn’t see exactly where Reacher stuck the man or cut him. She didn’t want to see. She saw what came after, which was Reacher wiping the man’s blood off his blade.

“Who was the other guy?” she asked again.

“There were two guys watching your house last night. I couldn’t do anything about them until now, when this one broke off to get ahead of you. They have to be Plice’s boys, and that means that Plice is on his way. You need to get going. You need to get far from here.”

“Plice?” Caresse went white. “Shit! My colleagues!” she whispered. Joseph and William were no shape to confront Plice and his men. They'd be sitting ducks.

“Your what?” Reacher asked. “Did you say colleagues?”

“Long story,” she replied. He took a breath like he was about to ask for the long story, when Caresse noticed a bow and a set of arrows lying on the ground behind Reacher. “Are those yours?” He nodded, and reddened a little. “Are you any good?”

He shrugged. “If the guy is standing perfectly still and isn’t too far away, then yeah, I’m great. It’s how I--” He was interrupted by the sound of a car coming up the dirt road way too fast. He grabbed Caresse and held her to the spot. It was unlikely they’d be seen from a quickly passing car, but the two of them could plainly see four men in a black car, with a huge cloud of dust following behind.

“Right!” Reacher crowed. “It’s go time! Listen, you stay here. You can hide behind my house, or I can carry you to a safe spot inside. I--”

“Hell, no!” she told him. She bent down and picked up the dead man’s gun off the ground, and checked it. “I have to help my--”

“--your colleagues?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “My colleagues.”

“No,” he told her. “You need to get the hell on out of here. Leave the dead to bury their dead.”

“Fuck that!” she said, and started up the path.

“Okay, then,” he called after her, “I’ll flank you from the road. Good luck.” He picked up his bow and arrows and headed off.

She could hear banging and shouting well down the path. When her house came into view, she could only see one of the four thugs. He was standing with his back to her, watching the kitchen door. From the noise, it sounded like the other three were inside, beating on William and Joseph. Caresse moved her gun to her left hand and picked up a rock with her right. She silently worked her way forward. When she felt herself at a sure distance, she set the gun on the ground and whipped the rock at his head. He jerked, stumbled, then fell with a sickening thud, his face landing in a puddle of water.

She picked up the gun and ran to the prostrate man. Instinctively she almost pulled his face from the puddle, but stopped herself, hearing Reacher’s voice in her head: Do you want him to jump back up and come after you again? She didn’t have a knife, and she recoiled at the idea of pounding him to death with a rock. Then he started twitching, and she knew she had to act. She quickly pulled a heavy outdoor chair and up-ended it on the man’s head, its cast-iron weight trapping his face underwater. He lamely struggled for about two minutes. Caresse looked away until the sound of his struggling stopped.

There was still shouting from inside the house, and she could hear the sound of William and Joseph falling and being kicked and dragged down the stairs. She quickly pulled the chair off the dead man’s head and dragged his body behind the house. She couldn’t see it, but she heard the front door burst open. She moved cautiously up the back of the house so she could see what was going on.

She took a quick glance around the corner of the house. There were two naked, semi-conscious men on the ground -- William and Joseph -- and three thugs standing over them. One of the men had his back to Caresse, but the other two were facing her. In fact, if they hadn’t been looking down at William and Joseph, they would have seen her face.

Caresse didn’t know what to do. If she worked her way back around the house, she’d be in a worse position, because she’d be farther away from the men. She could get to the back door, go upstairs, and shoot down at them from inside the house. Still, it wouldn’t take long for them to flank her. She heaved a big breath and listened.

“Look at these assholes!” one of the men shouted. “They’re all doped up! What the hell were they doing?”

“Do you think Caresse did this to them?” another asked.

“Whatever the fuck is going on, these two are useless to us like this. Drag them over to the bushes and give ‘em both a bullet in the head.”

“Wait! Maybe they know where Caresse is.”

“You want to wait until they sober up and ask them?”

Caresse could almost hear the shrugged response.

“Fuck.”

The thugs stood silently considering, until one asked, “What is our next step here?”

“Go fuck yourself. That’s the next step here.”

“Nice, very nice. I’m asking what we're supposed to do now? We don’t want Plice to show up while we're standing here with our thumbs up our asses.”

“We wait for Plice. In the meantime, we look for Caresse. We look in the bushes. We check what’s down that path…”

“We could drive down to the end of the road, that way.”

“No, if we do that, we'll give her a way out. The car stays here.”

“Okay. In the meantime, speaking of bushes…” Caresse heard a loud unzipping noise.

“Jesus!” another man said. “You got a loudspeaker in those pants?”

“Wait until you hear me fart,” the other replied. “I don’t need no loudspeaker.”

Caresse crouched low and ventured another quick peek. The man with the loud zipper was walking toward the bushes at the end of the driveway. Another was lighting a cigarette, and the third was standing aimlessly. As the first man reached the bushes, he exclaimed, “Holy crap! I found Charlie!”

Caresse ventured another look. The farthest man was bending over the bushes, looking at the ground. The other two were looking after him, their backs to Caresse. Suddenly there came a swiss--thock! and the man by the bushes twitched. Then, after four seconds, he began to lean, and in slow motion he fell to the ground. Reacher had taken him out with an arrow.

“Fuck!” one of the men shouted. While they both had their backs to her, Caresse stepped out, safety off, and took aim at the closer man, the one on her left. She aimed for his heart, and squeezed off two shots. He went down. The last man turned and fumbled for his gun. Her heart froze. Caresse shot and missed. He grinned. Then he extracted his gun and his face told her that he was ready to fire. Another swiss--thock! was heard, and an arrow bit into the side of the house. The man was puzzled, confused for a moment, so Caresse fired again, this time grazing his left tricep. He stumbled back a step. His head jerked back toward the source of the arrows, and he fired two random shots in that direction. “Come here,” he commanded Caresse. “Drop the fucking gun and come here.” She lowered the gun slightly and took a step closer. Then, when another swiss--thock hit the house, she raised the gun and shot him twice in the chest. The man fell, his face convulsing with pain and confusion.

“Thanks for saving me!” Caresse shouted.

“Hey, fuck,” Reacher responded. “I didn’t want you to come back here. Anyway, I counted four hostiles. One of them is missing.”

“He’s out back,” Caresse boasted. “I drowned him.”

Reacher raised his eyebrows in question, but he bent down and checked each body.

“Don’t want ‘em jumping back up again,” she commented.

“Nope,” he said. He checked the man behind the house, then came back to look at William and Joseph. He nudged their naked bodies with his toe. “These are your colleagues?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she admitted.

“So what are you, FBI?”

“No. Major Crimes, county unit.”

He nodded silently. “I hope you’re not planning on bringing me in,” he commented.

“I don’t even know who you are,” she said.

“True enough. Anyway, as I was saying -- before the bloodbath -- you really need to go. Cop or not. Plice is coming, and he is no joke.”

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” she asked. “You’re not going after him with arrows, are you?”

“No, fuck the bow and arrows. I told you, I set a trap, and I want you out of the way.”

“Okay,” she agreed. She wiped her prints off her gun, and swapped it for one of the unfired guns on the ground. She checked it, and tucked it into her belt, at the small of her back. “I just have to pick up my go-bag. I stashed it down the path there.”

He looked at her for a moment. “A go-bag? A cop, with a go-bag? A cop on the run? Something doesn’t add up here.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “It’s a long story.”

He considered a moment, then spread his hands and shook his head. “Okay. Cool. It’s none of my business. We’ve had our fun, we’ve killed some bad guys. We’ve had some good, sweaty, wholesome fucks. You’re the most beautiful and amazing woman I’ve ever met, and ever will meet. And now, whoever you are, wherever you come from, it’s time for you to go.” He turned started walking down the path to his house. She followed him in silence to the place where she’d hidden the bag. Then she followed him to the end of the path, just over the tripwire, in view of his house.

“Why don’t you just go?” he asked in a strained voice. “You have to go. If you stay, you’ll distract me.”

“I want one more kiss,” she told him. “I want to feel your hard body pressing into mine one more time.”

He groaned and turned to face her. His eyes were glistening, and a single tear rolled down his left cheek. She grabbed him and held him and they kissed with a desperation and a passion that wiped their minds and canceled time. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “I think that kiss just made me pregnant.”

He laughed and gave her ass a playful swat. “Go now. For real. Get out before the shit comes down.”

They heard the sound of car tires angrily biting into the dusty dirt road. A car was coming: it was coming way too fast, and it sounded pretty damn angry. “Fuck,” Reacher said. “It’s Plice.” As he said the name, the car turned into Reacher’s driveway, and its two front doors burst open.

“No time to run,” Reacher told her, and scooped her up in his arms. He strode to his house and kicked open the door. Two bullets bit into the door frame, one on each side. Reacher entered and kicked the door shut behind them. Two more bullets hit the house.

Still carrying her, he made his way carefully through the front room and the kitchen, as if he were stepping around invisible obstacles. “Booby traps,” he whispered to her. “Five flash grenades: when those two walk in, they’ll be temporarily blind and deaf.” He entered a little bathroom and laid her down in the tub. Then he lay on the floor and said, “Mouth open, fingers in your ears, eyes screwed shut, facing that way--” here he pointed to the wall-- “and don’t open ‘em until you’ve heard five bams. Then we’ll go out. It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.” She put her fingers in her ears. Reacher pulled one of her fingers out and said, “Just remember: Plice is mine.”

No sooner had they closed their ears and eyes that the first grenade when off. Then, a few seconds later, the two more. A pause of five seconds, the fourth. The fifth came soon after. Reacher tapped her twice, and they both stood up. He unsheathed his knife; she readied her gun.

When they came out of the bathroom, the room had a light fog of smoke and it stank of gunpowder. Plice and Larry were like blind men: one hand over their eyes; the other gesturing, reaching with their guns -- ready to fire, but afraid to fire, unwilling to waste bullets by firing into the dark. They moved in stiff, stilted steps, bumping into things, barking their shins on the furniture.

Like fish in a barrel, she thought. Don’t get cocky, though -- nothing can be this easy. Carefully she made her way to Larry’s side. He kept jerking around, swinging his gun to try to connect with something. He almost caught her, twice. Then, she realized she’d been walking on tip-toe, as if he could hear. Throwing caution to the wind, she stepped behind him and, aiming away from Plice and Reacher, she shot Larry in the head.

Then she moved toward Plice and Reacher. Plice was canny. It seemed as though he’d done this sort of thing before. Caresse tried to recall whether Plice had a service record, but she didn’t know. It had never come up. Plice kept his gun low, and used it to make purposeful sweeps, some quick, some slow -- quite unlike Larry’s fearful jerking stabs. Reacher blocked one of Plice’s moves, and stabbed him in the arm. Reacting quickly, Plice angled his wrist into the block and fired a shot that glanced off Reacher’s left shoulder.

Reacher grimaced. His response was to punch Plice in the throat with his right fist, the one holding his knife. Plice’s head came down, and his body tensed from the blow, but he drove that tension into his next move: he clasped his gun with both hands, and pushed the gun into Reacher’s inner thigh, where he let off another shot. Reacher gasped and cried out. He let his knife fall. He punched Plice in the chest, a powerful blow that drove Plice backward. As Plice stepped back, grunting from the blow, he let off two shots into Reacher’s gut.

Jesus Christ! Caresse screamed internally. This is a massacre! Aloud, she said nothing. She didn’t want to distract Reacher. She’d kept moving, looking for a good shot. She didn’t care what Reacher said. If she could take out Plice, she’d do it. Unfortunately, the space was so small, and the two fought so close to each other, that it was hard to get a decent angle. The situation kept changing.

In a last desperate move, Reacher grabbed Plice’s head with both hands, his right hand on Plice’s chin. It took him three tries before he broke Plice’s neck, and by that time Plice had emptied his gun into Reacher’s body. The two men fell to the floor together.

Caresse ran to him, wanting to staunch the blood, but she didn’t know where to begin. He seemed to be bleeding from everywhere.

“Oh, fuck, he got me. He really got me,” Reacher said. “Jesus!” He sniffed and smiled. “But I got him, didn’t I.”

“Yeah, you did,” she said, blinking as her tears began.

“He is dead, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “You killed the hell out of him.”

He looked at himself. “I’m bleeding out,” he observed. “You need to get the fuck out of here.”

She groaned.

“Let the--” he began, but she interrupted.

“Don’t tell me that shit about the dead burying their dead! I don’t want to hear it!”

“But it’s my best line,” he protested with a weak smile, and then he was dead.

She didn’t know how long she knelt there, crying and holding him, but at last she stood up, soaked in his blood. She looked around her. Apart from the three dead bodies, it wasn't a bad-looking place, considering.

The word forensics came into her mind. She looked at her feet. Her shoes were clean. She wasn’t leaving bloody footprints. The only thing she’d touched was the gun in her hand. She carried it outside, undressed completely and washed the blood off her with the garden hose. She put her shoes back on and balled up her clothes.

Back at her house, she threw her bloody clothes in the laundry with a shot of bleach. She took a shower and let the water wash Reacher’s blood down the drain.

Forensics, she thought again. There's so much here that points directly to me! But there was too much to undo. There was no way to erase every trace of Caresse from the house and the situation, no matter how long she worked. On the other hand, there was nothing to implicate her in any crime, at least as far as she could see. She got dressed again and went outside.

There were four men lying dead on the ground, and one more in the bushes. William and Joseph were still alive and breathing, naked and stupid. She resisted the urge to give them each a well-deserved kicking. She pondered for a minute whether there was any inconvenient thing she could shove up their butts while they slept, but nothing came to mind. So she left them lying there. Let the dead bury their dead. They’d have a lot of explaining to do, once they woke up.

It was time to go. She took the path to Reacher’s house for the third time that day. She retrieved her go-bag, stepped over the tripwire, got into Plice’s car, and drove away.