20. Grayson

20

GRAYSON

I stuff another log into the fire, further heating the copper pipe feeding from the stream to our outdoor shower. I glance over at Charlotte’s lovely naked form as she stands beneath the spray.

“Is that better?”

“It’s perfect, thank you. Now get in here before the water gets cold again.”

She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I join Charlotte, stroking my hand down her glistening back.

We scrub each other thoroughly, washing away the sweat of our latest encounter. I feel invincible right now. I never thought I would meet someone who could make me feel this way. For once, I don’t feel the guilt that normally comes with a happy moment. I think my sister would approve of Charlotte.

I grab a big, fluffy, comfy towel and use it to dry Charlotte. She puts her arms up over her head and basks in the attention. I finish off with a peck on her lips, which soon grows into something more.

“Okay, enough,” she says with a giggle, putting her hand on my chest and pushing me back. “We need to get ready. And that will require another trip to a clothing store.”

“Why is that?”

“Because on further reflection, I don’t want to be an outfit repeater. And you need a new look.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Charlotte purses her lips as her gaze grows distant.

“I’m trying to find the right words…basically, you look a bit, um, intimidating. We need to make you as unthreatening as possible for our return trip.”

I consider her idea. It seems sound enough.

“All right, you have a good point. Although something tells me this is about you wanting to dress me up in a disguise more than anything else.”

She chuckles and rubs my forearm. God, she looks so amazing right now. I have to restrain myself from kissing those perfect lips all over again.

“Let’s call it a side benefit. I think you’ll like my idea.”

I start up the Jeep after several failed attempts, and we drive down the mountain. The sun sinks toward the horizon, but we have a couple hours of daylight left.

This time, there’s no super fancy designer store. Instead, we stop at a strip mall. I’m more than a little dubious as we pull up outside the clothing store.

“You want me to buy clothes here?”

“Yes, I do. No one would ever expect a CIA agent to shop for his clothes at Dudebros Inc.”

I find it hard to resist Charlotte’s smile, or the chocolate pools of her eyes. I sigh and hold the door open for her.

“I can tell when I’m beat.”

“Good,” she says with a wink.

I look at the so-called clothing available and cringe on the inside. Hip hop street wear seems to be the order of the day. There’s an entire section for baseball caps. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many different kinds in one place before.

“Your character is going to be a bro-type influencer,” Charlotte says by way of preamble. “So we need to dress you to look the part.”

“Like a douchebag?”

She smiles and nods.

“Yes. Exactly. No one will look twice at you when we get to the party.”

I stare at the clothing and laugh.

“No one would ever expect me to dress in this getup, that’s for certain. I hope none of the Platinum Security crew sees me.”

I give her a sharp look.

“Don’t even think of taking a photo to send to them, either.”

“You aren’t even dressed yet, calm down.”

I let her do the talking to the sales clerk, a young man with so much metal in his face he’s probably visible from space. Once I’m decked out in oversized, ostentatious clothing, I give her an incredulous look.

“You’d think with how much these clothes cost, they would at least fit.”

“This is how they’re supposed to fit. You look great, by the way.”

I have to disagree, but I also have to admit it’s a good disguise.

When we get in the Jeep, she shows me a few videos of the type of guy I’m supposed to emulate. I chuckle at their over-the-top antics.

“Does anyone actually talk like that? He can’t form a single sentence without adding the word ‘yo’ to the beginning or end.”

“He’s playing it up for the camera, but yes, that’s kind of what's expected from someone who shops at Dudebros and makes their living as an Influencer.”

I give her a look.

“Won’t people suspect something’s wrong when it turns out I don’t have a bunch of social media pages to back this character up?”

“Trust me, no one is going to want to see anything of the sort. Just be obnoxious as possible. You know, your natural state.”

I burst into laughter, which grows louder when I catch my reflection in the rear view mirror. I have to stop myself from adjusting my ball cap so the bill faces the correct way. According to Charlotte, no one does that anymore. Other than baseball players, I suppose.

“You need something else for your look,” Charlotte says, giving me an appraising stare. “I know. Pull into this gas station.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me.”

I pull over, and she dashes inside. A moment later, she returns with a small package in her hands.

“What…is this a vape?” I ask as she deposits the longish item in my palm.

“You bet it is. Nothing says ‘douchebag’ quite like puffing on a vape indoors.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“It’s just fruit flavored fog, essentially.”

I try hitting the device, and then nearly gag on the sickly sweet flavor.

“People do this on purpose?”

“You don't have to inhale…”

I chuckle and stow the vape in my oversized shirt pocket.

“I didn’t. Just having it in my mouth is too much.”

“That’s what she said.”

I give her a sharp glance and she laughs. I love to hear Charlotte laugh. It makes me feel alive.

We pull onto the highway. I tense up as an SUV seems to be following us. It reminds me of the one that got away that night in the drainage sluice, when I grabbed the paparazzi. I really should have called for backup.

I sigh in relief as the SUV turns off and stops following us. We make the drive out to Wyatt’s again, reaching the foothills of the Villa just as the moon takes center stage in the nighttime sky.

“Well, here we go again,” I say as I put the Jeep in park.

“Hopefully we’ll find McCloud. And if we find him…”

She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. If we find McCloud, we might just find the Order’s leadership. Cut off the head of the snake, metaphorically speaking, and the body should die.

As we approach the entrance, I affect a ‘broken legged walk’ like I’d seen the influencers do on the internet. I adopt a cocky sneer and hit the vape right when I come up to the bouncers as Charlotte prepares to present our latest invitations.

“Yo, yo, what it be?”

“Too much,” Charlotte whispers behind her hand. I dial it back a notch, but the bouncers don’t seem to notice my over the top greeting. They seem too preoccupied with trying to watch what’s happening inside the house. I can see why. A number of scantily clad performance artists are essentially dry humping each other in the main ballroom.

“Looks a little more wild than last time,” Charlotte says.

“More crowded, too.”

I scan the room as we make a few rounds of the main ballroom. It’s hard to make much of anything out, between the flashing disco lights and pounding bass.

But I focus on the architecture I recognize from last time. Furniture and music rigs move, but support pillars and wrought iron decorative arches do not. I begin to acclimate and focus on sorting through the wildness pounding on my senses.

Then I catch a glimpse of gelled hair dyed two different colors. My eyes focus on a skinny caucasian man with a thin mustache and deep blue eyes.

McCloud. My heart beats faster. I try to keep him in sight while moving covertly toward him.

Unfortunately, McCloud ducks through a door guarded by two security guards. The muscle behemoths aren’t that much of an impediment, but I would cause way too much of a commotion by trying to get past them.

“Damn,” I whisper as we pass by the doors.

“Maybe I can distract the guards?” she whispers back.

“No, I don’t want you to take that risk.”

We move back toward the entrance. My mind runs through a dozen scenarios. I can see the yellow rectangles of flashlights outside in the yard. Sneaking in through another route might be difficult.

Then I spot someone who does not belong at Wyatt’s party. Someone whose plaid blazer with leather elbow pads comes right out of the 1980s.

Malloy. I’d know it was him just by his slouched posture, even if I didn’t see his careworn face. He catches my gaze and juts his chin upward in subtle greeting.

“I think I just found my way in,” I whisper in Charlotte’s ear. “Stay near the entrance, and don’t leave. I’ll get Malloy to wait with you until I get back. With this many witnesses around, the Order won’t try anything, assuming they’re even here.”

“I thought you saw McCloud?”

“I did, but he might be here alone. If things get even a little bit scary, call Platinum Security.”

“All right. Be careful, Gray.”

I give her one last, firm look, as if daring her to leave, and then head over to Malloy.

“They’ll let anyone in here,” I say as I approach.

“What in the fuck are you wearing? You look like a tool.”

I shrug. “Agreed. What are you doing here, Malloy?”

“Wyatt’s parties draw a ton of people. I’m doing some private dick work, trying to find proof of a cheating husband for his wife. What’s your excuse?”

“I’m still working the Order case. Any chance you could help an old pal out?”

Malloy tosses back a glass of champagne and belches noisily.

“What do you want me to do?”

I grin, and explain my plan. Then Malloy and I part ways, each taking a different route around the ballroom to the forbidden doors.

I stop just behind a tall potted plant, watching through the verdant fronds as Malloy stumbles up toward the bouncers.

“Hey, you son of a bitch, I heard you were making eyes at my woman,” Malloy says, slurring his words badly. I have to admit, he makes a damn convincing obnoxious drunk. Probably because he’s had plenty of real world practice.

“Sir, I need you to–”

Malloy dumps a drink on the guard’s shirt. I didn’t even see him pick up a fresh glass of champagne. Both bouncers move away from the doorway and shove Malloy. He stumbles back with his hands up.

“My mistake, boys.” Still facing the guards, he walks backwards in Charlotte’s direction. “I’ll just go and rejoin my old lady.”

I duck through the open doorway while they’re distracted. I give one last look to make sure Charlotte is still safely where I left her, and then head down the corridor.

It’s obvious why the guards were at the doors. I can hear the sounds of people snorting coke through a closed door. Another room, likewise shut up tight, emanates the sounds of lots of people having sex.

It didn’t seem to me like McCloud was heading for blow or an orgy. He had too much purpose in his stride. I continue to search, though I resolve to come back and check the closed rooms if I don’t find my prey.

I pass by a group of revelers, more of the performance artists. Taking a draw from my vape, I strut past them like I own the place. It seems to work, because none of them give me a second glance.

I continue down the corridor until I reach a T junction. I feel the breeze, and smell the ocean from the left hand hallway, so I check that out first. I find a pair of big patio doors standing wide open.

Walking through them, I find myself standing before an enormous outdoor pool. One of those super fancy ones, with the fake rock grottos, waterfalls, swim up bar, the whole deal. I am a bit surprised to see water in the pool instead of cornflakes like the one in the other courtyard. No one seems to be around, it being a bit too cold to swim.

Except for one Connor McCloud. He sits in a U shaped extended sofa, fingers tapping away at a laptop. I fire off a text to Malloy, telling him I have my prey in sight.

Then, remembering my past mistakes, I send off another text. Only then do I make my move.

I come over and sit down beside him. He doesn’t even glance up when he speaks.

“Piss off. I’m not in the mood for company.”

“Me neither.”

Something in my tone makes him look over. He takes in my influencer appearance and sneers.

“Nice hat,” he says, oozing with irony. He goes to close his laptop screen but I grab it before he can. “Hey, what the fuck?”

He’s not looking at anything overtly suspicious at the moment, but that’s not going to stop me.

“Hey there, McCloud. Or maybe I should call you by your nomme de guerre, Stormbringer?”

He stares at me for a moment too long before laughing.

“What kind of a stupid name is that? I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude.”

He tries to stand up, but I grab his collar and drag him back down.

“Not so fast. You’re not going to warn the Aegis Order that I’m here.”

His eyes bulge out of his head. He again tries to rise, but I grab hold of the trapezius muscle in his shoulder and squeeze hard on his nerve center. He collapses back to the sofa, crying out in agony.

“I’m not into inflicting pain, but quite frankly, hurting you doesn’t bother me. I want the names of your contacts in the Order, and I want them now. This can either go easy, or hard. But you’re going to tell me one way or the other.”

“Who-who are you?” he gasps. I still haven’t relinquished my grip.

“Your worst fucking nightmare if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

He stops struggling, and I ease up…a little.

“Man, I don’t know, all right?”

“Bullshit. You work for the Order. Their ideology matches your own, and you hacked into Charlottesville’s social media accounts on their behalf to extort money. No games.”

I start to squeeze again and he holds up his hands.

“For fuck’s sake, man! Stop! I’m not with them, I swear.”

“Did you know,” I say coldly, “that the human body CAN survive having its eyeballs exploded like overripe grapes?”

“Oh god, don’t hurt me! I swear that I’m not with the Order! I hacked the accounts, sure, and I tried to get some cash off that influencer chick with the big tits, but I’m not a terrorist.”

I shake my head.

“You’re almost convincing me. Too bad the evidence says otherwise. I know you did the hack from this address.”

I check out his laptop, which, while nice, isn’t nearly powerful enough to be like the one Harlowe told me to look for in the villa.

“And I know you have a better computing rig around here somewhere. Do you still want to lie to me?”

I squeeze, and he groans.

“I’m not with the Order, I swear to God! Look, I can show you Wyatt’s computer array, all right? It’s where I snuck in to do the hack in the first place.”

Frustration mounts within me. I thought I was one step closer to finding the nation. Now it looks like I’ve gone on a wild goose chase, and wasted a bunch of time with McCloud when he’s just a dead end.

I’m not entirely convinced he’s telling me the truth, however.

“Show me. And if you try to run, you’re just going to the hospital tired.”

I stand up. He tries to bring the laptop but I knock it out of his hand.

“Will you cut it out?” he snaps. “I told you, I’m not a cultist or a terrorist.”

“Yeah, just someone who extorts money from innocent women.”

He snorts.

“That stuck up, privileged bitch isn’t innocent–”

My hand is around his throat and shoving him against the wall before I even think about it.

“Shut up. Speak when you’re spoken to. Understand?”

He tries to respond, but he can’t breathe, so he frantically nods instead. I let him go and give him a hard shove. He may or may not be in the Order, but he still targeted Charlotte. He’s lucky I’m not being a lot meaner.

McCloud leads me deeper into the manor. He looks hopefully at a pair of revelers coming past us, but I put a hand on his shoulder like we’re old buddies. My finger and thumb are on his pressure points, so he knows what will happen.

“This is bullshit,” he mutters. “Are you a cop?”

“If I were, you’d be under arrest. You’re lucky I'm not a cop. Just someone with a desperate need to find the Order.”

“I already told you–”

“Shut up. If you’re telling me the truth, you get to walk out of here in one piece. If.”

We come to a place in the manor where all the lights are off. I navigate by the light coming in through the windows. McCloud points to a room at the end of the hall, where light slants out into the corridor.

“There. He keeps his rig in there.”

We’re about ten feet from the door when one of the performance artists comes out. Like the others, he’s half naked and a physical specimen. Easily three hundred pounds, all of it rippling muscle.

I try to step around him, but he gets right in my way.

“The show is just about to begin,” he says, grinning wickedly.

When you’re facing off against a man much larger than yourself, you have a number of options. There’s a reason why most contact sports have weight classes. Big guys tend to win. And this is a very big guy.

You could run, which might be effective. I doubt this monster can keep up with me in a footrace. Or, you can try to negotiate. I don’t think that’s an option this time.

Finally, you can hit them hard, hit them fast, and hope it’s enough to take them down before they can get their hands on you.

I snap my fist out, catching him under the chin. I pull my punch so I don’t crumple his trachea. The blow still makes him fall backward, clutching his throat and struggling to breathe.

Unfortunately, he’s not alone. Another big bastard comes out of the room, and two more approach from the end of the hall.

“Time to go,” I say to my erstwhile companion, McCloud. But when we turn around, three more of the half-naked bodybuilders are coming our way.

“Thank god,” McCloud says, approaching one of the big men. “This maniac has taken me hostage–”

The big man smacks McCloud in the temple. The hacker spins around in a circle and then collapses on the floor. I guess he won’t be much help.

I have no more time to spare on McCloud. Attackers come at me from all sides. They don’t move like trained fighters, but given their numerical advantage they don’t have to be. I duck under a fist the size of a lunchbox, lashing out with a kick to his instep.

A sound akin to kindling crackling in the fire is music to my ears. The big man collapses, tripping up his allies. I barely dodge a two-handed grab and smash my elbow against a giant rib cage.

Two men now lay on the floor, crying out in agony. I run back toward the main party. I have to warn Charlotte that I’ve been made. She’s in danger, too.

The doors beckon at the end of the hall, but another of the huge muscle men blocks my path. I lower my shoulder and drive it into his solar plexus. The air explodes out of his lungs and we both go down.

Tangled up with my victim, I struggle to get back on my feet. I barely get up to one knee when someone tackles me. We roll across the floor. I wind up on bottom, but that only allows me to use all four of my limbs. I quickly trap the musclebound oaf in a triangle choke using my legs and arms.

I lean back and cut off the supply of blood to his brain. Or try to. Most guys go out pretty quick, but this asshole is stubborn. He hangs on to consciousness even as his cronies bear down on me.

He goes limp at last, and I throw up my forearm just in time to block a vicious kick. Pain explodes in my arm, but it’s not broken. At least, I don’t think it is.

I try to get back to my feet, but there are so many of them now, grabbing me, throwing punches and kicks with no technique but plenty of power. My vision goes dark around the edges and my movements slow.

When they haul me up to my feet, I know the fight is over. That doesn’t stop me from putting up one Hell of a struggle. I manage to smash my heel into one of their noses, resulting in a crimson spray.

That pisses them off. The biggest bastard of them all cocks his arm back, and then everything goes black as midnight.

The last thought I have as my consciousness dwindles is that Charlotte is in terrible danger, and I can’t do anything to help her.