Chapter 3
Parker
“No, you can’t be serious right now.”
“You bet I am. A hot dog is far superior to a smokie and is absolutely a sandwich.”
“On what planet does any of this make sense?” Ophelia rebukes.
“This planet, and all the others in our massive universe.” Tac is hell-bent on winning this debate.
Rolling my eyes, I can’t believe this declaration either, so I jump in immediately with my stance. “Hot dogs versus smokies is a personal preference. But to consider it a sandwich is blasphemy.”
Clearing his throat, Tac is about to make his point. He always clears his throat before speaking as if each word is a full sentence to get his point across. “It. Is. Sandwiched. Between. Two. Pieces. Of. Bread.” The line goes silent at the audacity.
The pause lasts a solid twelve seconds before Ophelia demands a second opinion. “Connor. Say something.”
Connor is my arms expert. I try to avoid using weapons, but if I have to, I like to have the wisdom of an expert in that field to guide me.
And in all honesty, even the simplest thing, like nunchucks, can be a complex item for me to use.
I brought a set on a bounty once, ended up smashing myself in the head with them, rendering me unconscious for hours in an alley.
Any New Yorker passing by likely thought I was just another dead body or addict passed out. That shit doesn’t faze them.
But for me, it was a fucking nightmare. Someone else ended up scoring the reward and I won a concussion as my consolation prize.
But none of that matters right now. And if I continue to think about it I will only get irritated by the memory.
Plus, this matter is far more pressing. We must settle the hot dog being a sandwich debate.
“You do know I rarely speak up on these calls because I genuinely don’t give a fuck, right? About anything you guys ever talk about.” Bringing my hand to my mouth, I hide my snicker as Ophelia pops off.
“We need you to give a fuck, this one time, Connor. Is that so much to ask?” As she finishes, you can hear the loud slam from her hands hitting her desk, frustrated.
And because of that, I know exactly how this will end.
He lives to piss her off. I think it’s because Connor secretly loves Ophelia, but I have not voiced this theory, therefore I cannot confirm such assumptions, yet.
“It’s bread and a substance between them which you then eat all together.
It’s a sandwich. Now leave me alone.” Laughter of victory erupts from our guy Taco while growls of annoyance come from precious girl Ophelia.
Whilst sitting down the street from the vagina steam, I lean back on the bench I’m on outside.
Smiling, I look up to the now darkening sky as the sun has only finished setting, while heat still radiates from the dark pavement streets.
It’s hard to see the twinkling of stars in the city, but I know they are there, watching down on us, protecting and guiding.
Just like my team, who I love dearly. They make this life fun.
Yikes, this just got really deep for no reason at all.
“How long does it take to steam your vagina? I am so incredibly bored.” And my dinner selection filled me to the brim, causing my eyes to betray me with heavy thoughts of sleep. I roll my head along the backrest of the bench in an effort to keep myself from dozing off.
“Maybe she is getting her pelvic floor evaluated, too? It’s a full-service establishment, it seems.” I let out a loud sigh, but Taco keeps going. “They also do tea ceremonies which help keep your chakras aligned.”
I growl. “I am going to need my chakras realigned after this.” Sitting still on a job is the worst thing you could make me do. I get restless. “Can’t we get the sparrows to watch this place and they can call us when she gets out?”
Ophelia jumps in, still clearly annoyed that she lost. “No. We are this close to grabbing her. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Not wanting to further poke the bear, I submit. “Fine.”
The sparrows are street kids who help us on bounties.
I pay them and they monitor our prize when I can’t, or just don’t want to, like right now.
But they also help find our subjects if we lose sight, which happens from time to time.
The subway being the main culprit. Once they suspect they are being watched, they will start train jumping or slipping out of places by causing chaos and drawing in large crowds.
Pulling the fire alarm is a classic move.
“Can someone help me understand the vagina steam?” I ask mindlessly while pulling out my phone.
Taco is the first to jump in. “According to the internet, it helps with menstruation cramps, assists with bloating, and promotes a welcoming uterus while cleansing the vagina. During the steam, the vagina can release…”
“Nope. Don’t care. Please make it stop,” I whine while loading a possum video. But he doesn’t listen.
“Herbs used for the steam include rose petals, basil, and mugwort, which is the reigning queen of steaming as it stimulates…”
Covering my ears, which is a tad pointless considering the comms piece is inside them.
“No. I can’t hear you. I’m not listening.
” To each their own, but I shall not be steaming, I don’t even let others wax me.
I do my own work. Leg in the air, wax strips in hand, and peace of mind that my vagina isn’t being secretly recorded for some dark web fetish site.
“I think I would try one,” Ophelia, who sounds very interested, adds.
“Yeah. Me too. It sounds relaxing,” Taco seconds.
“Maybe we should do team bonding, boss,” Connor joins just to stir the pot as cute possums fill my screen. “Perhaps I can get my pelvic floor aligned at the same time?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I feel a headache coming on from all the bullshit. “Are we being serious right now?”
“This is me pretending to give a fuck, boss. I couldn’t care less and I would rather bleach my eyes out than take part in a team bonding… with anyone. Doing anything.”
I bust a gut laughing. Connor’s dry humor mixed with his extreme dislike for people and lack of filter is why I love him.
Platonically. Ew, never romantically. The other two on the open line scoff at his remark dramatically, like it’s breaking news to them.
As if they are positively hurt and appalled by his direct insult.
“Hurt, C-Man, I am hurt.” Taco plays the part of a brokenhearted man well.
Ophelia pretends to whimper and Connor speaks up once more. “Fuck off.”
Oh spicy.
Looking back down at my phone, the next video auto-plays. A sweet little black bear is crawling through the kitchen window of a cabin. Just as the owners notice and start to panic, Taco interrupts. “She’s on the move.”
My legs act on autopilot, bringing my body up from the comfort of the wooden bench as Tac adds, “She’s a blonde now.
Larger nose with a beauty mark under her eye.
Black sneakers, long black tee with a matching crossbody bag.
Our girl is going for street casual and is headed back toward Grand Central. Boss, you need to fucking move.”
“Motherfucker. How annoying is she? Send me a picture, please.” I need an updated visual for reference.
Otherwise, in my head, she looks just like a quarter of this city.
It takes only a second for my phone to vibrate in my hand.
Glancing down, I open the message from the unknown, untraceable number, Tac, and burn the image into my retinas and brain before quickly deleting it.
And damn if I am not impressed with her ability to hide in plain sight.
“You have to admit, she has skill,” Ophelia says mindlessly in awe. And I can’t argue with it. Bensen is kind of iconic in her ability. It’s a shame she’s a criminal, otherwise I would beg to be her protégé.
“Taco, don’t call me boss. I still don’t like it.”
“You got it. Just thought I would give it another go.”
“Give me her ten.”
I hear his fingers tapping away on his copious amounts of keyboards, which load his screen with every CCTV in the area, watching her from every angle.
I only assume this because I have never actually seen his setup.
But in my head it makes sense, from what I’ve seen on television of people in this industry.
“Crossing at Forty Second and Park Avenue.”
Putting a little pep in my step, I can feel the delicious shawarma rocking around my stomach.
If she makes me run, this shawarma will no longer be in my stomach and instead all over the sidewalk.
Fingers crossed this goes well and a public display of vomit is avoided.
My feet stop and a body walks into me from behind, jolting me forward.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, lady?” What an absurd question.
“Uh, a lot sir, obviously, but it’s none of your business.” Moving my attention back to Taco, I question, “She’s crossing?” Something isn’t right.
“Huh. You’re right.” Tsks of curiosity follow. “Where are you going, Bensen?” Taco questions while clicking his tongue against the top of his mouth. “Interesting. Our new friend is crossing at Madison now.”
Squinting my eyes, still not understanding, I question, “Why isn’t she catching the six back into Brooklyn? Do you think she has another meeting?”
She’s been renting a place in Brooklyn. We were able to find it within days of her arriving stateside.
Nothing about her routine showed late nights out.
Bensen always makes it home before nine.
Taco has been monitoring her for three weeks, and she’s shown she is a creature of habit.
And after spending hours in the yoni, she is nearing her self-inflicted curfew. “Do you think she knows?”
Ophelia is quick to jump in. “Absolutely not. She wouldn’t be this consistent in disguises. Why hide if she knew we were onto her?” O has a point.
“So, it has to be another meeting? But with whom?”