Chapter 17- Cessation
“What?” Apple asked as he rounded the rear of the van to help unload the spoils of Helen's private war with the Chrysalis.
“Over my right shoulder, ten o'clock in the shrubbery,” Helen said.
“Who the hell is the that?” Apple asked, reaching for the case of wine, wincing at the pain in his left hand.
“A man who can't take no for an answer,” Helen said. “Do me a solid, put this in the back of my vehicle, grab your crossbow, and put one in his shoulder.”
“Okay,” Apple said, delivering the case, reaching in the back, and securing the crossbow.
He moved with precision, firing off a shot, striking the man, who let out a loud screech and bolted for the parking garage like a Cro-Magnon on the hunt for game.
Apple, pleased with his own accuracy, gave a wide smile and looked into the back seat at Candace who watched him with horror on her face.
“Stop smiling, Apple; you're scaring the child,” Helen said. “Relax sweetie, he only eats bad guys.”
“Plus, my hand hurts,” he whimpered. “What's next?'
“That tracker needs to come out of her, which may be how he located us so quickly. It's in her arm.”
Apple used the tip of his bowie knife, tapping at her skin until it felt a solid. A quick slit and a flip of the tip of the blade, released the small device. He held it on the end of the blade.
“Want me to crush it?”
“No, leave it somewhere on the sleeping Sommelier,” Helen said, grabbing the last case of Hennessy XO and adding it to the back of the Explorer. “Let's make tracks and get her to Pear, have that hand taken care of, and go back to the house before it is too late.”
“You’re taking me back there? Won’t they come back to get me?” Candace asked, “That doesn’t seem very smart. Is there somewhere else I can go?”
“They are not coming for you again, trust me,” Helen said, looking at the girl in the rear-view mirror. “Did you not like it there, and wish to start over somewhere else?”
“No, she is really great,” Candace said, “I’m learning a lot, about being a woman, taking care of myself. You know real-world applications that make sense.”
“Good enough,” Helen said, setting the course for Pear’s place.
Apple had loads of questions as Helen plugged the address into the GPS and drove without a yawn to Pear's place to return the girl.
She tossed Pear a stack of cash, which she said was for her troubles and off the books.
She handed an additional five for Candace, in hopes Pear would start her an account.
“I need to see about Apple's hand,” Helen said softly.
“What happened to it?”
“I cracked it on that heffah's head who punched you in the face,” Apple said. His hand was now swollen twice its normal size.
“I have some pain meds, but I can't do the casting with one eye,” Pear said.
“I got it,” Helen told her, pointing in the direction of where she assumed the first aid materials would be located. She returned calmly with a bowl of water and the stocking for his hand as she prepped and cast the swollen paw. When she was done, she yawned. “I need sleep.”
She put away the materials, gave a salute to Pear, and headed for the car. Apple watched. “I guess that's my cue as well. Call if you need us. Call if you don't.”
In the car, Helen said little. Her mind was on a good nap before Mustang returned home.
There was a bag of money, twelve cases of high-end wine and four cases of extremely expensive liquor and spirits along with a pissed off Swallowtail who now knew what she looked like.
In some ways, she was glad she did, so when she called Kurtzwilde to complain, it would coincide with the arrival of his wedding invitation listing his seating assignment with his children.
As of now, she had no idea if any of the people she planned to invite to the wedding were coming, but it was early, and she had time.
At the homestead, she waved to Apple and said she was getting some sleep. He didn't have anything to add at this point since the pain pill Pear had given him had kicked in, and he was seeing little blue men with mini machine guns. He too wanted to sleep.
****
FOUR HOURS PASSED AND he awoke, feeling groggy and out of sorts with the cast on his hand.
He couldn't wrap his mind around walking into a home on a rescue mission, entering through the front door and leaving through the same said front door with the intended target and Cranberry not having a scratch on her. He’d also shot an arrow into a man based on her request and had no idea why.
“I'm not going to even say what I did with that microchip I took out of that kid’s arm,” Apple mumbled, coming into the kitchen to find Helen at the table.
The bag of money was open, and two neat, even piles sat on the table; he assumed one for him, the other for her. A sandwich with a bowl of hot soup and a cup of tea waited for him. Both of her phones were on the table. She stared at them both like a cat waiting for the red light to start again.
“Thanks,” he said, looking at the food. His empty stomach had woken him from the peaceful, drug-induced sleep.
Patience had been instilled in him at a young age, and he employed the technique now, waiting as well for the moment when she would bring all the pieces together for him. Then the Technician phone rang.
“Go for Cranberry. You're on speaker and the Bad Apple is present,” she said clearly.
“Report. You were late with your info. I assume you were tired from the drive,” Azrael said.
“Apple fractured his hand on the woman's hard head,” Helen said.
“We secured the package, returned it to Pear, removed the tracking device, and placed it on the Sommelier.
I rounded the truck, and Apple had the man's pants down. If he stuck it where the sun didn’t shine, that is beyond me. I didn't question.”
The line was quiet, but she heard a chuff as if Azrael were trying to hold back the laughter. “What did you learn?”
“Payments are made at the concierge desk, based on your kink or desire for your date for the evening. We walked out with 80,” Helen said.
“I gave ten to Pear since that big bitch knocked out her teeth then punched Pear in her titties. That is just a mean thing to do to another woman. I left five to start an account for the girl, the other sixty-five Apple and I are splitting.”
“Without consent?” the voice said.
“If I didn't tell you I had it, you wouldn't have known. I'm many things; dishonest isn't one,” Helen said.
“What else?”
“Apple put an arrow in that Donovan dick,” she said. “Not his actual dick, but his shoulder. He still has it in his mind that this is some sort of game. Requesting permission to connect to The Archangel of Storms to shut this fool down.”
Azrael's voice noted surprise. “You ran into him again?”
“He was hiding in the shrubs as we were unloading the wine.
Don't know if he was tracking the chip in the girl or happened to show up at Swallowtail's hoping she'd be my next target, and lo-and-behold, there I was,” she said.
“He's not going to give up. I want to send him a gift. Can we request an assist?”
“We can try,” Azrael said. “Hold the line.”
Apple ate his food as he listened to the conversation.
He was still unclear about the man he’d shot and why, but he'd soon find out as the operator connected the call to Ariel, the Archangel of Nature and the leader of the Storms of the Midwest. He answered after the operator informed him who was on the line.
“State your need,” Ariel said.
“Requesting to have a package delivered to a pest that won't go away,” Cranberry said, pausing.
“Donovan Turnbull, a branch manager of a bank in Amarillo, Texas was hired by Kurtzwilde to locate me, The Cranberry, for a sit-down. Although the Fer de Lance has made it perfectly clear that I am off-limits, Kurtzwilde still wanted to chat with me and hired this man to locate me.”
“Did he?”
“Yes, however, to find me, he somehow back-hacked Sour Grapes and tracked her dark web activity and payments, showing up on her doorstep the same day I arrived,” Helen said, looking up at Apple.
“He read wrong to me and put a tracker on my vehicle, which I removed and placed on Kurtzwilde’s SUV.
I did a job last night in Detroit, and in the bushes was Mr. Donovan.
He seems to want to play with the Technicians.
I don't have the time nor the desire to come to Texas to deal with this fan in person, I am asking for an assist to let this man know he's barking up the wrong trees, trying to pluck forbidden fruit while gnawing on it in the midst of a storm.”
“Verbally intrigued,” Ariel said. “State your need.”
“I was reading The Killing Stones by Ann Cleeves when we interacted in St. Paul where he found me at the home of Sour Grapes,” Helen said.
“I would like a copy of this book placed on his pillow after he enters his home, goes to take a shower, and comes out to find it there. In the center, shoved deep in the pages, through the hardbound cover, is one of the types of my personal favorite knife, a Toor, Specter R in Phantom Gray, splitting two juicy cranberries so it looks like blood running between his sliced nut sack.”
“Well, that is a disturbing visual,” Ariel said.
“Disturbing is a person being able to track a technician to their private residence,” she added, “and the last thing any of us want is for that ass wipe to start sharing how he did it. I am requesting an assist. I can forward funds for the services, if need be, but a danger to one of us is a danger to us all.”
“We will make it happen. Peace be unto you,” Ariel said, ending the call.
Azrael asked, “What do you think his obsession with you is?”