Fearless Leader (Juxtapose City)

Fearless Leader

by

Tricia Owens

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Tricia Owens

Read other titles by Tricia Owens at

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/TriciaOwens

Fearless Leader

Black steadied his gun arm atop the hood of the electro-craft. Rain dripped steadily from the tip of his weapon and it fell like a curtain of crystals down the front of his helmet. He was soaked. He'd been in the rain for hours. A part of his body registered that it was growing numb with cold. He told that part to shut up.

This is Juxtapose City Unit Two! he shouted above the incessant clap of the rain. We have cut off all of the exits. There is nowhere for you to run. Step out slowly with your hands up.

Beside him, Jake, his second-in-command, shifted position. Though his knee sank down in a puddle Jake didn't make a sound, his gun a motionless black thing sprouting from his fists.

In the wavering light of a neon sign, Riddy Kingman, smalltime Bliss dealer and frequent thorn in the side of JC2, stepped carefully from beneath the awning of the pawn shop. The electric blue lighting made his slack features look like poorly molded blue clay. Black's jaw tightened when he saw the dealer's expression. Riddy was high on his own product.

Riddy! he called out, watching from the corner of his eye as Lucas darted from behind a pillar to the cover of a computerized directory, put your hands up where I can see them. Step out further.

Slowly, clearly dazed, the man took a few faltering steps toward Black. He raised shaking arms.

Down on your knees, Riddy!

The drug dealer fell heavily to his knees, nearly toppling over onto the brilliantly sheened asphalt. A hundred colors danced across the pavement around him as the twinkling lights of Juxtapose City's club district lit up the rain puddles. The virtual-shield that extended from Black's helmet read 4:58 AM. The late hour and the heavy rain had ensured that there weren't any clubbers still out and he was grateful. Any earlier and the Blue Square as this area was known would be packed with kids.

Ahead, Lucas cleared the directory and cautiously approached the kneeling man. Max followed, his gun trained on the middle of the drug dealer's forehead. Once close enough, Lucas shoved Riddy to the ground, water splashing up around them. Holstering his weapon, Lucas swiftly began to search the fallen man while Max covered him.

The rain began to fall harder, beating like marbles against Black's shoulders. His virtual-shield was equipped with anti-fogging protection but it was growing increasingly difficult to see between the thick rivulets of water that coursed down. Still, he refused to move. Not even to shake his head to clear it of the offending water. His eyes were riveted to what his men were doing so he didn't miss it when Lucas jerked back from Riddy in alarm.

No weapons. The thought shot through Black's head as an afterthought. Riddy wasn't armed and he should be -- he was carrying two hundred tabs of illegal, high-priced Bliss.

Lucas! he shouted.

No one heard him over the explosion. It rocked the street, shattering the windows of the buildings around them and blowing out the glass of the electro-craft behind which Black and Jake crouched. Black flew backwards through the air as if a rocket had been launched into his stomach. He had no breath to cry out in pain. A single word flew through his head -- stupid -- before he hit the ground and there was nothing.

~~~~~

Three days later...

Get up, you lazy fuck!

Lazy? I screwed your mother twice last night. How is that lazy?

He dodged the first fist but was too groggy to miss the second. Calyx Starr fell back against the headboard, licking the blood that oozed from the corner of his mouth. Maybe she didn't tell you? he asked with a lazy shrug.

Shut up and get your ass outta that bed!

Calyx slid from beneath the hands that tried to 'help him' and rolled out of the other side of the bed. Losing his balance, his assailant who was dressed in the black uniform of Juxtapose City police fell face-first onto the rumpled sheets.

Jumping into my bed already? We've only just met, Calyx drawled, laughing slightly. He tossed his waist-length, purple-tinged hair over his shoulders and moved to the closet. What's the hurry this time? Thought you boys took your beauty sleep this time of night. God knows how much you need it.

Just get your ass dressed. Captain wants you down in twenty minutes, the officer snapped.

Fine. Calyx pulled out silver snakeskin pants and a black mesh top. Captain Dick -- as Calyx liked to call him -- hated when Calyx dressed in his street clothes so Calyx made it a point to do so as often as possible. He turned slightly, regarding the officer who remained in his bedroom. Do you mind?

The officer gave a leering grin, crossing his arms over his chest. Not at all. Curious to see what the big deal is over the captain's psychic fucktoy. His eyes panned Calyx's slender figure. So far I'm not impressed.

Calyx's eyes narrowed until they were shards of emerald. A predatory smile curved his lips. He dropped the clothes and began to pace around the bed that separated him from the other man. "Ah, but why do you assume that I'm the one who takes it, hmm, sweetheart? His eyes lit on the silver band adorning the man's ring finger. Curious to see what the wife's not giving you? Ignoring the man's widening eyes, Calyx slid up to him and ran a finger up a tense arm. Wondering what it'd feel like to be on the receiving end of a good, hard-- he licked his lips, -- billy club? I could show you--"

Fuck off, you faggot! the man choked out, stumbling backwards. His fingers scrabbled at the small flesh-toned patch stuck beneath his ear. He relaxed slightly upon finding it still in place and threw a disgusted look at Calyx. Get dressed and get your ass down in the craft. Five minutes or I'm strapping you to the hood.

Calyx's laughter followed him down the narrow, dirty stairwell.

~~~~~

If you can go I can go. You're not my mother.

Black glared at him and Jake could almost see flames flickering in the other man's multi-hued brown eyes.

Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. He winced as the movement pulled at his sore ribs. Come on, Black. You're the one with the concussion. I only got a few busted ribs. Nothing to do for those but let 'em heal themselves. Besides, we're only going to watch, right?

I don't need you to come along, Black said, moving past him to grab the keys to his motorcycle.

Jake watched him, eyes involuntarily drawn to the pull of black leather over the firm curve of the other man's ass. Black was hot. Jake would never dare say it aloud but it was true. Even moreso since Black didn't seem to care whether he attracted that kind of interest or not. And he attracted a lot. If he wasn't the one currently fucking Black Jake would have his hands full beating off the competition.

His cock stirred as Black bent to refasten a strap on his boot. He smiled ruefully. He'd never taken Black that way and was too afraid to ask, but... damn.

Black straightened and picked up his helmet. You're staying here with the others, he told Jake, oblivious to the carnal thoughts he was inspiring.

Jake heard a touch of desperation creep into his voice. "Don't make me stay here, Black. Christ, it's like a wake here. It's driving me insane. I can't sit here thinking about them anymore."

It was a low blow aimed at Black's guilty conscience but Jake was willing to fight dirty on this one. He honestly wouldn't be able to stay in the house of his dead teammates another hour. The ghosts of Lucas and Max were fresh and wailing. Jake knew he'd only end up shooting someone. Or himself.

He watched the leader of Juxtapose City's elite force pause at the door, helmet in hand. Black didn't turn and Jake barely heard him. Come on, then.

Great! I'll grab my jacket. Don't leave without me. Black said nothing, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway.

Jake dashed back into the house next door where the other two members of the team were playing a halfhearted game of poker.

Are you going with him? Bee asked, raising brown eyes from his handful of cards. His baby face, incongruous with his heavily muscled body, held concern.

Jake grabbed his jacket from where he'd tossed it over a chair. Yep. I bullied him into it if you can believe.

Bee exchanged glances with his playing partner, a deceptively young-looking man whose severe blond buzz cut only added to his youthful appearance. He must be worse off than we thought, Haney said worriedly.

Jake shrugged into the jacket, his own fears unvoiced. Yeah, well, we're all a little fucked in the head after what happened to Lucas and Max. He's just more so with that concussion.

Bee's round eyes held his. Keep an eye on him, Jake. Don't let him do anything stupid.

His teammates were speaking to him as if he actually had some influence over Black. Jake wanted to laugh. Sharing the man's bed didn't mean he shared Black's confidence. Jake had as much influence over their leader as the rest of them did: zilch. But to make the others feel better he nodded soberly. I'll watch him. He pushed out of the room, breaking into a jog once he reached the front door. Just because Black had allowed Jake to accompany him didn't mean Black would wait.

~~~~~

The streets were dead this early in the morning. Only those with dubious employment dared Juxtapose City in the dark. Black's cycle whizzed through the empty streets like an arrow through shadows. Nothing stopped them, not even the traffic lights.

Jake was a large, warm comfort against his back in the chill of predawn but Black barely noticed. His thoughts were caught in a loop as though replaying a scene from a bad movie. But it wasn't a movie. What had happened three days ago had been real. Lucas and Max were dead.

Black should have seen it coming.

It was the third fatality for his team in less than a year. JC2 had the highest mortality rate of any Special Forces team in the department. It didn't matter that the previous death had been ruled the fault of the agent who had died. He had been Black's man, trained by Black's hand. If anyone failed in JC2 it was because he hadn't adequately prepared them.

Now they were down two men, a void he would have to fill quickly. Captain Dickerson used JC2 often and Black couldn't afford to be short-handed when the next call came. If Black's team wasn't ready the captain would use JC1. Black would sooner shoot himself in the foot than see a mission passed to the other team.

Who're we going to evaluate? Jake's deep voice came over the helmet's headset.

Captain Dickerson recommended Wolf Sola. He's been used lately as a sniper but the captain says he'd be good on the point.

Sola, Jake mused. I heard he's something of an ass.

You say that about everyone.

"Because pretty much everyone is an ass who doesn't work with us," Jake replied authoritatively.

Confidence or elitism?

Confidence, Jake replied firmly. His strong arms tightened around Black's waist. Correction: I have confidence in our fearless leader. A hand delved beneath Black's leather jacket, fingertips slipping over his taut stomach and beneath the waist band of his pants. Black can do anything, Jake intoned, his voice dropping. So can we.

The familiar chant, one his team had jokingly come up with one afternoon after pulling off a spectacularly dangerous mission, irritated Black. The litany sounded like a mockery on the heels of what had just occurred. If Black truly could do anything two of his men wouldn't be dead.

He reached down and removed the questing hand from his pants, placing it firmly outside his jacket. Stop it.

He knew Jake was glowering behind him but he didn't care. The man's emotional swings were beyond him. Jake was five years older than he was, yet Black invariably felt like the mature one of their relationship. He often questioned why he bothered.

He drove down a winding alley that grew progressively narrower. They turned a corner, the roar of the motorcycle echoing off the crumbling brick walls of the City-sponsored housing. Black switched his headset to the police's broadcast. Following the directions he heard, he stopped the motorcycle outside of a fire-darkened walkup. A large black van with one-way glass windows and no visible plates was parked in front.

Jake quickly dismounted, pulling off his helmet to study the van. R&R? he asked, surprised. Didn't know Sola was with Recovery. His voice held a hint of grudging respect.

Black locked their helmets and checked his gun. Captain Dickerson wouldn't recommend a sidewalk jockey.

The other man shrugged, quickly pulling out his own weapon. Still... Recon and Recovery gets some pretty heavy shit. Some guys might not wanna leave it.

Black said nothing. He clipped on his headset and listened for a moment. Third floor, he said.

Falling into a practiced motion that was second nature, the two men entered the stairwell and methodically made their way up, guns extended. Long attuned to each other's movements and signals, not a word was spoken as they carefully approached the target floor. They paused at the base of the third floor stairs while Black spoke quietly into his mouthpiece. They waited in the dark, the occasional sound of a radio or television set drifting down the hallways as residents opened and closed doors.

Black, already in a crouch in the shadows, shifted his sights when he caught movement above him.

Black.

He straightened at the whisper. Jake stood as well. They climbed the rest of the stairs and found a man dressed in combat gear and holding an assault rifle standing on the landing. Black glimpsed the other man's face in the darkness. McCahill.

The other man's eyes gleamed with anger. You're the last person I want to see around here, let me tell you that, he growled. The leader of the R&R team motioned towards one of the hallways snaking away from the stairs. We're moving in now. You came just in time for the show.

Black nodded and he and Jake followed a discreet distance behind McCahill as R&R's leader jogged quietly down the thinly carpeted hallway. Black knew the basics of the mission: a kidnapping victim was being held by three males in one of the apartments. The kidnappers had rapid-fire weapons but no positive count on how many. No ransom demands had been made but JCPD had tracked the kidnappers via their communication devices.

Dickerson had called in R&R to end it as quietly as possible.

McCahill motioned for them to slow up. Black and Jake approached cautiously until Black made out the black figures of the R&R team huddled together in preparation to ram the apartment door at the end of the hallway. Black halted, content to watch from where he and Jake stood. From their angle he would be able to see into the room when the agents rushed inside.

McCahill joined his team and hand signals were exchanged. There was an audible gathering of breaths before the team exploded into motion. Loud shouting intended to confuse and surprise superseded the men as they rammed into the apartment. Like a black snake, the train of men slid inside, flashes illuminating the room as guns, equipped with laser sighting, quickly took out the kidnappers.

It was smooth and graceful, not a single step or bullet wasted. Black was impressed. Through the doorway he watched the agents secure the apartment and subdue any subjects who hadn't been taken down by gunfire. If it had been JC2 in there there wouldn't have been anyone left alive to concern themselves with.

After the apartment had been cleared, Black and Jake carefully stepped inside. A small lamp had been turned on, illuminating the gray ring of gunpowder and smoke that circled the living room. Two of the perpetrators lay dead on the floor beside a sagging green sofa. A third man was pinned beneath the knee of an agent in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Sobs could be heard from one of the two bedrooms to the left. Blood painted a red arc across a poster of the Turandot Bridge pinned above the television set.

Six sets of eyes bright with the exhilaration of the recent gunfight jumped to Black and Jake as they entered. Gloved hands regretfully eased off of triggers.

What's JC2 doing here? one of the men demanded, lifting his helmet to wipe at his brow.

Black didn't answer, scanning the scene with a critical eye.

Prick, muttered another agent.

Jake stepped slightly in front of Black, an imposing figure even in jeans and a leather jacket. Got something to say, say it aloud.

The one who'd spoken last raised his voice. I said what's JC2 come to do, fuck this up too?

Shut your fucking mouth or I'll teach you how it's done, Jake snarled

Sure, sneered one of the other agents. Just like in the Blue Square, huh? Great example.

You little--

Sergeant. Black caught his teammate's arm, halting his forward surge. This isn't the place. Ignoring his fuming teammate, Black looked to McCahill. You going back to the station?

McCahill shook his head, bitterness darkening his face. He knew why Black was here. Not until later in the afternoon. Dickerson wants us to wait. He's coming down. Wants to do an on-scene interrogation. He spit on the stained carpet, making no qualms about showing his displeasure. He wants you to wait for him. Says you can do your 'business' here.

Black hid his surprise, conscious of the other men's eyes upon him. He didn't know if the members of McCahill's team knew that he was here to lure away one of their own but he was aware of their animosity all the same. He had a reputation in the JCPD. It didn't make him many friends.

He mulled over Dickerson's order. On-scene interrogations were rare. They usually only occurred when there was a deadline of some sort. Ransoms and bomb-threats were the usual cases. As far as Black was aware there had been only one hostage victim involved and no demand for ransom. If the loud wailing coming from the bedroom was any indication she had definitely been found alive.

Not realizing that he did it, he rubbed at his temples, willing away the ache in his head that had faded to a dull throb since the day of the explosion. He sensed that something was up but his fogged mind, hazy from lack of sleep the last few days, refused to follow the trail.

Black?

Jake's questioning tone, shaded with concern, made him drop his hand. Fine, he said to McCahill, we'll wait for the captain here. I'll want to speak to Sola then.

Assuming he wants to speak to you, McCahill grumbled, turning away. It was an empty threat. Black was the commanding officer of JC2, a group more important in the hierarchy of special teams than R&R. Sola didn't have a choice.

Paying little attention to the way McCahill's team glared at him, he walked to the first bedroom and stood in the doorway. A young woman in her mid-twenties was wrapped in a police issue blanket, sitting on the edge of a bed. At her feet kneeled an R&R agent who spoke to her in hushed tones. He was using speech-to-text on his PRU or Personal Retrieval Unit to record her responses.

Behind the kneeling man stood another, still helmeted, who watched the scene with a blank expression. He had the cold, hard look of a professional soldier. Short, clipped brown hair topped a tanned face sharpened with horizontal wrinkles. He was not an old man since special teams enforced age limitations, but his blue-grey eyes were grim like those of a seasoned veteran. From the file he had been given on the man Black knew that the agent was an avid hunter. He liked to release his pent-up aggressions by stalking prey in the country outside Juxtapose City.

Jake read the white lettering stenciled on the man's helmet. Sola. Hell, he even looks like an asshole, Black.

He's good at his job, Black replied.

Good at bein' an asshole, probably.

Black's eyes roamed over the woman currently shivering beneath the blanket. He didn't recognize her and he knew from his briefing that she wasn't a high profile victim. Just an ordinary, if somewhat attractive woman caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. So why did this case require Dickerson to be here personally?

Black left Jake frowning at their potential new recruit and returned to the living room. McCahill's agents were busy rummaging through the apartment. The cleanup crew -- site investigators and representatives from the medical examiner's office -- wouldn't be called. Black didn't bat an eye as he watched the scene and its evidence being disturbed. This would be just another mission that would quietly disappear beneath the rug.

He leaned back against a