🌿💀🌿

I wake up at the same time as Larkspur, but Kapudul is already awake. She’s scrolling on her phone and spins her lighter in her other hand.

“It’s really hard to masturbate in a bed with two other people,” she posits first thing in the morning.

“You ain’t flickin’ the bean in my bed,'' I say as I sit up. I don’t know if she’s joking or not.

“And what if I already did? What’re you gonna do?”

“Might set you on fire.”

“Can you two shut the fuck up?” Larkspur interjects. They might wake up at the same time as me, but they always ask for five more minutes of sleep.

“No one tells me to shut the fuck up in my own bed.”

“Not even as dirty talk?” Kapudul ponders.

“How is that dirty talk?” I counter. She chuckles.

“You have a lot to learn, young one.” I groan, not dignifying that with a proper response. She takes a spliff out of her pocket. “Can I smoke this in here?”

“So I can get a contact high every time I lay my sweet head? I don’t think so.”

Larkspur shoots up.

“I will murder both of you and even Tamara won’t be able to find the bodies.”

“Someone’s crabby,” I nip back. “I’m gonna take a shower.” I climb over Larkspur and grab a towel.

“You’re showering without me?” Kapudul prods.

I present my middle finger which gets a laugh from her.

I’m not as sore as I was yesterday. I stretch, letting the hot water relieve some of the tightness. I know that my body will recover; fatigue, soreness, bruises, and cuts all fade with time. But this pain in my head, I feel like it’s something else. I sense that it’s not just a regular headache, the way it sharply occurs and dissipates almost feels like it’s attacking me.

I should get it looked at with an MRI or CT scan, I’ve never been sure what the difference is between those two.

Then again who has time for all that?

I finish showering and get dressed.

“Y’all can take a shower if you want,” I say to both of them. They start playing rock paper scissors for who gets to go first. While that’s going on I walk into my living room. I look at the spot where I woke up from my two-week-long blackout.

It’s surreal to think about.

I try to pick some clues from my surroundings. There are imprints in the carpet from something heavy and rectangular being there. The lines don’t match any cases I have to store weapons, so it’s from something else. If I had to guess I’d say they belong to a trunk of some kind. Question is, whose trunks were they?

The clothes I don’t recognize in my drawers let me know I went shopping during the blackout. They aren’t exactly my style, but who knows what I was thinking then?

I could go wherever I bought them, and see if I could gain any info that way. But a minimum wage employee probably wouldn’t care enough if I didn’t do anything crazy, which I don’t believe I did. I probably paid with cash too.

That’s a dead end.

Kapudal walks up next to me.

“Doing a little detective work?” She accurately guesses. Her joint rests between her lips, unlit.

“Trying to,” I answer back.

“It’s not every day that you have to solve a mystery about yourself,” she notes. On instinct, she grabs her lighter and moves it to light up, but stops when she sees the look I give her. “What’ve you got so far?”

“These imprints on the carpet. Whatever was here was there for a while.”

“They’re not our weapon cases,” she notices as well. “Might be a regular trunk, an old one though.”

“What makes you say that?”

She shoos her finger at the impressions.

“They don't make luggage like this anymore. Or it’s really fancy ones.”

“How do you know that?”

She shrugs as an answer.

“Don’t even know.”

I want to pry further but something tells me there’s no point.

“When I woke up I smelled gunpowder on myself, that and rotting flesh. You heard anything about that?”

She shakes her head.

“Nah, it was a quiet night, as quiet as they get around in this city. No one heard about a Bay Leaf poppin’ off. Which is weird cuz you asked to borrow the Sorrel-115.”

I balk at that.

“I asked for what?!”

“The Divorce Lawyer itself.”

“Why the fuck did I ask for that?!”

Kapudal, almost cartoonishly, shrugs again.

“You wouldn’t tell me. Or anyone. I was hoping for the juicy details later but…well y’know.”

“Yeah. How disappointing for you.”

“Look, you could…” Kapudal starts but seems to remember something. She squints her eyes and closes her mouth.

“I could?”

“Nothing, forget it.”

“I already have,” I point out. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing, it wouldn’t help you. I’m sorry I mentioned anything.”

For as long as I’ve known her, Kapudal has rarely ever said ‘sorry’. But she sincerely means each time. Which is how I know she won’t share any more info on the subject. Larkspur probably told her not to talk about whatever it is she’s hiding. It might be in my best interest and could be better for my sanity, but the fact that they’re not sharing something just might drive me crazy…crazier.

“Whatever,” I reply. “We have bigger things to worry about.”

“Yeah, what?”

“We’re taking out the DeadNettles.” I remind her.

“Oh, that. Honestly surprised it took this long.”

“Why’s that?”

“They started shaking things up, disturbing the balance. Someone was gonna take ‘em out, just happens to be us.”

I sit on my couch.

“What makes you so sure?”

She twirls the spliff between her fingers.

“They’re young, hungry, a dangerous mix. But they don’t know what they’re doing; where they’re going.”

She sits on my coffee table to face me.

“They’re like little dogs, thinking they’re wolves ‘cuz they survived a week outside. Losers were bound to piss off the wrong people.”

“They pissed us off.”

A sadistic laugh escapes her mouth.

“They got the shittiest luck. We’re gonna fuck ‘em up. Their ancestors are gonna feel it.”

She stands up to yell,

“Larkspur, hurry up!”

A muffled, “FUCK YOU!” is heard in response.

“Here’s hoping we manage the fallout.”

She doesn’t have to explain what she means. The Bay Leaves have maintained balance in this city by holding ourselves to a certain professionalism. When one of ours is hired and killed on the job, that’s business. We get caught in a crossfire between two or more gangs, that’s life. The attempted double cross, which I have no memory of, demands professional retaliation.

But nothing about what we have planned feels professional. We’re going to wipe out a whole group. No exceptions, a total wipe.

All for me.

I hadn’t thought about it like that until this moment, but the balance of this city will shift; because of me.

Who knows how the Argonos will react?

“You look like you just realized some shit,” Kapudal notes.

“You could say that.” If she won’t share what she was going to say earlier, I’ll keep some thoughts to myself as well.

Not surprisingly, she sees what I’m doing. She gives an understanding nod.

“How ‘bout breakfast?” She asks, changing the subject.

I walk over to my fridge to see it pleasantly full. Though I don’t remember getting any of this. There’s a lot of sweet stuff in here also.

The pain in my head spikes again at the thought. Rubbing my temple, I start grabbing eggs to feed my babysitters.

Kapudal likes her eggs scrambled and Larkspur likes omelets. I fry up some bacon, cook some grits with cheese, and make some hash browns. By the time I’m done with everything they’re both done showering.

I serve my fellow Bay Leaves their breakfast. Kapudal puts something on the TV because she got the remote before Larkspur. The show is about pirates or something, I’m not paying much attention. We peacefully finish our food.

Larkspur’s phone vibrates and they check it.

“Hmm,” they say while typing a response. “We got some stuff to do today. One’s light work, other’s heavy. You up for it?”

An interesting question.

Am I?

“Yeah, I’m up for it,” I answer.

“You sure? Tamara says it’s fine if you’re not. She can get someone else.”

My eyes go to the spot where I woke up from my blackout. I feel the gazes of Larkspur and Kapudal on me for a moment.

If I’m not doing anything I’ll be thinking about how I’m obviously going insane. I’d rather not sit on the sidelines while all this shit goes down.

“I’m sure,” I say firmly. Larkspur raises an eyebrow but accepts my word.

“Ight, I’ll tell her.” They text back a response.

Things are rapidly escalating if Tamara is texting rather than calling. She’s more confident speaking English than her writing it, but the overall situation demands speed.

“What’s the first thing?” Kapudal asks.

“We gotta grab a guy out of some hotel. It’s in uptown so we have to be discreet.”

“Must be one important dude,” she comments.

“When?” I ask.

“Soon as possible,” Larkspur says. When Tamara says ASAP she means right fucking now. “I’m ready if y’all are.”

“I’m ready, let’s get this shit done,” Kapudal says. I get up wordlessly. No more needs to be said.

We head down to the car and Larkspur drives us to the hotel. It’s nice, not too ritzy.

Tamara sends details on our target. Name’s Shenzhen. We have his picture and location, but not what room he’s in. We’re sitting in the car outside scoping it out.

“There’s one receptionist in the lobby,” Kapudal spies. “Computer’s right in front of her. She’s hot too.”

“We could do ‘Frat Bros,’” Larkspur suggests, ignoring Kapudal’s comment. “Someone pulls the data from the computer, we go and grab the guy, get out.”

“I’ll distract the receptionist and get the data,” I volunteer.

“Hey! I wanted to do it!” Kapudal chimes in.

“You couldn’t distract a four-year-old. Remember that time at the Cactus club?”

“That was one time! You can’t keep bringing that up! Rock paper scissors for it!”

“Jesus Christ,” Larkspur says, leaning their head back in annoyance. I accept her challenge.

Kapudal always chooses scissors first then chooses rock when she’s not high. Don’t know why or how she doesn’t realize this by now.

She loses, much to her surprise.

“We’ll get ready, go do your thing.” Larkspur grabs a device that mimics electronic keys.

I load up the breaching program on my phone and link to theirs.

Walking over to the hotel, I sag my jeans a bit, add some bounce to my step, and start chewing some gum.

I enter the lobby like I belong there. When the receptionist takes notice of me, I make eye contact with her.

“Gotdamn!” I exclaim. “I must be sleepwalking, cuz you look like the girl of my dreams!” I lean on the desk. She looks me up and down; I see the gears in her head turn, trying to decide if I’m a man or not. Her eyes glide over my chest.

“Sorry, I’m not really into girls like that,” she says.

“Shit, baby, me neither. But I’m willing to try anything once…or twice,” I say with a sly chuckle, inching closer to the computer. My phone vibrates to let me know it’s starting its breach. The receptionist is a pretty Black woman, maybe in her mid 20’s. Permed black hair is done up in a ponytail, red lipstick, and simple pearl earrings. She’s checked off every box of the receptionist type.

“You’re real bold, you know that?” She says with a chuckle of her own.

I need to keep her attention off the computer.

“Nah, bold would be telling you exactly what I’d do to you; if you let me.”

She chuckles, revealing a cute gap between her teeth. Can’t help but feel flattered, she leans in closer, and her attention is totally on me.

“And, hypothetically, what would that entail?”

“Well,” I look at her name tag “Jasmine. That wouldn’t be workplace appropriate, would it?”

I hear Larkspur and Kapudal enter the lobby but don’t turn to draw attention to them. Jasmine doesn't pay them any mind either.

“You don’t work here…?” she’s asking for a name.

“Daisy,” I supply. A sharp, quick pain spikes in my head but I ignore it. “I may not work here, but I could clock in some hours with you.”

She laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Hours, huh?”

“Yeah, baby. Best believe I got the stamina to have you going ALL night,” I say while licking my lips. Jasmine notices, her mouth slightly open.

“That a promise?” She asks. Her eyes scan my arms, observing my muscles. My Bay Leaves tattoo is hidden underneath my sleeve, but the way she’s looking at my other tattoos tells me she likes them.

I have to keep my phone close to the computer in case they haven’t made it to the room yet. I’ll only know they made it when they’re back down here.

“It’s a guarantee. I’ll have you moaning ‘til the sunrise, not that you’ll see it.”

“Why not?”

“Cuz I’ll have your eyes rolling to the back of your head.”

She bites her bottom lip.

“And what if I said I had a man?”

“I’d say ‘fuck that nigga.’ What he don’t know won’t hurt him. ‘Less you wanna call him while we knock boots?”

Jasmine readjusts herself in her seat, slightly tugging at her skirt. Her cheeks are flushed.

“You’re nasty, you know that?” She says with a barely contained smile.

“You don’t have the first clue, babygirl. ‘Course you could find out. Do you want to?”

Jasmine bites her lip again, seriously considering my offer.

“It can be our dirty little secret?” She asks.

“Dirty, yes. But ain’t nothing ‘little’ about what I can do to you. I won’t tell no one, ‘less you wanna call some friends in for some extra fun?”

She picks up a notepad and playfully hits me in the arm.

“You’re a freak!” She says that, but her smile betrays her words. She’s not completely against the idea.

“I could be your freak, baby. Just say the word and I’ll have you changing your bedsheets.” She hits me with the notepad again.

I hear the elevator doors open.

“Dude, you’re way too drunk! You shouldn’t have killed that bottle of tequila!” Kapudal says. She and Larkspur are carrying our target. It looks like they’re all walking in a drunken stupor but a close look would reveal that Shenzhen is very unconscious. Not that Jasmine gives them all a proper look, her attention quickly goes back to me. It’s so overt, it’s covert

The trio exits the lobby and I know my fellow Bay Leaves will do what’s needed.

I have to keep my phone next to the computer so that they can erase all security footage and logins. In the unlikely case that the police start looking for this guy, they’ll have nothing to go on. Jasmine might lose a few hours of work, but she’ll keep her job. That is if she doesn’t say anything to anyone. Not that she was paying much attention.

“Since you have that out, how about writing down your number?” I ask her. She wants to play hard to get, tilting her head like she’s thinking about it, but she reaches for a pen. Her handwriting is nice. She rips the page from the notepad and offers it to me. As I reach for it she pulls it away.

Our flirting game isn’t over just yet it seems.

“What makes you think I’m so easy to turn out?” She inquires.

“Nothing worth doing is ever easy. And you definitely seem worth doing.”

“That was corny.” She twirls the paper between her fingers.

“I might be a lil’ nervous.” I lean in closer, my face inches from hers. “Or I might be saving the good stuff for later.”

She hands me the paper.

“Don’t get cocky.”

I take the paper.

“Never.”

My phone vibrates with a chime. A text from Larkspur simply reads “Done. Let’s go.”

“I havta go, but I’ll text you when I got everything ready.” I step away from the desk.

“What’s ‘everything’?” She asks, standing up from her seat while I’m a few feet from the door.

“Well, that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it baby?” I tuck the paper in my back pocket, which I feel her take a look at.

I walk out and down the street a bit to where they moved the car.

“Orange undies, huh?” Kapudal comments. I look down on reflex. With no need to expose my boxer briefs anymore, I fix my jeans.

“Your stud persona won’t be joining us?” Larkspur jokes.

“Fuck you,” I reply.

Shenzhen is unconscious in the backseat. Kapudal put a seatbelt on him and has him leaving on her shoulder, so it looks like he’s sleeping.

“How’d you get him?”

“The ol’ punch and inhale,” Larkspur answers. Kapudal shows me a rag she carefully holds. They punched the guy in the stomach and made him inhale chloroform.

I get in the car and Larkspur drives off.

“You just keep chloroform on you like that?” I ask.

“Not all of us are as charming as you. Plus I already knew we’d have to do something like this. Always best to be prepared.”

“So, did you get that chick’s number?” Kapudal asks.

“You don’t have to keep talking like an asshole, you know that right?”

“It’s hard to turn off,” she replies with a shrug. “Did you get it?”

I show her the paper.

“Nice, you gonna call her?”

I look at the paper as it flaps in the wind.

“Nah,” I say before letting it go. “Liability.”

That’s what I say, but truth be told I’m not in the headspace for one-night stands nor am I looking for a fuckbuddy. It seems blackouts kill my sexual appetite.

“I’m gonna report you for littering,” Larkspur jokes.

“I’ll turn you in for the illegal u-turn you made.”

“I can’t get turned in?” Kapudal interjects.

“Girl, you smell like a dispensary. Wouldn’t need a drug dog to charge you with possession,” Larkspur replies. Kapudal laughs as she lights her spliff, taking a deep pull from it.

We drive off with our victim back to the Bay Leaves HQ. Heading back has us a bit on edge but no one takes notice of us. When we get back we start the awkward task of getting Shenzhen up the long stairs, with me having to carry his legs.

Everyone instead directs us to where Tamara is waiting for us: the basement.

Not a good sign; for Shenzhen that is, we’ll be fine.

If Tamara wants him in the basement she’ll be waiting in the back, where an industrial walk-in freezer waits. Years ago I asked Tamara why this church has such a thing, and she told me it was probably used for food banks and drives. I, personally, find it hard to believe that any institution in this city is capable of purely doing just good. Everyone has something shady going on the side. But my suspicions of why we have it, one: are baseless, two: don’t matter. Whatever the reason is, we have it and we make good use of it.

Digit usually stores stuff that must be kept at cool temperatures, as a freezer does, dangerous chemicals, and sophisticated electronics that are too delicate for environments above 20 degrees. But we do also sometimes keep food in there.

Tamara is leaning against the entrance as we approach. She motions with her head for us to enter.

“Take off his shirt and shoes,” she says.

There is a single wooden chair and some rope in the center of the room. We need no further instruction and start tying him tight to the chair. The zero-degree temperature has goosebumps popping up on my skin and I start shivering a bit.

Predicting this, Tamara offers us jackets. They are an invitation for us to stay. Digit enters, already bundled up and carrying a laptop. As I zip up I look around and see on a shelf that someone got the rocky road ice cream that I like. I’ll make a plan to get to it later, but first, we have a more pressing matter.

“Wake him up,” Tamara says to Digit. He obliges, producing smelling salts from his pocket. Holding it under his nose for a moment and he comes to. Digit moves back to stand with us.

“Wha? What happened?” he asks. He gets startled when he sees the five of us. “Who are you? What’s going on?” None of us answer. Digit scratches his burgeoning beard. The last time I saw him he was clean-shaven, which felt like a day or two ago, but I know it’s been a while. I wonder if he’ll dye it orange like the rest of his hair.

“WHO ARE YOU, PEOPLE?!” Shenzhen asks again, thinking maybe we didn’t hear him the first time. Tamara isn’t answering for three reasons; the first is this is an intimidation tactic. Plain and simple. The second is that she wants him to become sufficiently cold. She wants to see him shivering before she starts. The third is likely that she’s thinking of how to angle this. We watch him, to his terror, in silence. He pointlessly struggles against his bindings, shivering while trying to get out.

This goes on for two minutes before Tamara asks,

“Do you watch movies?”

“Huh?” He stops struggling.

Tamara takes a step forward.

“Movies,” she clarifies, “those pictures that move with sound? Got people walking around in them? Do you watch them?”

He nods his head.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Do you watch a lot of action movies? You look like you do, but I don’t want to assume.”

“Huh?” he asks again, reasonably confused.

“I’m speaking English, aren’t I?” Tamara asks Digit.

“It’s English if I ever heard it,” he answers.

“Okay, so I am speaking English; so what are you not understanding? Do. You. Watch. Action. Movies?” She asks far more pointedly.

“Yes,” he replies.

“Then you’ve probably seen this scene before,” she gestures around the room. “There’s a person in a chair,” she points to him “and a person who wants information from them” she to herself.

“Now, in these movies, the person in the chair” again she points to him “often refuses to tell the other person” points to herself “what they want.”

She steps closer.

“This, of course, gives the person in the chair’s friends time to rescue them. But please understand that no one is coming for you. The fact that you’ve been captured means that either the people you work for are too incompetent to protect you, or don’t trust you enough to keep you safe. The result is the same: you in this basement with us.”

She rests her hands on her knees to be at eye level with him.

“I’m a busy woman and I have a lot of shit to do. I’ll give you a chance to make this pain-free; give me access to the DeadNettles accounts, transferring all of it to an account of my choice.”

Digit opens the laptop and it has some program running, I assume it’s related to bank accounts.

“Not only will you walk out of here without a hair on your head hurt, but I’ll also let you keep some to disappear with. Fly off to wherever the fuck you wanna go, how does that sound?”

Shenzhen spits at her, but she moves her head in time.

“Go fuck yourself, bitch.”

He doesn’t know how much he just fucked up doing that. She would’ve let him live, or kill him painlessly. Now he’s going to suffer.

Tamara sighs, disappointed.

“In those movies, when the torture starts, the victim,” she stresses ‘victim’ “swears they won’t tell their captors anything. For loyalty, fear, or pride. If you withhold this information out of loyalty, I’ll let you know right now it’s misplaced. The DeadNettles not only don’t deserve your loyalty, and they won’t be around long enough to appreciate it. They’ll all be dead before the month is over.”

“What?! What do you mean?”

“Seems he didn’t get the memo,” Digit notes. Tamara continues, circling Shenzhen.

“If you want to stay quiet out of fear, I must repeat my previous point: the DeadNettles will soon be gone. You have nothing to fear besides me, right now.”

She’s back in front of him.

“And you don’t want to say anything to maintain your pride, I’ll just say that pride is a stupid reason to get hurt.”

A sharp pain erupts in my head. Colors flash in front of my eyes and I sway a bit.

“You alright? Kapudal asks. Larkspur and Digit also turn to me. Tamara is focused on Shenzhen.

“I’m fine,” I assure them. The pain is fading as fast as it came.

“In those movies, they always have some elaborate torture scheme. Me? I prefer simple things. A cold room, defenseless you, and my hands. The cold makes everything hurt more,” she says while pulling his ear. He screams in pain.

“That was for trying to spit on me. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, normally I’d kill you outright for that. But I’ll make the offer again. Transfer the money to the account, and you’ll live and be richer for it.”

Shenzhen, perhaps not fully understanding the position he’s in, counters with,

“Go. To. Hell. They’ll come looking for me and kill all of you.”

Tamara looks him up and down. Then she delivers a punch right into his solar plexus. A strike like that would make a man crumble to his knees but he’s firmly held in place by rope. He coughs desperately, recovering from the pain.

“I told you I was a busy woman. I made you the offer. You had the chance to get out of here and you chose this instead. I hope you’re happy with your decision.” Tamara puts on her special brass knuckles. “Now I have to take what I need from you!”

He isn’t fully recovered from the first strike when Tamara gives him three more across his face. Blood starts dripping from his mouth from the second punch. She grabs a fistful of his hair and gets close to his face.

“You chose this,” she hisses before slamming her knee into his nose. He falls over, backward, his body weight crushing his hands. He yells out in agony once more. Tamara, ignoring him, turns to us.

“You three can leave, I’ll send you details of the next assignment in a bit. While I get better acquainted with our friend here.” We all nod and leave. As the door closes behind us, I hear Tamara pick him up and tap his shoulder. “You know we’re just getting started, right?”

On that note, we leave. The jackets were needed in the freezer, but two steps out of it and the heat makes an ungentle reminder that it’s here.

We get out of the basement and discard the jackets on some church pews. Heading back outside into the blazing sun I follow Larspur and Kapudal to the car.

It isn’t until we start moving that I realize I don’t know where we’re going. I should ask, probably, but it hardly matters.

I lean my head back, let the sun bake my face and the wind cool me off. When the car stops I open my eyes. We’re at a convenience store, Larkspur is still in the driver's seat while Kapudal is inside.

“How’s it going?” They ask me.

“Good as it gets,” I answer. It’s a lie, things could be significantly better. Larkspur taps a finger on the steering wheel. Kapudal comes out a moment or two later, with a bag in hand. We drive off and again I lay my head back.

I can’t tell if I’m actually falling asleep or if my brain’s just conking out, I open my eyes when we stop moving again.

Larkspur drove us to Parsley Park. It’s more of a botanical garden than a park really, with no space to run around or picnic. Or whatever else people do in parks. We stopped near this little hill where you can observe most of the flowers the park has to offer.

“C’mon,” Kapudal says to me. I follow her and Larkspur to a bench overlooking the flowers. We all sit down, the metal is uncomfortably hot from the afternoon sun. Kapudal pulls tubs of ice cream from the bag, and a package of plastic spoons. She got cookie dough for herself, Neapolitan for Larkspur, and Rocky Road for me.

“You know my favorite ice cream flavor?” I ask.

“I saw you eyeing it back at HQ, plus I’ve seen you scarf this shit down like your life depended on it.”

I open the carton to see the peerless perfection that is rocky road. The heat softened the ice cream but not melted it completely.

I, with great restraint, dig in. We three eat our frozen treats in silence for a moment. Because of how hot it is, there’s virtually no one else around.

I know this is just a preamble to both of them asking me how I am. There’s no such thing as free ice cream on a hot day…still it’s nice. It reminds me of when Larkspur and I were kids eating ice cream on the curb. We didn’t meet Kapudal until a few years later, by then we were all teenagers, a little too grown for such a childish thing.

Now it’s like she was there with us. Would we have gotten along as kids?

Larkspur enjoys a good portion of their ice cream before letting out a sigh. It’s a sigh I’d recognize anywhere. Comes before a question.

“You good?” They ask.

I shake my head, unable to lie about this.

“Physically, I feel fine; it’s just pain, nothing we ain’t used to,” I start. Kapudal takes one last spoonful and rests the carton by her feet. Her eyes and her attention are on me. “This shit pops up outta nowhere and fades quick. Like a mental bullet digging through my brain or something.”

Larkspur nods, asking me to continue.

“Mentally, I feel like I’m going in circles. Whenever I think about how I lost all that time, my head hurts, but I can’t not think about it, y’know? There are little signs and reminders that things have changed everywhere. It’s like I died and came back to life.”

A sharp pain spikes in my head again. I put my ice cream down on the ground.

“Think I’d prefer that to everyone knowing I was around but having no memory of it,” I add.

“And emotionally?” Kapudal asks, forever the straight shooter.

I shake my head again.

“Can you keep this between us? I know Tamara asked y’all to watch me, probably wants a report or something. But what I’m about to say, can this shit stay just between us?”

“Of course.”

“Absolutely.” They both answer simultaneously.

Lying was no small part of our training. Saying what a person wants to hear is a huge chunk of that. They could be lying to me, but who could blame them? I might forget this tomorrow, or the next day, next week, next month, whenever. Who’s more perfect to lie to than a person with such a flimsy memory?

But I want to believe them, I have to believe that they are genuinely concerned; not because Tamara told them to be, but because they want to know.

I believe them. For better or worse, I believe what I’m about to share with them will stay on this little hill.

“I’m,” I start to answer, “not scared of dying. I don’t think there’s a single Bay Leaf that isn’t aware that what we do has its dangers. We all know a stray bullet, a jammed gun, an empty clip, or a lucky punk with a clean shot and it’s over. Sure, we’re better trained, got better gear, cleaner goals than the wannabes we face; but we’re not invincible.”

I take a moment to gather my thoughts.

“But we do the best we can and more often than not it works for us. I’m not scared that I might get shot today, or tomorrow.” I realize my hands are trembling. “I’m scared I won’t know about it. That I’ll be on autopilot during a blackout and I might die like that, I’ll have no control. It’s like I’m locked in the trunk of a car with a drunk driver at the wheel. We could crash into a fucking gas truck at any second and there wouldn’t be a goddamn thing I could do to stop it.”

Larkspur sharply exhales.

“Fuck, man,” Kapudal comments. “Shit sounds like a nightmare when you put it like that!”

I nod in agreement.

“‘Cept I’m already awake. Damn near feels like any time I close my eyes could be the last. I could slip into another blackout right now and not even know. Y’all already know how I joined the Bay Leaves. One of the promises I made to myself then was "I'd never be that powerless again. Not if I could help it.” Looks like I’m letting that little girl down. It’s just not how I imagine myself going.”

“How’d you imagine yourself going?” Larkspur asks. They ask out of genuine curiosity, not in a ‘mental health check’ way.

I lean back into my seat, and my hands have stopped trembling.

“Realistically? I’m in a shootout, outnumbered, broken armor, I’m out of ammo, and some fuckhead gets a lucky shot on me.”

“It would take all that?”

“Yeah, you couldn’t catch me otherwise,” I answer with a chuckle.

“And ideally, how would you go?”

I laugh at my answer,

“Death by exhaustion from an orgy.”

Kapudal and Larkspur burst out laughing.

“I’m talking about me and twelve of the finest ladies!”

“TWELVE?!” Larkspur shrieks. “You need a dozen?!” We laugh our asses off.

“How ‘bout you, Kapudal?” Larkspur manages to get out between laughing fits.

“Well,” she coughs. “I was gonna say me and a skilled sniper trade shots in an epic duel. We both shoot each other at the same time. But now I’m stealing Holly’s orgy of death.”

“You can’t get in my orgy!”

“I’m not above sloppy seconds, once you’re dead I’ll take ‘em.”

Larkspur is laughing so hard that they fall off the bench and knock over their ice cream. Kapudal and I start laughing even harder.

I have to hold my sides for air. My head hurts but it’s a different, almost pleasant, pain from the one that’s been tormenting me lately.

When our

“I really wanted that too,” Larkspur says after they calm down.

“Let the ants have it,” I say. The sun has turned it back into milk by now.

We all calm down after a pause.

I needed this, even though I didn’t know I did.

I want to thank them both, but I trust they know that I’m grateful already.

We enjoy each other’s company in silence before Kapudal asks,

“Are you gonna clean that up?”

We dispose of our ice cream, unfortunately, the only trash can around has holes in it, so some leaks out.

Larkspur gets a call.

“Hello?… We’re at Parsley Park…I’ll ask.”

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Tamara wants to know if we’re good for another assignment?”

“I’m good to go,” Kapudal answers.

They both look at me for a response.

After my confession, they’re understandably trepidatious about me going into the fray. But this is the job, this is the life. If it ends like this, at least I’ll be conscious for it.

“Who needs killing?”

Larkspur goes back to the call.

“We’re ready…Got it, on our way.”

They hang up and start walking to the car.

“We’re heading over to Dionaea Street. Taking out a DeadNettles drug den there.”

“Gear?” I ask.

“In the trunk. Fully stocked,” they answer.

“Targets?” Kapudal asks. We’re all in the car, Larkspur barely waits for us to put on our seatbelts before speeding off.

“Less than ten, no civilians confirmed but show restraint. We’re in and out, anyone who doesn’t fight doesn’t need to die.”

“Understood.”

It’s a 15-minute drive to our target. It’s an old brick warehouse, probably been used for criminal activity since its construction. Hell, maybe even before.

It’s as shady as shady buildings get.

This is just an inventory spot for them. Hitting this by itself would disrupt them quite a bit, but we have simultaneous attacks on 6 different locations planned. Causing widespread panic in the DeadNettles.

The streets have been cleared out, possibly by whoever did the scout work. The only cars left are parked by the warehouse and they belong to the DeadNettles.

We walk to the trunk to see what gear we got.

Inside we find bulletproof vests for Kapudal and me, Larkspur has their treated jacket. A trio of new helmets for us.

Kapudal always has trouble getting her hair into the helmet, so I do it up for her. In return, she makes sure my vest is on right. I imagine this is similar to how someone would tie their younger sibling’s shoes.

In stock are four karambit knives, three smoke grenades, two frags, two thermites, and a high-powered flashlight.

The ballistic inventory has two assault rifles, Larkspur takes the Balsam-45 and Kapudal takes the Koji-52 before I can.

I grab a Hyssop-09 submachine gun; it’s American-made. It’s a snug, easy-to-maneuver weapon, with a high rate of fire and a standard fifty-bullet cartridge to match. This one comes with an ammo tracker, letting the user know how many bullets are left in the magazine. Best used in close quarters like this, extraordinary accuracy is not the main reason people use it.

I pick up a GoldenSeal pistol and put it in my thigh holster and clip the Hyssop to a harness.

When we all have our helmets on we tap the sides to link up the radios. A quick check confirms it works.

Then we hear Tamara’s voice on all our radios,

“Phase 1 of Harvest. Strike teams ready?”

We hear a series of status checks.

“Dionaea team, ready?”

“Ready,” we answer at the same time.

“Heads on a swivel, people. This is routine work but don’t get cocky. I expect you all to come back. Over and out.” Tamara disconnects.

“I’m taking point,” I tell Larkspur and Kapudal. They don’t argue with me, they just nod and ready their weapons.

We cross the street and go by a side entrance. This might be a quick hit but we’re not going through the front.

“Ready?” I ask them. They both nod. I knock on the metal door with my left hand and keep the right hovering over my pistol. I hear just one person walking towards the door. Larkspur waits behind the door to close it quickly, Kapudal is on the other side.

The door opens and I don’t wait for a response; I punch the woman who comes out across her face. She turns from the impact and I reach out to wrap my arm around her neck. I pull her back and press my pistol against her temple. Larkspur closes the door behind her.

I quickly assess the woman I’m holding. She has the tattoo most DeadNettles get on their necks, a globe that’s mostly purple rather than blue. Their lofty ambitions to become intercontinental criminals is a pipe dream, but we all need dreams I suppose. She also has a pistol tucked into the back of her jeans, which Kapudal spots and grabs.

“What’s your name?” I ask her, the helmet muffles my voice but she’ll understand me if she wants to live.

“Felicia,” she answers. I expected a bit more resistance from her, she barely tries to get out of my hold. Perhaps she understands the position she’s in, unarmed in a headlock against three very armed people.

“Felicia, if you want to survive the next ten seconds, you’re going to tell us how many of your friends are in there.”

“I dunno. Eight, maybe.”

I squeeze a bit harder and press the gun against her temple harder.

“Think. Carefully.” She takes a moment.

“There’s eight of us.”

“Including you?”

“Yeah.”

“Are there any civilians in there?”

“No,” she croaks out. “We were about to do a run.”

Seems we caught them at an opportune time. Larkspur and Kapudal nod, understanding the same thing.

“Let’s go say hi.” I put the pistol away and grab the Hyssop. We all turn our safeties off.

Kapuda opens the door and I step through with my live shield. Almost immediately I hear someone to my left.

“Yo, what the fuck?!” He reaches for a gun but the Hyssop interrupts him with several strong points. The arguments it makes tear through him and falls over in defeat.

“1 down,” I say.

Felicia screams.

Between that and the fourteen bullets I just shot, all hell is about to break loose.

Larkspur and Kapudal split off left and right as we hear the others start to move.

I press the hot barrel of my gun to prod Felicia into walking forward. It burns her skin and she obeys me to move where I want. We walk into a corridor, where someone is waiting for us, he perks out from his cover, but he hesitates when he sees Felicia in front of me.

I don’t.

A spray of bullets finds its way into his head and chest. I hear my fellow Bay Leaves guns go off.

“Took out one,” Larkspur says.

“Got two just now,” Kadupal adds.

“I got another one,” I say. That brings us up to five in total. Felicia starts to fight back so I squeeze my arm tighter around her.

“I’ll break your fucking neck, don’t try me,” I threaten her.

“Just try it,” some prick behind me says. The lucky son of a bitch presses a pistol against my helmet in an incredibly rookie mistake. “Drop the gun.”

I let go of the Hyssop, it stays by my side because of the harness.

“Stay still.” I see a hand reaching for my gun. I turn suddenly with my karambit in hand and slice the wrist of my would-be killer.

He drops his gun and holds his bleeding arm. I stick my knife in his throat and let it stay there for a moment. He stumbles around as the blood leaves his body. I pull out my pistol and put him out of his misery. A bullet quickly enters and exits his skull.

“Got another,” I say. In the distance, I hear gunfire.

“Got the last one,” Larkspur says.

“I should’ve got my civil engineer degree like my mom wanted me to!” Felicia says. I just noticed she’s crying.

“You probably should’ve,” I comment.

I release her. She stumbles forward, unsure of what to do.

“Bye, Felicia.”

I shoot her in the back of the head, and the potential engineer's brain is scattered across the wall.

“Final sweep is clear,” Kapudal reports.

“That was easy,” Larkspur puts in their two cents.

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” I say as I recover my knife from the throat I left it in.

“This is Dionaea team,” I report to Tamara. “We’re all clear.”

“Good work. Head back.”

“Understood.” With that I take the helmet off, it’s sweltering in here.

We regroup outside, no sirens are blaring so we’re in the clear.

“Hey, I just realized, you never told us your ideal death, Larkspur,” Kapudal notices.

“I didn’t?” They ponder.

“You didn’t,” I assure them. We all start taking off our gear and depositing it back in the trunk.

“Hmm,” they muse over it. “I never really gave it much thought.”

“Seriously?” I incredulously ask.

“I’ll come up with something later,” they promise.

Ch. 23 End.