Reading: "Born Fatale is The Femme" from THE PRAXIS CONTINUUM (A.Glass 2018)

 

Chapter 3

Born Fatale is the Femme

"From sunset she appeared,

Her cloak pierced by a bloom

Of unfamiliar climes.

She summoned me somewhere

Into the northern gloom

And aimless winter ice."

Alexander Blok

A year ago

“So what have we got?” A heavily armed US Marshal says, as he sits next to an equally outfitted colleague.

"Fucking Mexican, jumped bail here in Texas. Drugs. Dumbass motherfucker. Nothing out of the ordinary. Lock and load on this baby..." The senior ranked Marshal replies, a man in his early thirties, lifts up his Sig Sauer, staring at the sleek looking tactical rifle. He then looks at his colleague. "...Sorry for the late briefing, end of the year and I needed someone to help me bring this guy in..." He places the rifle securely next to him. “...He is low key.”

"Damn, shit is awesome when they let us tap this military hardware," the other man says, admiring the light brown modular assault rifle of the higher ranked Marshal sitting beside him.

"You said it, we got these fucking low life's. So, we gotta collect with the latest tactical weapons," the senior Marshal replies, with a smile, whilst tapping the rifle’s hand-guard with his open left palm.

His colleague lifts his standard AR assault rifle. "Still does the job"

"Yeah, but it doesn't look as cool. Alright this is the place."

"This guy be armed?"

"Probably...he may have a handgun." The senior officer replies, has he steers the non descriptive car to the side lane way of the apartment block, away from the main south facing windows of the shared balconies.

"But, we got the body armor." Tapping with his left index finger onto his the tactical vest’s upper right hand collar, where the badge of a deputy U.S. Marshal is affixed.

A woman, her back turned to a man tied up and gagged in which he has been pushed up against the wall near the apartment front door. She is watching television. A news report flashes.

"A new online campaign has started up called, under the hashtag pseudonym 'YesIwasToo'. After the Hollywood scandals of sexual harassment, women across the country can now hashtag their own experiences of being harassed by men in a sexual and unwanted manner, joining us is co-founder of the new Internet protests group Ms Janet..."

The woman, blond, turns and faces the man sitting tied back into the chair with masking taped over his mouth.

"Very polarized here at the moment, your country, actually it is everywhere not just America. A lot of whinging, this lot..." She points to the television of the two women discussing the new hashtag diplomacy campaign. "...They talk about privilege. To whine and carry on like they do, you'd have to be privileged. The poor, like in this apartment block. Are too busy trying to survive..." She turns the chair around. "...Because these ass wipes do not care. It is the weak and fearful conjoined at the hip with the opposite side, who I might add, are as equally pitiful. They are being used to divide the public, by both sides of politics. And it has happened before in history. Looking for scapegoats. While the tiny, elite minority..." The woman holds up her right hand with the thumb and index finger barely touching. "...gain. For the rest, life is hard and it is not always fair..." The blond woman says, in her late thirties, wearing jeans and a cream colored blouse. She looks at the television screen in front of her once again, seeing the protests groups across America, she then lifts her handgun, a Walther PPS 9mm with a laser sight from the small table in front of her. She points the weapon at the man bound and gagged to the chair, the crimson red dot from the laser sight sets upon the middle of the man's forehead. "...Am I right? Life is not fair, too many whinges want that technological free ride. They were conned, bought in, now all they do is sit there and complain about how they got fucked over. When equality didn't manifest itself in their egalitarian Cyber connected world...Because in the real world it never existed in the first place..." The woman stands, holstering her weapon. She checks her wrist watch. "...Ok, they'll be here soon."

"Alright, this is the address, apartment Nine. Lock and load," the senior Marshal says has he lifts his tactical rifle with his colleague flanked slightly to the left side, with his rifle directed over his colleague's shoulder. The senior officer knocks on the door.

"US Marshals! Open the door!"

"A Nine mil doesn't pass through wood..."

"Nah..." The senior Marshal aiming the Sig Sauer tactical rifle roughly at five feet above the apartment front door "...But, shoot half a mag with this, you'll get a round in...Still, if this fucking a-hole has a shotgun. And we're standing here, we'll get shrapnel. Either way, he takes a shot..." The Marshal looks through his gun sight. "...he's fucking dead." Suddenly the door opens slightly, with a chair lock, a woman's face can be seen.

"US Marshal's open the fucking door."

The woman is Mexican in appearance.

"I do nothing wrong..."

Both US Marshals with their weapons aimed, maintain their menacing posture.

"I ain't going to ask you again," the senior Marshall says, as the woman lifts up the chain lock and opens her front door, he then lowers the rifle, which is attached to a tactical sling, he then draws his Colt nine millimeter side arm, as the other Marshal continues aiming his rifle at the woman.

"Emilio Antúnez"

"Who?"

"Don't fuck with me lady!" The Marshal yells, peering into the small studio size apartment, he hears a child.

"I don't know him," she replies.

"Alright out of the way," the Marshal says, as he holds his handgun slightly angled up, as he and the other Marshal enter the woman's apartment.

"Emilio!"

They move into the small lounge area, with a child, a small boy playing with toys sits in the middle of the room. He begins to cry upon seeing the two heavily armed US Marshals. The woman rushes to her child and lifts him up.

"He don't live here...I not know him. My papers are all correct, I am not illegal. I work as a cleaner at local hospital." The woman replies, her sentiment urgent.

"Check the bedroom." The senior Marshal orders, as his colleague moves towards the bedroom area of the small apartment.

"He's not back here and I've checked the wardrobe."

The senior Marshal exhales, taking off his baseball cap. still clutching the handgun in his right hand. "Someone called in. It was number Nine."

"There is a man, next door, people come and go all day and night. He is loud sometimes, yelling. I don't know much."

"Check the number..." The Marshal orders, as his colleague walks back out to the shared balcony, lowering his tactical rifle in an inconspicuous way. He then peers at the apartment door opposite where the woman and her small child live.

"It's number Ten."

The blond woman, gently pushes the curtain aside, looking in the direction of the men's voices, she sees an armed man, civilian dressed with a tactical vest, an enforcement badge is visible near his upper collar.

"Dear me, we have company..." She then looks at the man gagged, lifting up the hem of her right leg trouser, she slides out a blade that has been sheathed and strapped to her lower leg. Quickly, she bends down in front of the gagged man, who is also bound at the ankles with masking tape.

"Don't move or I'll stick this into one of your balls," she says, holding up the blade, as the blond woman cuts down through the masking tape.

"Up, on your feet. We are leaving."

The man stands, slightly drowsy and unsteady on his feet from the lingering effects of chloroform. She slides the knife back into its sheath, pushing the hem of her pants back down. She quickly opens the apartment door.

"Move! She says dragging him out, noticing that he is heavier than she thought, he falls against the outer railing of the apartment block, alerting the two Marshals, who then step outside from the woman's apartment, they see the gagged man and the blond woman standing outside apartment number ten.

"Stop right fucking there!" The senior Marshal yells out, as both him and his colleague lift up their tactical rifles.

The woman props up the man in front of her, struggling to match his weight to her strength. She looks over the man's right shoulder. As they both begin to walk backwards towards the balcony staircase.

"Easy...I'm Enforcement..." The woman replies

"ID..." The senior Marshal orders, as he and his colleague step forward with their weapons aimed at the woman and man who appears drugged and gagged.

"Don't stress guys, I'm DEA...He's ours."

"I want ID...You gotta fucking show me."

The woman eyes the Marshals badges, which are attached to both of their tactical vests.

"I gotta go down stairs, call this in..." She replies, as her and the gagged man continue to move towards the staircase.

"ID...Bitch..."

"Take it easy fucknuts...You'll see it eventually, like I said, I gotta move down stairs..." She grips, with her left hand, the gagged and staggering man's right shoulder, pulling up his shirt material. With her right hand she slowly unholsters her handgun. While trying to use the man she is holding onto as cover, at the same time walking backwards towards the apartment block shared staircase, she turns quickly looking down the flight of stairs.

"Alright, I'll show you my ID!" She yells out, moving closer from behind the gagged man who she is holding onto, the blond woman talks quietly into his right ear. "You are gonna go down these stairs first, don't run, you better off sticking with me, then these losers."

He slightly nods while murmuring a nonsensical sound, but trips forward, crashing down the small flight of stairs from the first level, falling against the railing. The blond woman draws her weapon aiming at the two US Marshals.

"Easy now, I know we’re in Texas...Let’s not have a shootout."

"Drop the fucking weapon now!" The senior Marshal yells out, as his colleague angles around to his right side, both of them aiming at the woman, who continues pointing her handgun at the two officers.

"You first..."

"Fuck you bitch, we'll blow your fucking brains out right now. Drop that weapon."

She aims at the head of the senior Marshal, which is now marked with a small red dot from her handgun laser sight.

"The profanity here. What do the they teach you at your Four week Mickey mouse course...How to be assholes? I got you in my sights, you drop me and I'll kill you." She remains still, lowering her breathing and places both hands around the gun grip, with her right index finger firmly gripping around the handgun's hand safe action trigger. Suddenly the blond haired woman turns to where the man, gagged and bound had fallen down a small flight of stairs and slammed up against the first floor railing. He is now making his way towards the apartment's car park, which faces the front of the shared balcony of this decrepit and rundown apartment block. Clearly in pain, he limps towards the lane-way which sits parallel to the block of flats. She turns her attention back to the two Marshals as the one that is angled to the right behind the senior Marshal turns and aims his tactical rifle at the gagged and wrist bound man who is struggling to make his way out of the apartment block car park. He fires three, semi automatic rounds, the blond woman holding the handgun fixed on the senior Marshal fires two rounds at the officer who has fired on the unarmed fugitive, both rounds hit the target, hitting the lower ranked Marshal directly in the ballistic armor jacket, he promptly collapses down. She then lowers her aim onto the senior Marshal who has his weapon aimed on her, she shoots without hesitation, two rounds, both slamming against the senior officer's ballistic vest, with a single round splitting the Marshal's badge in half, while sending him falling back to his right. He tumbles back against the apartment block wall as his tactical rifle slings helplessly down. She then runs down the stairs towards the injured felon.

"I think she got me through the vest," the less senior Marshal says grimacing with pain as he looks down at his vest where two 9mm slugs are embedded.

"Breath..." The senior Marshal says also in pain, as he slowly tries to get up

"What?"

"Breath, do you feel like you're drowning from the inside?"

"I don't know what you mean..."

"On your fucking feet and kill this Bitch..."

"We gotta call this in...I'm fucked, can hardly breath..." The junior Marshal says as he superior staggers upright and lifts his tactical rifle, feeling the acute pain from a severe bruising or a possible fractured of his upper right rib cage. He sees the blond woman and the gagged man now making their way out of the apartment block car park.

"Up, up...get up...I didn't kill them." She orders as the staggering, gagged and wrist bound fugitive is able to stand up, as the woman grips him around the back of his neck with her left hand.

"Should have used you as a human shield. But, you are wanted alive. Move!" As she leads him out of the car park onto the right lane-way of the apartment block.

She hears the rounds of a semi automatic tactical rifle bear down towards where she and the wanted man are now dashing towards a parked car. Quickly the woman crouches down, as the man collapses, she then attempts to drag the man towards the small rental car

"A little help here..." She says as the man assists, in an awkward way, as the blond woman in trying to move her and the captive man towards the parked car. "...Fucking morons! Could have killed your dumb asses and made your stupid wives widows!" She yells back, holstering her weapon. As she opens the passenger side of the door. "Get the fuck in I'll put a round in your left ass cheek..." She says shaking her head in a frustrated manner "...And US Marshals in on the mix, last gasp attempt at trying to shoot me and you. Two Nine millimeter slugs in his upper body armor, would have fractured, maybe even broken his fucking ribs." Securing the gagged and bound man into the passenger seat, reaching across and fastening his seat belt she quickly moves across to the drivers side opening the door, she sits down and starts the car, the woman then slams her foot down on the accelerator pedal speeding out of the lane way, as her car door swings open, placing her seat belt on whilst steering the car onto the main road she reaches across and closes the door.

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Reading:  "Born Fatale is The Femme"  from THE PRAXIS CONTINUUM (A.Glass 2018)