See "An Introduction to Detective Monica" for Full Disclaimers.

Part Six

Amazing.  Training actually does some good.  You'd think I would've whipped around and smashed the goon coming at me with the butt of the Uzi, thus totally demolishing the little thing, or at least bending it seriously.  Nope, amazingly enough I remember my sword!  I let go of the Uzi (fortunately slung on its strap over my shoulder), draw my sword faster than I would've believed possible, and thrust straight back with it, as hard as I can.  There's a shriek and a sudden heavy weight dragging the sword down.  I turn, fast, and pull back on the sword.  It slides out of the man's belly easily enough.  I can only stare at him for a second, unbelieving.  Blood is everywhere; soaking his shirt, running through the fingers of the hands pressed against his stomach, and covering half the length of my sword.

Oh wonderful; now I have to clean the damned thing.

I swear, that's the first thing I think!  Then there's a muffled gunshot, and I realize Rose is sagging under the weight of the obviously dead body of another goon.  I leap to help pull him off of her, and when I see her raise the pistol again, I whirl to face Draxen.

He stops advancing and gives us a thoughtful look, ignoring the one dead body and the other whining soon-to-be dead goon.

"Vewwy good," he comments, nudging the corpse of the guy Rose shot.  (I think because it was less bloody.) "I confess, I didn't guess you two wah quite so skiwwed."

I wince, thinking of what could have happened.  Thank god we didn't make much noise.  Then I hear a rather smug voice say, "Maybe you oughtta get some backup?"

I'm about ready to punch myself when I realize it's Rose's voice I heard.  I give her a quick glare that doesn't seem to have much effect.  Although Draxen  does begin to lose that damned grin, for which I'm grateful.  Okay, I won't kill her this time.

"Never mind that," I growl, feeling decidedly bad-tempered, towards both of 'em.  "This is getting to be too much like the horseless hearse bit.  Why don't we just whack this guy and get the hell outta here before more goons come!"

"Hohswess heahse???"  Draxen looks stunned.

Amazingly, we don't even have to look at each other.  I chop at his sword; awkwardly enough that I can hear Duncan yelling at me in the back of my head, but as Draxen doesn't seem to expect anything from me, it does at least distract him.  He lifts his weapon to meet mine with a clang, and I draw back to come up again from below.  This is making what I know is a major mistake; trying to hold his blade away from me with my own, getting into a power move.  I don't  have any power, compared to him.  My wrists are gonna be killing me tomorrow -- if I'm still alive -- but it does accomplish what I'm trying to do; namely, keep his sword up in the air away from Rose.

Rose, apparently reading my mind, has the presence of mind to dive for the general vicinity of the fuzzy slippers in one of the better tackles I've seen recently, at least out of the corner of my eye.  There's a yelp from our slippered foe and Draxen goes down.  Rose releases his legs and scrabbles for her pistol; I aim my good right foot, and we both whack him on the head, pistol-butt and foot respectively.  Success!  Out cold.  Rose and I stare, not quite believing it; then our eyes meet, and we slowly start to giggle.

It doesn't last long.  I bend over and grab his sword, wondering if anyone had heard the gunshot.  If so, we were already out of time.  "We need to tie this bozo up," I said.

"And then what?"

I glare at Rose.  "Well, as  I wasn't planning on doing more than surveillance, not having my white horse ready to charge in and wipe out the bad guys, I really have no idea!  What, we two are supposed to take out this -- this whole hive of Hunters?  Drag 'em all off somewhere in a Black Maria to keep 'em in captivity?  Do we have a bus and umpteen handcuffs!  I don't  think so!  And couldn't you have warned me about the Elmer Fudd bit, for chrissakes?!  Geeze, I nearly started laughing at him!  That coulda been enough to drive him over the edge or something!"

She drops her eyes guiltily.  Meanwhile, I've gone to my knees and taken Draxen's belt to start tying him up.  Unfortunately he's not wearing a tie; he's not brain-damaged enough to be wearing a suit out here in Villain's Hide-out Set #24, just a rather elegant casual outfit.  You know; cashmere sweater instead of wool, that sort of thing.  Whee; so he hasn't been reading too much James Bond.  Or maybe he has.  Fortunately one of his (dead) henchmen is wearing hiking boots; I pull the laces out -- not without a few shudders, I'm not used to handling dead bodies -- and tie Draxen's hands better, then use the belt to strap his feet together.

Now hopefully he won't be wandering off anywhere unless someone helps him escape.  He  definitely won't be sneaking up behind us to do anything, which is my main concern.  Although part of me is wondering why in the heck I don't just quietly slit his throat so we can stop worrying about him.  Well, gee; the goon I skewered in the stomach is the first person I've ever actually killed.  Up close and personal, fer sure, that is, y'know?  It's not something I particularly wanna make a habit of.  I had to really concentrate not to lose my last several meals, especially with the smell and the- Gahhh.  Never mind.

Of course, Rose has been keeping an eye out; and in the best tradition of TV detective shows, she squeaks a warning just as I finish trussing the fuzzy slippers.  I cuss and dive towards the wall as we take up our original positions on either side of the door.  In retrospect, not such a good idea.  When three new goons come bounding in, guess who's just a little too close to the arc of the door?

****

Back in the 4x4 -- or out of it, actually. . . .

We've made it to St. Nazaire, on the northern shore of the Bay of Biscay.  Jean-Pierre's two men were waiting for us at a small cafe that stubbornly has tables outside, even fairly late on a brisk fall night.  Considering the clientele of the cafe, it's probably the safest place for us.

The report doesn't cheer us up any.  Monica and Rose had followed some cars to a deserted spot on the coast, then there had been a disturbance, followed by dead quiet.  The bikers had managed to get away without being spotted; good work on their part, they had narrowly missed two sets of sentries.  Neither knew much more, except that Rose's car had been taken by a sentry and driven off towards the beach.

Methos is looking a lot less civilized than usual and not nearly so unconcerned about the general state of the universe.  His first question is, "Can you take us back there?" But of course, they assure him.  He then begins shooting more questions, getting an idea of the lay of the land.  I keep quiet, except when he skips a minor point here and there.  I don't think he needs much of my help, he's no doubt forgotten more tactics than I've ever known existed.

I exchange a glance with Jean-Pierre; he's listening intently, a thoughtful frown on his face.  He's been pretty quiet ever since we bundled out of the barge.  He hadn't even laughed at the inclusion of Jeremy in our excursion, which had surprised me.  Well, I'd known he was fond of Monica, but not  that fond.  When I catch his eyes, there's a cold gleam in them, remarkably similar to the expression I know I must be wearing.  He nods ever so slightly at me.

I smile back, a bare lift of lip; good to know we're going to have some heavy hitters with us.  Even if these guys weren't already up for a fight most of the time, Jean-Pierre would have ordered them into action.  Thirteen bikers with assorted weaponry are not to be sneezed at.  Somewhat like having a group of 14th century Italian  condottieres at your back.  If they didn't rob and kill you just because things were a little slow after you hired them, they'd cheerfully kill anyone else getting in your way.  They purely didn't care, as long as they got a good fight, were fed, and had the opportunity to loot regularly.

Actually, not so different from my fellow Highlanders on a border raid. . .no wonder it feels so right.

****

We're finally here.  One of the bikers found an entrance, and took out a couple of sentries on his recon.  I'm getting that familiar feeling, mixed in with more than the usual amount of sheer bloodlust.  This is  personal.  They've got my woman.  Which, of course, I shouldn't let bother me, but I'm having difficulty keeping the right amount of detachment.  Judging from the barely heard hoarse whispering coming from Methos, in a language I don't know, he's having problems too.  Richie, on the other hand, is showing his eagerness only with his body, small tremors sweeping through him.  His face, though, is still as marble; frozen in that grimly set expression of anger I still can't get used to seeing.

In other words, we're all dying to kill someone.  Dangerous; very.  To us, not them.  However, we do have Jean-Pierre's men to back us up, and they're in it mostly for the fun of it.  They like Monica, and me, but Jean-Pierre is the only one with anything really personal invested in the outcome.

That's good.  It won't be so dangerous if we let loose and enjoy it a little.  As long as we don't go totally berserk. . .

Jean-Pierre's sending four of his men off, and nodding to me; Methos is letting me lead.  He's a good fighter, but a better tactician, planning things before the battle; and even with thousands of years of experience, there's still a difference between a warrior born and one who had to learn.  This is what I'm made for, and I know it.  It's why I can't let go of myself too much; you can't lead if you're ignoring your men.  You have to feel them, like parts of your body.  But I've been taught well, first by a man almost 400 years dead, then others.  I can think and kill at the same time.

We head on in, as quickly and quietly as possible.  I don't even have time to worry about Monica's dratted horse.

****

Inside Draxen's lair . . . .

I do manage to ride the impact of the door, but it still fetches me a pretty hefty clip on the shoulder.  Oh, joy; just what I need, another handicap.  Now I'm pissed.  I take out part of my temper with a good whack to someone's shins, producing a satisfyingly pained scream.  At least the damned sword cuts.

Now, however, the Uzi would be the better choice.  The goons are yelling fit to wake the dead, which means we're gonna have the whole group joining our little dance.  Better to kill them first, hang the noise.  So I commit a cardinal sin and drop my sword, to grab the Uzi and pop off a couple of quick 3-bullet bursts at the same time I hear the louder report of Rose's pistol.  Next thing you know, everyone but us is down on the floor, and from outside the room we can hear all sorts of ominous noises.

Well, Draxen came out of another door in back of this room; may as well see what's back there, rather than getting stuck between two points of attack.

Rose is staring down at the bodies, her eyes huge.  I grab my sword, push it into her hands and start dragging her behind me to the back door.  "Come on, we don't have all day," I mutter.  "Especially since you just  had to say that!"

Rose comes out of her daze a little at that.  "Say what?!"

"About the reinforcements," I snap, eyeing the larger room we've entered.  Bare except for a large table and chairs.  Looks like a conference room.  Fortunately, there's another door at the opposite end.  Hopefully not a dead end.

"Well it's not  my fault!"

"No, of course not!" I snarl, pushing her through the third door and heaving a sigh of relief at coming out in a corridor.  Finally!  And thank god she's woken up enough to be snippy; she's forgotten, for a bit, that she just killed two people.  "You're only the one that tempted Fate by mentioning backups.  Oh, reload while we've got a breather."

"Tempted Fate!" It's an outraged explosion.  "Well I like that!  You're the one who dived into that room!"

"What?!" I can't help it, I stop and stare at her.  "Where the hell  else were we gonna dive, huh?  Over the edge of the walkway?  That was the only room close enough to duck into!"

"And you sure weren't prepared for what we found," she points out meanly, sticking my sword under her arm and pulling out a new magazine for her pistol.  "Then standing around yacking with Draxen while two guys are sneaking up on us--"

"Oh, like you coulda done better!" I retort.  I'm beginning to feel like one of the Terrible Twos from a '50's child-raising film.  "I never claimed to be an expert at leading anyone.  I'm just a detective, not a whole bloody SEAL team, y'know!"

Rose glares.  "Yeah?  Well, you sure do act like you  think you are sometimes.  And furthermore--"

It's my turn to tackle her.  Bullets zip merrily through where she was standing, and I prop my elbows on her to return a few bursts.  Then she hauls herself up and we run like hell.  Luckily there's a cross hallway a few yards away and we duck around a corner in a few seconds, just in time to beat the next few rounds.  We zig and zag a couple more times, then stop to pant and listen.  Lots of general noise, but nothing all that close, as far as we can tell.  Not that it does us much good.  We're totally lost.  Well, lost from where we came in, that is.  I could find my way back to the room where we left Draxen, but what good is that gonna do us?  As for getting outta here -- I haven't the faintest.

Thank god Rose doesn't bring that up.

While we have a moment of silence -- interrupted by our heavy breathing -- I retrieve my sword from her, wipe it off and sheathe it.  Good.  Now I don't have to worry about losing it.  I can just see Duncan's expression if  that happened!

****

Somewhere else inside Draxen's lair . . . .

There's blood on all of our swords, and some of the bikers' chains.  They're mostly grinning; one of them has a scalp wound from a bullet crease, but he just tied a bandanna over it.  My senses are at full stretch, but I'm not worrying about being surprised from behind any more.  Jeremy's back there.

That  did surprise the hell out of me, first that the little beast followed us -- I hadn't even noticed, he'd stayed so quiet -- and then that he'd actually come in handy.  When we first got into the hallways, one of the opposition had blundered around a corner right into us from behind.  But before he could do more than exclaim in surprise, Jeremy planted two solid little hooves right in the guy's family jewels.  Jean-Pierre slugged the guy as he folded up, and that was that.

Amazing aim that little horse has.  Frankly, I'd dropped my jaw for a minute, along with everyone else.  Jeremy shook his mane and gave a snort, as if to say, "Fun's over, let's get on with it." After exchanging unbelieving looks with Methos, I turned back down the hall.  Okay, we seem to have an attack trained mini-horse.  Stranger things have happened.  Although I'm not quite sure  when.

Unfortunately, no sign of the women yet, and we're now on the second floor.  Methos' swearing has taken on a singsong note, and I'm beginning to worry about whether we'll have time to talk to anyone we catch, before Methos lays hands on him.  If he gets to them first, we'll just have to go catch another one; it's a bit difficult to make dead people talk.

Suddenly I hear the sharp chatter of a few bursts from a submachine gun, and several thuds.  These are followed by some pistol shots, and the ping of cartridges hitting the floor.  Awfully close; we ease up deathly slow, everybody ready to explode.  I drop to my knees and carefully look around another corner, to see one of the most blessed sights I've ever been privileged to witness.

"Monica," I say quietly, to the back of her head, and drop flat as she whirls, Uzi at the ready.  I've  never seen her move so fast!

Her face lights up.  "Duncan!" she says happily, and next second she's beside me, motioning for Rose to hurry up.  Rose ducks back among us and is grabbed by two relieved Immortals, then shoved safely behind them both.  She sputters some sort of protest, but I pay no attention; I'm too busy running my eyes over Monica, thankfully noting that she doesn't seem to have more than a minor scratch here and there.  Of course, she may have bruises I can't see, but she looks to be whole and in one piece.  

I'm so happy to see her that I take the time to give her one of my best grins.  Then I lean over and growl into her ear, "If you  ever pull a stunt like this again, I'll beat you until you're black and blue and you can't sit down for a week; you got that?"

She says, "I love you too, Duncan," and fires one round at a head peeking around the corner down the hall.  I lift an eyebrow at the results.  The guy didn't move fast enough; and firing from the waist, Monica's managed to put a neat hole through his forehead.  I catch a glimpse of it as he drops facing us, before he's dragged back out of sight.  I give a soundless whistle.  Even if it was luck, it was a fantastic shot with something you don't so much aim as point in the general vicinity of what you want to hit.  But then, she has had more than 100 hours on one. . .still, I'll have to see about more training for her than just the sword.

Meanwhile, time to get out of here.  I gather our group with my eyes and prepare to start a careful retreat, when Rose makes a squawking noise.

"What!" I hiss at Methos.  Well, she's his girlfriend; he and Richie are the ones supposed to be keeping her in line.  I've got enough to handle with Monica.

He grimaces at me and has a hasty consultation with her; then, with a bit of a blank look on his face, informs me that the women had managed to come face-to-face with and truss up the man who'd taken over Horton's position.

I couldn't help but stare for a second; then Monica adds, "Yeah, and the first name on his list to kill is you, Duncan.  It would be nice if we could deliver him to Rose's group, whoever the hell they are.  'Sides, he's the same fuzzy slipper nut we met in Seacouver, who followed us here to Paris.  He's obviously not too tightly wrapped, and it'd be nice to have him out of our hair."

Not precisely the way I would have put it, but I agree with the sentiment.  (I ignore the unsubtle snerking noises coming from Richie at Monica's description of Fuzzy Slippers.) Only one slight problem.  "Can you remember how to get back where you left him?" If he's still there, I add to myself.

Monica nods.  "No problem; but I kinda doubt he'll still be there, he's got too many people running around.  They've probably released him already; we had to cut and run 'cause reinforcements butted in on us after we tied him up."

"Almost certainly," I agree, "but we have to check.  Maybe we can recapture him.  Come on."

I don't enjoy the fact that Monica has to lead us and expose herself, but she's the only one who can remember the route.  Rose just shrugs and shakes her head when Methos looks at her inquiringly.  Then he looks apologetic when I glare at him and Rose.  I'll have plenty to say to him after this, that's for damned sure.  It's bad enough that Rose was a Watcher and haring off all over, but to drag Monica into it with her-!!  Rose had no way of knowing Monica was pre-Immortal, and no business pulling a civilian into something as dangerous as this.  Even if said civilian was a detective and my girlfriend and had been contacted by this mysterious Watcher named Red.  Yeah, I know, I can't keep Monica wrapped up in tissue paper, but I was pissed, all right?  Everyone had been going behind my back on this little caper!

At least I don't have too much time to be brooding on unloading my opinion.  Monica is right, there are people running around all over.  We encounter two more batches in a short trip before plunging into a large conference room.  Two of Jean-Pierre's men take up rearguard duty at that entrance; Jeremy stays with them as the rest of us cautiously head towards the other door into the room.

Conclusion

(Want to see the previous stories again before going further?
Here are the first and second stories in the series.)

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