Book 2: Operation Detour
Episode 10
© by William Arthur HolmesFat White Eastern European
Riva never said much about her old boss, but Dobie can guess this is him, based on her description: “Fat White eastern European fuck with bad breath and glasses.”
“I recognize you,” says Dobie, “from the portraits plastered all over the Dynamo Center back in LA. You’re… what was it… Elroy Smith… with glasses.”
“Guilty as charged,” Serge admits with a laugh, but can’t hold the smile long. No one is allowed to know more than one identity of any operative.
Dobie will not survive the day.
Dobie looks out the window for Riva. Her beach chair has been knocked over and she is nowhere around. He knows the proper question should be, “Is she okay?” but what comes out of his mouth is, “Is Riva a Dynamo?”
Serge ignores this, moves in close and pulls Dobie’s swim trunks down past his knees.
“What the...?” the American shrieks and pulls away. “Are we back in grade school?”
Serge is incredibly strong for a middle-aged fat man. With one arm holding tight to Dobie, the Bulgarian steps out of his own shorts and prepares for its favorite pastime.
Dobie is saved by a woman’s scream from somewhere inside the house, followed by a man’s grunt. Then, two quick gunshots. Finally, a thud on the floor.
Serge shakes his head and releases Dobie. “What now?” he marches off, pantless, in the direction of the thud.
~ ~ ~
The room is well lit from the late afternoon sun. Riva has a clear line of sight as Serge comes through the doorway. She knows she can shoot him and be done with it but wants to savor it, like a cat toying with its victim. It’s what Serge himself would do.
Seeing him pantless, she winces. “Put some pants on, Serge! Does this have to be your entrance every time?”
“Works for me. It’s kind of my thing.”
“Well, your thing needs to be covered, or that’s the first thing I shoot. Now, drop your gun and kick it over here.”
He does as he is told and returns to the other room. He grabs his shorts off the floor, with Riva right behind him, and pulls them on. Turning back toward her, he puts his hands on his hips and says, “Now what?”
She sees Dobie sneaking up from behind her former boss but shakes him off like a pitcher shaking off her catcher. Serge looks over his shoulder and smirks before Riva waves the fat man into a chair by the front door.
“What have you done with Ludwig?” Serge asks.
“He’s dead in the other room.”
“Are you sure this time?”
“Judging by the hole in his forehead,” she says, “yes, I am sure. I took his advice and made the kill shot.”
Serge sits with his legs spread apart. Riva finds a bamboo chair across from him, and sits with her gun pointed at him. Serge is not wearing underwear and his privates are again exposed.
“Good God!” she shrieks in disgust and leaps out of her chair to find a sharper angle that keeps his private parts out of view. She finds and straddles another chair’s armrest.
He explodes into laughter. “You feign disgust but feel the need to straddle something.”
Making a face, she stands up and abandons the chair entirely. Looking at Dobie, she says, “I should just shoot him now.”
“Works for me,” Dobie quotes Serge. “Shoot him so we can get on with our lives.”
Serge leans back into his chair and says, “Your move, Riva. Finish what you started... for once.”
“Want me to shoot him?” Dobie offers.
Riva is tempted to let him but not everyone can handle killing someone. It puts a heavy load on the killer.
Serge has sunk deep into his chair.
Riva shakes her head, suddenly exhausted, and says, “You know what, Serge? I’m going to let you go… as proof that your... stink is off me. You have failed to turn me into your little protegé. Take Ludwig with you, and I never want to see you again!”
Dobie is clearly disappointed.
When Serge remains sitting – in disbelief – Riva adds, “Come on, get out of here and take Ludwig’s body with you. Or, stay in this bungalow. I don’t care. It’s paid up for the rest of the week, but Dobie and I are leaving.”
To Dobie, she says, “Come on, Axel... may I call you Axel? It’s so much cooler than Dobie.”
Dobie shrugs.
Keeping her gun trained on Serge, Riva stands in the doorway while Dobie goes in and makes sure Ludwig is still dead on the floor.
“Yep, still dead,” says Dobie.
In the driveway, they hop into the Perodua sedan – this one green and legitimately rented, not hijacked – and prepare to leave. Not knowing where Serge is now, they make it quick.
Riva gets in behind the wheel while Dobie rides shotgun. As they back out of the driveway, Serge comes barreling out the front door, gun in hand. Riva is not surprised but wonders where he found another gun.
“Probably keeps one tucked between his butt cheeks,” she says, and calmly picks up her gun. Dobie is digging through the glove box, unaware of Serge. She wonders what he is looking for but there is no time to ask.
He is leaning forward already, so she pushes him forward and down, out of harm’s way. Slamming the car into Park, she leans over, on top of him, and sticks her gun out through his open window.
Serge sees her and darts to his right. They fire off several shots in each other’s direction.
~ ~ ~
I can’t see a thing. I just hear shots and stay down. Riva has thrown herself on top of me. There are a few more shots and the sound of bullets penetrating the windshield. From which direction, I don’t know.
Riva then slumps like dead weight on my back.
“Oh, hell no!” I shout and crawl out from under her. Staying out of Serge’s line of fire, she is in my arms. I turn her over to face me.
Her head tilts back sickeningly, revealing a bloody gash at her left temple. There’s another bloody wound at her shoulder and she has dropped her gun to the floorboard.
I look over the edge of the car door, looking for him, hoping he’s dead in the driveway. No such luck.
Serge has killed the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, I think, with her still in my arms, coming to grips with the fact that Riva is dead.
I am picking her gun up off the car floor when Serge shows his face through the open driver’s side window. He is having difficulty breathing. He must have caught a bullet.
I raise Riva’s gun and pull the trigger twice. I see blood, and the bastard drops out of view.
I prop Riva up behind the wheel as gently as I can. She slumps against the door, but I leave her there and crawl out the passenger door.
It’s not long before I find Serge sprawled out on the driveway. He is, for all appearances, dead. Finally.
I bend down and check his pulse. Not feeling one, I wonder if I’m doing it right.
“You better be dead!” I shout at him.
A woman’s voice behind me is now speaking. Without turning toward her – afraid to take my eyes off Serge – I ask, “What did you say?”
“Is there a pulse?” the woman says weakly.
I feel his neck again for a pulse. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
“Then he’s dead.”
I finally turn toward the voice, expecting a local woman crazy enough to come toward the melee instead of running away. What I see is Riva, still in the car, eyes open, leaning against the door with her head halfway out the window.
“You’re alive!” I shout, stand up, and move toward her.
“Yes,” her voice is hoarse but gaining strength as she tries to right herself.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” I say.
She nods, trying to swallow, “But first, I need to know something.”
“Anything. What?”
“Is it true that I am the best thing that has ever happened to you?”
“Did I say that out loud?” I ask.
She nods.
I have no energy left for anything but complete honesty. “You are, yeah.”
She smiles, exhausted, and motions for me to get closer. On my knees now, we’re face to face.
“Kiss me…” she smiles weakly. I do as I’m told, and she says, “Now get me to the nearest hospital!”
“So bossy!” I tease.
She tries to punch me in the shoulder but has no strength and collapses into my arms.