Steel and Lace
===========
* * *
She didn't even like guns.
The thought passed through the young woman's mind as her hand slipped expertly around the MP9. The cool grip of the weapon kissed her palm, and her lips thinned into a grim smile.
Her grasp hardening, she swung the firearm around, leveling it at the unwary trio hovering over the dining table, just a few feet away.
A finger tightened, sound exploded, and a man fell. Suddenly, she had their attention. Or, rather, it was the machine pistol that had their attention.
Amateurs, a part of her mind scoffed.
They should focus on the wielder of the weapon, to better predict what she'd do. It was human nature, however, to tunnel one's vision down to that black empty hole which so casually spit out death.
Nan hated guns.
* * *
* * *
"Jamie, no!"
The empty breath of her words lacked the substance needed to stop the bullets.
Bits of lead splattered into her friend's chest, and the force of the hit spun him around.
His shocked gaze found her disbelieving one, and the pain registered behind his eyes before his scream reached her ears. He fell.
A medic rushed to his side, but he was clearly beyond help.
She whipped around, weapon ready, and scanned the open spaces between marketplace and school, tracing the flight of their enemies. Cursing their luck, she allowed anger to chase away unshed tears. This was supposed to be a safe area, secured months ago! Obviously, the insurgents had not gotten the memo.
Amid the chaos of shrieking children and frantic parents, several of the attackers disappeared into a small building across the road. The barrel of a weapon in a window caught her eye, and she squinted at the shadows. Yes, there was a man right there, aiming in their direction.
She aimed carefully, glad her flyaway dark hair had been clipped short so as not to get in the way, and fired with her notoriously deadly accuracy. Just then, a blur of movement altered the images in the window. More screaming ensued, but it was drowned out by the burbling gasps of Jamie's last breaths.
She swore again. Dropping to her knees beside her friend, she tried to say goodbye.
Moments later, soldiers burst into the building, a family's home. They found the dead sniper, weapon beside him, in a small room - dusty, hot, claustrophobic. A woman was screaming in the corner, surrounded by several hysterical children.
Nan followed the other members of her team into the room, past the screaming woman and clinging children. Another small child was slumped, face down, across the body of the dead man. Scarlet bloomed across their sand-colored clothing. Dark liquid puddled under the motionless forms. Her shot had apparently pierced through both bodies, killing the shooter, along with the child who had somehow ended up between the man and her gun.
One of the translators patiently drew the story from between the woman's sobs. The strange men had rushed in, one positioning himself in front of the window. Her son had gotten in the way somehow, and the man had grabbed him, yelling something about human shields.
A couple of the soldiers glanced in Nan's direction with expressions of mixed sympathy and horror. Because no-one wanted kids to die, but sometimes it happened. They all knew someone it had happened to. Someone who had caused a child's death. Except.... It hadn't happened to them. It hadn't happened to her, either - until now. Bile rose in her throat, triggering her gag reflex, and she rushed outside.
To this day, the memory still had that effect. She wished it were similarly possible to purge the events of that day from existence.
* * *
* * *
Earlier that afternoon, she'd gotten back to the law office after lunch and tolerated being ordered around by the a bratty nephew of the man whose name topped the firm's letterhead. As an unpaid intern, she got the jobs nobody else wanted to do. She also had to put up with whatever crap her so-called superiors dished out. She hadn't envisioned her internship this way, and kept remembering her roommate's worried comment, "That place is draining the life out of you."
Her fingertips often retreated to her pocket, seeking out a small tortoise sculpture which had a cool solidity that relaxed her. Her art classes were a thing of the past, left behind when she'd abandoned art as a minor. She just had too much to keep up with. Sometimes, however, a form or shape would still catch her eye, and she'd find herself daydreaming of different techniques and mediums she could use to explore that concept.
She'd been distracted by just that kind of daydream on her way home. When she had pushed open the door of their apartment, nothing had seemed wrong. Pain had exploded in her head without warning. Blackness had shuttered her vision, but she had felt no intuition of danger.
Just like when Jamie was shot.
When her consciousness began to return, she was able to stay silent, motionless. Her head throbbed. She was lying on the cool tile floor, on her stomach, her shoulder and knee pressed against some furniture. A wave of nausea and dizziness washed over her, then subsided.
Had she been drugged? Voices penetrated her awareness and she listened intently.
"...you remind me again, why we didn't kill THIS one?"
"Shut up, jerk." The speaker paused, and something clattered to the floor. She heard a slight grunt of effort before the deep, male voice resumed. "OK, I've got the hard drive, so that about does it. Did you get all the discs?"
"Yeah, and we found the lipstick thumb drive in the blonde's purse, just like he said. But look..." The efficient, businesslike voice stopped. A soft thump sounded like something had been dropped on the table. "He didn't say anything about a laptop, and this case is empty. We haven't been able to find the laptop itself."
Laptop? Hers was back at the office tonight... Sofie didn't have a laptop, did she?
"Jack, you searched the car, right?"
"Of cour-"
Someone snorted. "For once, he did what he was supposed to, yes. And Pete double-checked, too, before we came up and he got -"
"What?! Pete checked up on me?" Jack protested loudly. "You guys never trust me to -"
"Shut up, moron," the other two voices interrupted in unison.
"Anyways, Pete told me he didn't find anything in the car either, although it looked like a pigsty. Guess we should search this one's car, too. Want me to go?"
"Hmm. No, I don't think so." There was a pause and a few footsteps. Nan's heart skipped a beat. This man who seemed to be the leader, he was thinking, and for some reason that scared her.
Was he looking at her now? She did her best to keep breathing steadily, but her heart was pounding. When he started talking again, she nearly gasped with relief. "We figured that our little femme Nikita would tell us everything she knew, and who she told. Too bad SOMEONE -"
"Ow! Hey!"
"- Someone, shot the hell out of her before she could even open her mouth."
Wait...! Shot - who? Who was this Nikita? A blonde, they said. Not her, then. Suddenly the long, wavy curls of her roommate's golden hair floated into her mind.
Surely not - ?
"Hey it was a natural reaction. Self defense! Wench comes up shooting at you, you’d shoot too! You saw what she did to Pete -"
"Shut UP, I said. What I think is this... The target had pictures of this one in her wallet and bedroom. Looks like most of their stuff is shared, except maybe - MAYBE - the beds themselves. I'll bet they were closer than most roommates..."
The loud one guffawed at the innuendo, and Nan's blood boiled. Why did people always assume - ! But her train of thought was interrupted when the leader resumed speaking.
"So... Maybe our smart Barbie shared some of her secrets with this one here, and if she did...."
"...Then she'll tell us when she comes to," finished the efficient one with confidence in his tone. "But I still say, Jack, if you hadn't killed the blonde in the first place, this would have been much easier and quicker."
At this point, Nan’s eyes flew open in spite of herself.
Killed - ? She stared, noting that she had been carelessly dumped against the bottom edge of the sofa. She was unrestrained, but with the symptoms she'd been feeling, her attackers must have dosed her with some drug. They must be depending on that to keep her sedated.
Looks like it's not working as well as it should... She lowered her lids partway, in case someone glanced in her direction.
The men were in the dining/work area, behind her, where the two roommates shared meals and the old PC they yearned to upgrade. Presumably the men’s backs were mostly to her, while their attention centered on the laptop case on the small dining table. She hoped. Nan’s hooded gaze flickered over what she could see. On the other side of the sofa which divided the large room, she could see the body of a man sprawled on the floor, blood congealing under his jacket. Between them, in the spacious gap underneath the couch, lay a good-sized gun.
The machine pistol - an MP9 Brugger, if she wasn't mistaken - was in easy reach, but she’d have to move her arm to get it. She prayed that nobody would be watching. She remembered handling an Uzi from those regrettable days of training to be in the gang, and she recalled the skills drilled into her by the military. Hopefully, using the Brugger wouldn’t be a problem. The man on the floor showed no signs of breathing. She couldn’t see Sofie anywhere, but given the men’s conversation, Nan tried to force herself to accept that her friend must be gone.
The scene played out in Nan’s mind. The men had come in – but how? - and Sofie had pulled out her little tiny gun, shooting one man. Must have been Pete –
good shot, Sofie – and when he fell, his gun ended up under the couch, neglected in the commotion. Then the hothead must have lost it and shot her, leaving them with no way to find out about the apparently missing laptop.
Ah, Sofie...
* * *
* * *
Nan had first met Sofina as college roommates, assigned to each other in an all-girls dorm. Sofie, as she made everyone call her, was always the lively, daring one. Analytic Nan had been content to observe from the sidelines. Their personalities had been so different, but the other girl had persevered in drawing Nan out of her protective shell casing. By the end of the first year, they had become so comfortable with each other that there was no question of changing roommates the next year.
Sofie always delighted in the smallest details she could dig up on her soft-spoken, apparently shy roommate, so intent on studying pre-law. Once, she discovered her new friend's given name. Forever after, she persisted in calling her "Nanette," declaring it suited her much better than plain "Nan." For a while, Nan had wondered uneasily if Sofie would find out more than she bargained for.
Somehow, Nan had managed to hide her shadowed past from Sofie's curious nature. She couldn't imagine the lighthearted blonde accepting Nan's adolescent participation in the world of drugs and gangs. She never shared with anyone details of those dark years. Even the stern yet compassionate judge - the one who had given her a second chance - never realized how deep her involvement had been, how close she had come to being the one holding the gun. After all, no-one else had survived to tell him. When the judge had allowed Nan the option of serving her country to avoid a criminal record, she'd grabbed at the offer like the lifeline it was. She threw herself wholeheartedly into mastering all the challenges military life could present, and had never looked back at her old life.
Sometimes the large tattoo on her arm, clear evidence to her of some unremembered illegal substance influencing her decision-making-ability, attracted attention. Usually, though, she was usually able to pass it off lightly. She'd roll her eyes at her "youthful indiscretions," and vow to get the tattoo removed when she could afford it. Before long, everyone would be discussing future alterations they would - or wouldn't - do to their own bodies.
Nan never mentioned her experience in the military either, if she could help it - she'd discovered that many veterans didn't talk much about it anyways, and she always felt guilty that her signing up hadn't been entirely voluntary. Besides, there had been too much - at the end - which she would rather forget. She also suspected that Sofie wouldn't be as boldly free-spirited around Nan, if she knew of her military service, born of a desperate attempt to turn her life around. Certainly, Sofie wouldn't have bounded into the apartment one day and announced that it was time for them to learn how to shoot.
"Shoot what? Cameras?" was Nan's first wild-eyed response.
"No, silly - guns! We females need to be able to protect ourselves!" Sofie ignored Nan's protests that there was no time, between her pre-law studies and her new internship in a respected law firm. Soon, Nan found herself dragged off to "gun lessons."
She worried how to hold the weapon, so as not to betray her former expertise. There had been no need for concern, though. The moment she laid eyes on the scrap of grey metal, miniscule compared to some of the hardware she'd once manipulated with ease, her hands began to tremble. She could barely keep the gun in her grasp, let alone make a decent shot. She tried to be more relieved than disappointed at her failure, and congratulated Sofie on successfully completing the course.
Naturally, Sofie then purchased a small, "handbag-sized" gun. Nan eyed the petite firearm with distaste and not a little alarm, but reassured herself that it was just to give her friend confidence. As long as she didn't actually try to use it, there would be no problem.
At any rate, Sofie was too busy to wonder much about her quiet roommate's past. At first, her studies in the theater had taken all her time, then Sofie's social life had expanded as others were attracted to her magnetic nature. When she wasn't rehearsing enthusiastically or flirting with another smitten would-be-lover, she flitted between jobs at cosmetics counters, fashion boutiques, jewelry stores, and lingerie specialty shops.
Nan’s roommate caught the eye of every male whenever she entered a room, warmly welcomed the respectful appreciation of any decently-behaved man, and flirted unashamedly with the unattached ones. Despite this, Sofie had a way with women that put them at ease, reassuring them she was no threat. She somehow managed to establish a sense of sisterly comradeship with even the homeliest of her sex. Everyone always ending up trusting her, sharing their secrets - a confidence which, apparently, Sofie took quite seriously, never once spilling the beans on someone else's private disclosures. Not even to her roommate.
Nan could only marvel at Sofie's personality, and the continued demand for her presence both at parties and at all the places she'd worked. It was no surprise to Nan when Sofie's studies suffered to the point that she dropped her coursework to pursue the other aspects of her life. Without much discussion, the two of them found that staying roommates with each other was infinitely preferable than finding new ones, so they moved to an off-campus apartment, and life went on as usual - for a while.
Then one evening, as Nan recovered from an afternoon of drudgery at the law firm, she realized that the man who dropped Sofie off, with an affectionate hug and an even more affectionate kiss, looked familiar. When she mentioned it, Sofie giggled. "I should hope so! He's only been coming by for, oh, the last three weeks or so!"
"Really?" Nan was shocked by her own inattentiveness. "I'm sorry, I hadn't noticed."
Sofie shook her finger in mock indignation. "You know, as a roommate, you're really falling down on the job. We're supposed to look after each other, but you're so wiped out from all that horrible law stuff, you have no idea what's going on under your own nose."
"Yeah, you're right." Nan patted the cushion beside her. "Come tell me all about this guy, and I'll let you know if he meets our high standards." The two friends spent some time laughingly analyzing the new man in Sofie's life, before Nan finally admitted that she approved.
Alone in her room, however, Nan felt guilty. She actually did feel a sense of responsibility towards Sofie, whose lifestyle seemed dangerously carefree to Nan's jaded eyes. She promised herself that she would pay better attention in the future. As long as they were roommates, she could look out for Sofie a little bit longer.
* * *
* * *
Now, it was too late to protect her fun-loving, free-spirited friend. Not too late, however, to avenge her, Nan thought. She eyed the gun under the couch with something like desire. She needed to act now, before the men checked up on her.
Decision made, she moved swiftly, easily, silently. She ignored little twinges of pain from the hit on her head, the fall, being dragged over the floor. She reached out smoothly to grasp the weapon.
She didn't even like guns.
The thought passed through her mind as her hand slipped expertly around the MP9. The cool grip of the weapon kissed her palm, and her lips thinned into a grim smile. She liked this one, she decided.
Her grasp hardening, she stood, bracing herself, and swung the firearm around, leveling it at the unwary trio who had invaded her life.
A finger tightened, sound exploded, and a man fell. She hoped it was Jack, Sofie's murderer. Suddenly, she had their attention. Or, rather, it was the machine pistol that had their attention.
Amateurs, a part of her mind scoffed.
They should focus on the wielder of the weapon, to better predict what she'd do. It was human nature, however, to tunnel one's vision down to that black empty hole which so casually spit out death.
She was glad of their distraction...
Keeping the gun trained on the intruders, Nan quickly surveyed the room. Two men lay on the floor, one beside the couch, another between the computer desk and dining table. Papers and folders littered the floor, and a canvas bag was partly filled with CD cases. A black leather case, just the size for a laptop, lay wrenched open on top of the table.
Propped up against the wall by the bedroom, another still form had collapsed into a partially sitting position. Red streaks down the wall traced the path the woman's body had taken as she'd slid to the floor. Most of her face was still intact, except her lower jaw where bone gleamed through ripped flesh. The filmy fabric of her blouse was mottled with dark scarlet stains. Blood had run down her arm, pooling around the small pistol which lay beside her limp hand.
Pretty, feminine, delicate... most people would have used those words to describe Sofie. Like the lacy underthings she liked to wear, or the bits of lace she'd sew into pockets or necklines or sleeve cuffs. Some people would have said fragile. They would have been right, or so Nan believed, given the circumstances.
Her eyes paused, taking in the slight, broken figure crumpled to the floor, then forced her gaze back to the two men still staring at the gun in her hand. She was aware of the freshly bleeding body of the man she'd shot, but he was unworthy of more than a glance. His body was still. He should be dead, Nan figured, considering where he'd been shot.
So much like Jamie. The broken bodies of the dead, the shattered souls of the living.
Why, she wanted to ask,
why did you kill her? But she had already learned the answer – someone thought Sofie had known something dangerous. They must have gotten her mixed up with someone else ... how pointless. There was no point in prolonging this, she thought, and pulled her mobile phone from her pocket. Only it wasn't her phone, it was the little tortoise sculpture, which dropped to the floor and shattered. The men took their chance and began to move their guns. She fired. A woman's screams filled her ears... she didn't recognize the voice as her own.
* * *
* * *
EPILOGUE
As it turned out, Nan had not known the reason for Sofie's death after all.
The police had come, the bodies had been removed.
She'd been questioned.
Most of the police had seemed sympathetic, but one detective in particular seemed to look at her with a bit more curiosity.
He found her later, in the motel room she'd rented for a while in order to escape the devastated apartment and its clean-up. He said he was off-duty. She was suspicious of his motives, but then again, he probably felt the same.
"Pretty impressive how you handled that Brugger," he remarked, between sips of coffee. "Especially considering how poorly you performed in that firearms training course you took with your roommate.” She glared at him, but he continued, unfazed. "I suppose, with your military training, it wasn't that different from the Uzi's your gang friends used. Wouldn't you agree?"
In the silence left by her gaping mouth, he filled in a few details.
Such as, Sofie's new boyfriend had been an internationally known criminal, wanted by Interpol, the FBI, and numerous intelligence organizations around the world.
Such as, Sofie had actually been an undercover agent, posing as the flighty college drop-out. Her latest assignment had been to trap that criminal, and she’d enticed him into a relationship. He had, unfortunately, discovered her deception, and the thugs at the apartment had been trying to remove all evidence she might have uncovered.
“You might be interested to know, we recovered her laptop,” the detective said. “The information there should be enough to bury the bastard who ordered her murder.”
She had died while doing the job she loved. She'd been prepared for the worst, even if she hadn't been able to prevent it. In point of fact, he added, Sofie had known Nan's background from the start, and had chosen her intentionally to be roommates.
"You sure know a lot," Nan remarked, after a silent, thoughtful pause.
"Yes, that's my job," acknowledged the off-duty detective, who seemed much more than a mere police detective.
"Well then... You know how I can get my hands on some recycled guns?"
She took some time off from everything, and melted a few guns down into unrecognizable lumps of metal. Then she quit her internship and began creating sculptures. The sculptures, made from melted-down, confiscated weapons, became increasingly popular, and her career took off. "Nanette's" admirers would always look for her signature: a tiny, delicate bit of lace, invariably incorporated into each final work of art.
Nan still doesn't like guns.
But these days, she finds she can work with them.
***
The End
***
03-17-2012
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