Gin joints

Stan felt a of rush of déjà vu standing on the tarmac with Pauley, only this time he was holding her hand, not carrying her, drugged and unconscious, onto a plane.

“A lot different from the last time, huh?” Pauley liked to tease Stan about his part in her involuntary exile with her mother and newly discovered father – Stan’s former boss and organization kingpin.

“You know why I did that,” Stan stiffened. “I had little choice, but I knew you’d be safe with Butch and Gail, even if Butch had lost his friggin’ mind.”

Pauley squeezed Stan’s hand with both of hers. smiling “I know, and I forgive you.”

“You two should just get a room,” Millicent sounded bored. “Oh, I forgot, you already did.”

Pauley let go of Stan’s hand and put her arms around Millicent’s shoulder.

“Don’t be jealous Auntie Millie, I still love you too.”

Lenore snorted, not bothering to cover her laughter.

Millicent shrugged off Pauley’s hug. “Did you get the money and jewelry?”

Handing Millicent a leather satchel filled with assets rescued from her home and store, Lenore turned then handed Stan a folded newspaper.

“We made the news,” she said. “It says that Tomas and two of his crew fled the city after the shootings. The in-fighting for control is destroying the Sampas cartel.”

“And the fires?” Pauley took the paper from Stan and flipped through the pages. “Oh, here we are.”

A small article, buried deep inside the local section, mentioned fires at the home and boutique of a local businesswoman. No bodies were recovered, but Vivian Alves, her housekeeper, and young shop assistant were all presumed dead.

After reading the articles, Millicent refolded the paper then tucked it inside the satchel. “Neatly handled Stanley, I’m impressed.”

“I do have some skills,” he said. “It’s time to go. You call me when you and Millicent land.”

Pauley kissed Stan good-bye, promising to say hello to her parents for him.

“I won’t be gone long, just enough to get Millie settled and explore Casablanca with her.”

Before joining Pauley on the plane, Millicent Stingely, in an uncharacteristic moment, hugged Stanley.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me, and thank you for Paulette.” Millicent stepped away to then pull Lenore into a brief embrace. “Good luck.”

Straightening, she turned abruptly and strode to the waiting Gulfstream.

“That was unexpected,” Stan was visibly shaken.

Lenore waved at a smiling Pauley, who was watching them from her window seat aboard the plane.

“Senhorita Millicent will always be a mistério.” Lenore said. “I hope to see her again some day.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Stan waved at Pauley too, then blew her a kiss. “Our plane is here, You ready?”

Digging in her bag, Lenore pulled out a green ball cap, and shoved it on her head. “Go Jets!”

*The final chapters in the latest adventure of Pauley and Millicent (aka Vivian), and their Brazilian Job. To read more about these two killer ladies, begin with “Dead Money.” The second chapter in this week’s installment is “Best Friend,” written by published author, Lance Burson.

A game we play

*Catch up with the adventures of Pauley and Millicent, beginning with “Dead Money.” This week, read Lance’s chapter first, “Shake it Out,” then come back here for the second installment.

Stan and Lenore watched as Pauley and Millicent walked out to the porch. Millicent’s arm protectively hooked around her friend’s elbow.

Pauley was laughing. “You know, there really is a Rick’s Café in Casablanca, just like in that old Bogart movie. There’s even an authentic 1930’s Pleyel there.”

Releasing Pauley’s arm, Millicent sat on the porch bench, “You know I don’t play the piano.”

“A senhorita Millicent quer um fogo grande,” Lenore said over her shoulder as she started climbing the stairs.

Stan reached up and grabbed for her elbow, ducking when she threw it back with bone-breaking force.

“Sorry, I won’t do that again, but Lenore, I don’t understand a single word of Portuguese.”

Lenore, nodded, acknowledging Stan’s apology. “I am sorry too, I do not like to be touched. Miss Millicent wants a fogueira, ummm…. bonfire.”

Raising his hands, palms up, Stan gestured for Lenore to proceed him up the stairs. “Then, we should bring down the deadwood.”

Lenore stripped the covers off the beds upstairs to wrap the bodies in, making it easier to dragged them down the stairs.

Picking up an end of one of the blankets, Stan started pulling his bundle down the hallway with Lenore following with a second one. At the head of the stairs, they kicked them down, watching as they tumbled, coming to rest beside their former boss.

Stan sat on the top step, scooting over so Lenore could join him.

“I’m impressed with your work,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. “I could use someone like you in my organization.”

Lenore frowned, but didn’t answer.

“Working for me would be nothing like the Sampas,” he continued, watching the play of emotions across Lenore’s face. “You’d be more like a freelancer, like your own boss. I have certain jobs I need done. You take the contract or turn it down. It’s up to you.”

Lenore crossed her arms over her knees, biting the inside of her bottom lip.

“There is no punição, no… umm…” Lenore struggled for the right word, instead pulled up the back of her shirt to show Stan her scars.

“Oh, hell no!” Stan sat up suddenly, reaching out but not touching Lenore’s back. “No! That would never happen. I respect my crew, and treat them well.”

“I could leave when I wanted?” Lenore straightened her shirt. “I could turn down any job you asked?”

Leaning forward so he was again sitting next to Lenore, Stan tentatively held out his hand. “I tell you what, Pauley and I will find you a nice place to live in New York. I’ll put you on my payroll, and you don’t have to do anything. Then, once you feel settled, I’ll offer you a few jobs, take them if you want, or not. Your choice.”

“I will not take your money for nothing,” Lenore said.

“Once we get to New York, we’ll figure out something for you to do,” Stan kept his hand out.

“You will find me a real job?” Lenore held out her hand too.

“Yes, even if it’s just teaching me Portuguese so if Pauley swears at me, I’ll know what she’s saying.”

Lenore smiled and grabbed Stan’s hand. “Sim, it is a deal.”

“Do you two want to be alone,” Pauley stood at the foot of the stairs, smiling up at Stan and Lenore.

Stan stood, still holding onto Lenore’s hand, and helped her to her feet.

“We’re done,” Stan said. “Lenore is joining us in New York.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Pauley embraced Stan as he reached her. “I see you brought down the trash. Oh, by the way, we think Danela took off. One less problem to deal with.”

Between the three of them, Lenore, Stan and Pauley removed the dead bodies from Millicent’s house as she directed them to the fire pit she and Pauley built.

“Lenore, will you stay out here with me?” Millicent watched as the flames took hold, flickering and raising a plume of white smoke. “We need to talk before we say our goodbyes.”

Stan and Pauley walked hand in hand to Lenore’s dented car.

“Millie wants to go to Morocco,” Pauley leaned against the fender, watching the other two women at the bonfire. “I think that’s a good place for her. Far enough away, but still cosmopolitan enough. I want to go too for a little while. Maybe check in with Gail and Butch.”

“You’ll come back to New York, right?” Stan sat on the car hood.

“Of course,” Pauley leaned in close, putting her arm around his waist. “It’ll be good to have Lenore there too. You’ll need the extra help, since I’ll want to take an extended leave… in a few months.”

She left her last words trail off.

Stan turned to stare at her, then drew her in for a celebratory kiss.

With a little help from my friends

Lenore squealed the tires of her sedan taking a sharp curve. Accelerating through the apex she drove straight for the Angels Trumpet covered wall surrounding Vivian’s complex. In the front seat, Pauley braced for impact, doing her best to brake from the passenger’s side. Stan, pressed back into his seat, covered his face with both arms.

The car slammed through a hidden gate in an explosion of yellow blossoms, and splintered wood.

“Damn, Lenore!” Pauley was the first to recover. “A little warning next time.”

Skidding to a stop at the rear entrance to Vivian’s house, the trio exited the car in unison. Having popped the trunk with the latch under the dash, Lenore raced to the back of the car as Stan opened his gun case, tossing each of the women a weapon.

“We can forget catching them by surprise,” Stan said, grabbing extra ammo clips. “Where to first Lenore?”

“The noise not slow Sampas down,” Lenore slid back the chamber on her Glock, satisfied with the loud click. “They will hunt Vivan and Danela until we stop them.”

Pauley tucked her clip into the back of her pant’s waistband, then made sure her own Walther p22 was loaded. “I told Viv to get into the house crawl space. We need to find her, now.”

Stan filled his pockets with extra clips and followed the women to the back of the house, each searching for signs of Tomas and his men. Their urgency ruled out stealth, rushing forward with little regard for giving away their arrival.

Making their way around the house, Lenore led them toward the entrance beneath the porch. Peering under the railing Pauley saw the back door off its hinges, the jamb shattered by gunfire. Grabbing the back of Lenore’s shirt, she also turned to Stan getting his attention.

“They’re in the house,” Pauley’s voice a fierce growl. “Lenore and I will go in, you follow the lattice around to the basement opening. Look for Viv.”

Lenore and Pauley backtracked to the stairs while Stan moved around the edge of the house. Entering the kitchen, one after the other, the women stayed in a crouch, moving carefully, and this time quietly.

Seeing Marco’s lifeless body on the floor, a red bloom at his temple, Pauley scanned the living room from behind the settee. Lenore, knelt by the stairs, listening for movement above them.

Holding up two fingers, Lenore pointed the barrel of her gun toward the ceiling, telling Pauley Tomas’ men were on the second story. Slipping around the banister, Lenore stayed low, her gun held ready but tight to her side. Pauley followed, her back to Lenore.

Inching up the stairs, the women were hyper-alert. Still running on her adrenaline high from her earlier hit, Pauley tingled with anticipation. When Lenore reached the top of the stairs, she signaled for Pauley to follow her down the hall to the last bedroom.

They could hear the two men rummaging through the room, tossing the mattress and trashing the closet. Peering around the door frame, Lenore could see where each man was, and motioned for Pauley to stay low. On either side of the bedroom doorway, the women remained silent, but a charge of electricity ran between them, as if they were linked in thought and action.

From her position, Lenore took aim at the man in the closet, and Pauley bore down on the one rifling through an armoire looking for valuables to steal. Holding up three fingers of her left hand, Pauley folded each one slowly into her fist. Firing from her knees, Pauley’s kill shot severed her target’s spine. Standing at the same moment, Lenore fired over Pauley’s head, hitting her mark between the eyes as he turned toward the first shot, her bullet ricocheting around inside his skull. Both men hit the floor at the same time.

Before the two Sampas took their last breath, Lenore and Pauley were running for the stairs, hoping to find Vivian and Stan before Tomas did.

*Catch up with the adventures of Pauley and Vivian, beginning with “Dead Money.” The second chapter in this week’s installment is “Bully,” written by published author, Lance Burson.

Crawling in the dark

The scene was chaos. Three men lie dead on the sidewalk, and a bystander wounded but alive. A trail of blood ended at the street where Tomas’ men rushed him away from the mayhem.

Stan watched from across the street. Sirens wailing, but not able to cut through the crowd. He was surprised that more people hadn’t fled from the carnage.

A few of the stragglers were Sampas crew, scanning the area for the shooters. Shielding his eyes against the sun, he looked over his shoulder to the roof top where he was only minutes before. A shadow fell across his face when a crew member leaned over the edge. A loose brick, the one that threw off Stan’s aim, broke free and tumbled to the ground.

Jumping out of its way, he took it as a sign to find Pauley and Lenore. Turning away, he forced his way through the crowd, trying to follow the flow of the others finally moving out of the area.

The polícia and ambulância arrived, stirring the mob to clear away from the casualties. While the attention was on the fallen, Stan looked back once then took off in a slow run.

He had only gone a few blocks when the traffic thinned out and he could resume a normal pace. A dark sedan, with heavily tinted windows, parked across the street drew his attention. A door opened a fraction, and he crossed over to slip into the back seat.

Inside Pauley sat slouched in the front passenger seat talking on her cellphone, and a stoic Lenore was behind the wheel.

“I don’t know what went wrong, but he’s coming for you.” Pauley’s voice was raspy and tense. “He’s hurt, and he’s pissed off.”

Stan couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but guessed she was warning Vivian Tomas was coming for her.

“Lenore thinks at least two are with him, and he has a five-minute lead on us.” Pauley sat up slightly as Lenore pulled away from the curb. “We’re on our way, just get under the porch crawl space and wait for us.”

Running her fingers through her disheveled hair, Pauley was on the verge of panic. “Don’t do anything stupid, we’re coming! Millie, goddamnit! You can’t take on three of them alone. I can’t keep saving your ass! If you screw this up, if you can’t wait for me, that’s it. You’re on your own, and I’m gone for good.”

Turning in her seat, her eyes pleaded with Stan for help. He knew Pauley was scared and desperate if she was reverting to Vivian’s real name.

Pauley jumped when she heard a crashing noise on the other end of the call.

“Millie? Millie!”

Pauley threw the offending phone in the backseat when Vivian hung up, burying her head in her hands.

Lenore took advantage of the sparse traffic to race through town toward Vivian’s estate.

“Você deve permanecer calmo para ajudar a senhorita Vivian.” Lenore’s fingers white from gripping the wheel, her jaw clinched in anger. “We will be there in two minutes. Do not worry, I will kill Tomas with my own hands if I have to.”

Spread out in the back seat, Stan ran scenarios through his mind, trying to decide their best approach to the house.

“Did you bring the handgun case Lenore?” Stan sat up, leaning between the front seats. He grasped one of Pauley’s hands. She squeezed his fingers in response, looking out the side window without saying anything.

Lenore nodded, but remained silent.

“We’ll each take a gun and an extra clip.” Stan thumped his fist against his forehead, trying to think. “Our advantage will be knowing the layout of the house and grounds.”

*Catch up with the adventures of Pauley and Vivian, beginning with “Dead Money.” The second chapter in this week’s installment is “In for the Kill,” written by published author, Lance Burson.

Judgment Day

Marco’s intel proved invaluable. The Sampas were convening an Encontro, they had much to discuss. All the crew bosses would be there, all Tomas’ sergeants, his major and minor crew members. It was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel.

Pauley and Stan took advantage of Vivian’s terra cotta roof, practicing walking across the slanted tiles. She also taught Stan a few colorful words in Portuguese when she slid down the edge on their first day of rehearsing.

Once they got the intricate dance timing perfected, the duo mapped out targets with Lenore.

“Tomas will be surrounded by lessor crew members,” Lenore spread out photos of potential hits. Separating out several men, Lenore stabbed each one with a burgundy nail. “These are the one’s Marco said were key, the ones Tomas relies on the most, and also distrusts the most.”

Pauley studied the photos, committing the faces to memory.

Stan sat in the living room, where he could still listen to the women’s conversation while he loaded rifle magazines with ball ammo. He finally agreed to Pauley’s insistance they keep the hit as clean as possible. They worked well as a team, they could make the shots and clear the roof under cover of the chaos.

Lenore would be waiting in the alley to take their guns, and the trio would go in separate directions, blending into the panicked crowd. Lenore could disappear through the back streets, using her old contacts to shield her until they could meet back at Vivian’s house.

Vivian hung back, watching their planning, but not willingly participating. Instead, she made sure her work tools were in order, and her deadly toxins mixed and ready.

“I could go in, pass through the dining room, a drop here, a stick there, and it would be over and done.” Vivian threw out the comment, not addressing anyone in particular. “There would be no blood, no… what did you call it, Stan? Collateral damage.”

Lenore gathered up the photos and carried them to Stan, leaving Pauley and Vivian in the kitchen.

“Viv, we’ve gone over this.” Pauley sighed, rubbing her temples. “Yes, your way is neater, quicker, but the hits make a bigger statement. Sampas don’t poison, it’s not macho.”

“That’s fine,” Vivian turned away. “I’ll be prepared when – not if, but when – I need to go in a finish this job.”

The next morning, before sunrise, Stan climbed to the roof of the building across from the restaurant and got into position, assembling their weapons. An hour later, just as the sky began to lighten, Pauley joined him. Taking position behind the roof wall, they waited.

Below, Lenore watched. Stan and Pauley would need cover and speed. They would pass off the rifle components to her, then Pauley would leave through the back of the alley, escaping through an unlocked door of an adjacent store. Stan, unknown in the city, would vanish into the crowd around the front of the restaurant, melding into the patrons exiting after the shooting ends.

Using hand signals, Stan gestured to Pauley as the Sampas gathered outside the opposite building. Once they had eyes on their four targets, Pauley took aim.

As Pauley’s first shot blossomed between the eyes of Tomas’ first sergeant, she moved with practised ease to her next position. A split-second later Stan’s target fell to the pavement, a red strain spreading across his chest.

By the time he hit the ground, Pauley’s second shot shattered the jaw of a third crew boss, his blood showering panicking patrons trying to escape the carnage. Stan moved into position for his last shot -Tomas. Pauley was already moving off the roof.

Placing the cross-hairs of his scope on Tomas’ left eye, at ground level the cartel boss grabbed a waitress struggling to break out of the crowd, pulling her in front of him.

Stan pulled the trigger just as Tomas ducked behind the girl. His bullet tearing open her shoulder. The bullet passed through also hitting its intended target, but only wounding him.

Stan couldn’t wait for another shot. He had to get off the roof. Tomas’ men had surrounded their leader, pushing their way away from the scene into a waiting car.

Lenore took the rifle from Stan when he reached street level. “Something’s wrong,” she said.

“Tomas,” Stan slapped the brick wall. “I wounded him, but… gaddammit! He got away.”

“You go,” Lenore pushed Stan toward the front of the alley. “We all meet back at Vivian’s house. She will finish this.”

*Catch up with the adventures of Pauley and Vivian, beginning with “Dead Money.” The second chapter in this week’s installment is, “Seether,” by published author, Lance Burson.

Deadman walking

“Compajaf.”

A name that could make grown men tremble. A place so wicked, so evil even the harshest mother would never utter it to force her crianças to behave.

Compajaf prison, more a medieval dungeon than modern facility, housed the most heinous of Brazilian criminals. Functioning toilets were nonexistent, food was scarce and putrid, medical care was a rare luxury, rainwater poured in through gaping holes in the roof, and cells were crammed with three times as many inmates as there were cots. Prisoners died from disease as often as homicide.

Violence and death were a given among the prisoners and guards. Female visitors were subjected to body searches and in worst cases, rape. The prison director admitted he manipulated the poor conditions to his advantage to keep rebellion at bay.

Had Artur been anyone else, he would have been sent to a local detention center for his petty drug charge. The Sampas were using him to keep control over Marco and his girlfriend Danela, Artur’s sister.

Now, Marco was off grid and regarded a dangerous liability. Artur was to be made an example of what could happen because of disloyalty.

Over the last several days Artur was prey to Sampas crew members in the prison. At first it was only intimidation, then minor physical attacks escalating into death threats. He didn’t have anything left of value to bribe the guards to get a warning to Danela.

There was no where to hide inside, no safe corner to retreat. Artur couldn’t tell who was Sampas or who just had murder on his mind. He was a Deadman walking and he knew it.

He lingered only as long as required during meals, secreting the least offensive morsel inside his shirt to eat later. He stood with his back to the wall when out in the yard, staying in sight of the tower guards. He kept his head down and didn’t speak to anyone unless necessary.

There were no bed checks, no lights out. Guards only noticed him the next morning because of the flies. Artur was sitting under the lone tree in the prison yard. Bark stripped from the trunk, limbs bare save for a few scrub leaves at the top of the highest branches, he looked like he was asleep.

Clearing the immediate area, an armed protetor toed at Artur’s extended legs with his boot. When he fell over in the dirt, his eyes milky in death, and a crude shank embedded several inches in his neck, the alarm was sounded. The other inmates were herded back to their cells, and the prison went on lockdown.

In town, a dark sedan drove by a trendy boutique owned by an American woman. The closed sign on the door was an annoyance, but not a deterrent. The passenger called the cell number of a clerk who worked at the shop, sending her a recent photo of her brother. No text was enclosed, but the message was clear.

*Catch up with the adventures of Pauley and Vivian, beginning with “Dead Money.” The second chapter in this week’s installment is, “Great Expectations,” by published author, Lance Burson.

**Photo venue: Fort Pickens, Gulfshores National Seashore, Pensacola, FL

Up on the roof

The roof had an odd pitch to it, making it a challenge but not impossible to walk across. Stan kept his hand on Pauley’s back, claiming he was helping steady her, but really he liked that he could feel the heat of her body through her silk blouse.

He worried that the steep angle would make it difficult to find a suitable shooting vantage point. When they reached the middle of the roof, it flattened out at the spot where they would get their best view of the restaurant entrance. A low wall provided cover, while cut outs for rain runoff were like crenels, the perfect notch for concealing sniper rifle barrels.

Standing back from the edge, out of view from pedestrians at street level, Pauley and Stan still had a clear view of their target. Watching the coming and goings of the restaurant patrons, Pauley worried about collateral damage. The traffic was thick at breakfast time.

The plan was to take out key crew bosses, making it appear the cartel was under seige from within. That may mean innocent people get in the line of fire. That possibility was niggling at Pauley. Despite her chosen profession, she prided herself on being meticulous. Until this job, there was never an unintented victim. That could change, and it troubled her.

Stan, always the pragmatist, recognized sometimes people other than the target could get killed. It made a hit more difficult when shooting into a crowd, but for this job it would also make the biggest impact. They wanted public reaction to be severe. A dead drug lord was ignored, a dead mother was not.

For the next hour, Stan and Pauley changed vantage points, scoping out the best firing line, and testing out escape plans. Once they made their shots, they would have mere seconds to get off the roof and away from the scene. Stan planned to create enough mayhem with the hits, that they could use the panic as some level of cover.

Back at street level, Pauley took Stan to Cafe’ Suplicy, her favorite coffee shop from her first day in Sao Paulo.

Sitting in silence while the server brought their drinks, Pauley broke the spell first.

“I wish I had more time to plan the hit, but we need to act quickly before Vivian tries to do it all on her own,” Pauley blew on her coffee, then took a tentative sip.

A black coffee drinker, Stan didn’t wait for his cup to cool, enjoying the thick aroma from the dark roasted beans.

“I don’t think you could find a better spot if the restaurant is your focal point.” He took another deep drink, waiting for Pauley.

“I don’t like how busy it is, we could get through-and-throughs, hitting other patrons,” she hid behind her cup, knowing what Stan will say. “It’s times like this that I might prefer Vivian’s method. Up close and personal, with little chance of overlap.”

“I get the impression that’s what she likes about it too,” Stan suppressed a shudder. “She wants to see their faces, wants to see that flash of realization from them.”

Pauley didn’t stop herself from shivering at that thought. “We better get back to Vivian’s shop, she and Lenore should have the info they wanted by now.”

Stan didn’t ask Pauley how the other two women planned to get Marco to give up Sampas secrets. Some things even he didn’t want to know.

*Catch up with the adventures of Pauley and Vivian, beginning with “Dead Money.” The second chapter in this week’s installment is, “I’m Not an Angel,” Lance.