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<center>Agent Billy Jean Monticue</center>
<center>http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...otherfamek.jpg</center>
<center>Deep, deeper than sleep
Like death,
Too rich in it's decrescence, too close of breath,
In the fast-filling night, note
How the last bird drinks darkness with its throat,
How the wild saplings slip
Backward to darkness, go black
With widening amnesia, take the edge
Of nothing to them slowly, merge
Limb, tongue, and sinew into a knot
Like chaos, like the road
Ahead.
- The Swamp, a poem by Derek Walcott -</center>
<font color="#FFCC00" size="1">[ September 14, 2005 05:16 AM: Message edited by: zodiacupuncture ]</font>
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"I'm taking it, Rafferty. Ain't no way in hell you are telling me I'm not, either." Billy's face was pure sincerity. No budging would happen here and Rafferty knew that.
"Fuck, fine. Take it. I'll give the Richards case to Johanson and Davids." Rafferty had promised both of them the Franzetti case, but knowing Billy long enough to know when she wouldn't back down had him handing over the manila folders to the woman opposite of him.
Billy Jean had important roles to fill as a woman but that wasn't on her agenda anymore. Everyone saw the change in Billy, saw how ghostly her smiles were, ever since Jackson's murder. None ever thought she would regain that charm she once ran with.
And Billy agreed with them all.
"Rafferty, you're not going to be sorry. It's an easy case, anyways. A week, tops. Don't see myself being in ..." Pausing, she opened the folder. "... Rhydin that long. What kind of place is it?" While Rafferty began to tell her all about the crazed land of Rhydin, Billy flipped through the files on one Maria Franzetti. Piece of cake, she thought.
The job was specific: Find Mrs. Maria Franzetti and bring her back to New York for questioning. The woman was up for being a suspect in the Mr. Franzetti case. Man and his seemingly mistress found shot dead in the head in their beds. Maria had taken off right after. The warrant for her arrest was still out for missing court dates, and honestly, a woman like this Maria couldn't be hard to find.
Though there were bigger plans underneath all of it. Billy had a right to take this case for a simple reason: Revenge.
The saying "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" was imprinted in Billy's veins. It had been two years since Jackson's murder had been closed. Billy knew better. The bullshit they said about some young punks taking him out didn't flatter her, nor did it make sense.
"You leave in the morning, Monticue. I want calls on the hour of what's going on. If the local PD gives you shit down there, you fucking tell them to call me. I don't want you there long, you hear me, Billy?" When the chief used your first name it was rare. When he used it to Billy it meant he was acting on a strict father figure basis. One of his pudgy fingers was pointing at her. "I don't like what I've heard about the shit that goes on there, and the thought of you by yourself ain't high on my things for me to be happy about."
Billy snicker somewhere inside herself, though didn't dare do it in front of her superior. "Yes, sir. I'll be back before you know it. Try not to miss me, ok?" Rafferty snorted at Billy's childish expression that she only pulled out for him.
"All right, get out. Go get packed. Six a.m. sharp, Monticue. Set your alarm. I'll get Davids to drive y--" Billy was quick to hold a hand up and interrupt him.
"Won't need it. I'll drive, leave my car at the airport. I hate how Davids drives. Plus, fucker thinks it's cute to call me "beautiful" when we're alone."
"Fine. Call me when you get there, Monticue." A cigar was shoved between the chief's lips. He began to puff away at it until he noticed Billy was staring down at the manila folders in her lap. "What?" Asked with a sneer. It was gone in an instant when he knew what she was thinking. "Billy, Billy now ain't a time to be thinking about Ja--"
"Don't. Just... don't." Waving a hand at him and the smoke that was crawling her way. "I'll call you tomorrow when I get in." Billy was moving out of the chair and from the office with her long legged stride.
Two years, and it was still hard to hear other people say his name.
-
No one had prepped Billy on the safety of coming to this place called Rhydin.
No one had told her that queers, steers and beers all lived here. And all spoke, for that matter. There was winged people and beasts with sirens voices, animals that wrote songs and children that aged faster than Robin Williams in that movie, Jack. From rumors, men got pregnant and most werewolves were gay that wore a lot of glitter and found sex in public places romantic.
Billy seemed a lot more weak now that she was here than she felt when she was in New York. New York was a scary damn place, too. Muggers, rapists, murderers. Though she would give anything to be back within her loft, hearing gun shots outside than finding the local bars around here harboring six year olds that knew how to use condoms.
In her searching she had found plenty of information, though. It was as easy as one, two, three. Elias and Thorn were two of the first people she met, and was happily surprised they didn't sprout more limbs than her and spoke english.
Thorn was a woman that Billy liked for a couple of reasons. She was reminded of herself in a sense. Casual, sexy, blissfully living life with a sunshine smile. Elias was an artist and had knighted Billy with the customed nicname of "Pinstripes". She would guess it was from her business attire she was seen in often. His hands were smudged in charcoal and he had a handsome grin when he wanted to show it.
Both Elias and Thorn had given her the details of the Honky Tonk, a place where supposively Maria Franzetti frequented with her new beau, Ace.
Billy found it ironic that she was hunting a woman who more than likely murdered her husband and not only a few years later was cozying up with a new stud, while as Billy hadn't touched the flesh of a man in those past two years since Jacksons murder.
The hotel the chief had stationed her in wasn't glamourous, and it sure as hell wasn't home sweet home in any sense. It was a large room with the neccessities to live: Bathroom, television, and a queen sized bed. The room service was horrible and Billy had to take random adventures out on the town to find a decent meal. Joe's Crab Shack down the way wasn't too bad, but the mexican food down near the local bar had great machaca burrito's.
One great thing about the hotel room was it was fifteen stories up and over looked a good chunk of this Rhydin place. Where the wildlife was everywhere and the lights reminded her of home. Home-home, as in Mississippi. Cool breezes and quiet nights with the off shot that fireflies were courting in the small garden below.
The patio was big enough for Billy to stretch out. Once coltish and slightly misproportioned, she had blossomed as her mother would say, into a beautiful woman with the eyes of autumn and the sharpness of a shark. Though, then again, she sure as hell wasn't no "America's Next Top Model" in any case.
She smoked too much when she started thinking. The grey lines of monoxide drifted away from her finger tips as she sat in the dark, paled only in comparison to the moon. Billy found her process of theories came better to her when she was alone, which she was a majority of the time, now. Alone and bitter, shoving the woman she used to be away and rebuilding herself into a machine.
Though she always thought on one thing more often then naught. It was horrifying and sometimes dangerous for her to be by herself, when she remembered it like it was yesturday.
The murder of Blair Jackson.
-
"Fuck!" Billy threw the file of Jack Quinn at the wall. Aggrevated and past the effort of keeping her cool in. Trying to damage anything of him, which could only be done with the photo's and written statements of him.
Jack Quinn was a man. Through and through. He reminded her of the beginning of Jackson. The egotistical charm and the wolfish smiles that just wouldn't leave until burned into memory, until it was there when you woke up in the morning, in your face and kissing you across sloping shoulders and murmering sweet nothings to an ear.
She hated him because he got under her skin where she thought she was impenetrable. Two years spent creating a cocoon of rock hard skills and emotions that just were empty, hollow things. Destroyed when masculine touch was bled to her. Forceful. Dominant. Unintimidated and fashionably against the policy of her stoic expressions. He knew she liked it, so he pressed harder, trying to break her.
She had wanted information on the Figgs Brothers. The bastards that she knew, for a damn fact of instinct, killed Jackson. This man from the bayou knew where she could find them. Did he tell her? Absolutely not. Games were meant to be played and he played them well.
He got even further beneath her skin than she thought could possibly exist since Jackson.
Now home, in the sanctuary of being alone, she threw oaths at the top of her lungs. Let it out because the walls wouldn't tell on her. This is where she could break down and cry, and none would see. Because she was in fact, alone.
Cigarette was lit with shakey hands. So much had happened in so few days, and her week of being here was approching. There was a list of things to be done yet she couldn't do them.
Jack had told her where the brothers were, though now her deal was to write up the premit record for Maria, making it less guilty than the woman truely was. This woman who couldn't leave with Billy due to a crackle of turbulance that led to a shoot out at the Honky Tonk. Primary witness her ass.
And this brute, Ace, Maria's knew beau, wasn't going to be letting that woman out of his sight anytime soon. Jack, even, was looking out for the woman like she was the butter to his bread. Salvation to his sin. Bitch.
Pulling down more smoke into her lungs, Billy looked over the railing of her balcony and narrowed eyes to the street. That bayou bastard. He had the nerve, too, to bring up old ghosts. To bring up Jackson like he knew him, knew about him and was a copycat of his image just to haunt her. Torment her for her visiting this place.
There was a prayer for mercy somewhere on her tongue. Tasting rotton because it was expired and she was out of practice with God. Give me patience, give me strength, she repeated in her head. Over and over, a mantra to live by.
That bastard. That God damned bastard. So cocky, arrogant and a cad to boot. He had the balls to touch her and yet it simply made her feel like a tramp. So long since it had happened, yet she knew it wasn't long for him. You could tell by his eyes. They were trained. And his mouth? It was tainted with the kisses of many more women that hadn't stood up to that mans charisma.
God damned bastard. God damned bayou bastard.
Cigarette was tossed over the balcony and hands were pulling the thin essence of a robe closer to her body. There was a chill in the air and it wasn't anything to remind her of happier times. It was simply there, to cause goose bumps a long her skin.
In good news, though, she knew where to find Rickie and Donnie Figgs. East tenant. They were running their brutish ways down there and it wouldn't be long before Billy would find herself a couple of Figgs Brothers and finally put to rest her vendetta. It had been too long, and yet it had been coming this whole time.
They had to die. She had to avenge Jackson. For her own sanity, and for the release of his spirit.
While Billy stood out on the balcony, blown by with wind, she didn't notice the glint of a telescope from across the way at a different hotel room.
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The night had wound down into a turmoil of thoughts and an empty stomach. Billy had tried her best to ignore the loud rumbling that was craving some sustinance but she could do it no longer. Obeying the demand for food her body was screaming at her by plucking and picking out random snacks at the corner drug store. Dorito's. French onion dip. A two liter of Diet Coke. Two packages of Twinkies, one package of Ho-Ho's and a very large bag of Swedish Fish. Billy never said her life was revolved arounda healthy meal. As long as she kept having a wonderful, fast metabolism, she was content feasting on what others would label "junk food".
Christ, she missed New York. The loud noises that somehow comforted her. Something on the television that always boasted about the great city of New York, New York, how a homicide that she had worked on earlier in the evening. What she missed the most, was the clubs. The urban feel of dancing, acrid sweat from the passionate twists of an opposite body. The jazz, the swing. Everything that meant something to her in a culture that borderlined Mississippi vows and New York brilliance.
Now she was home. At the hotel that didn't smell anything like her. Didn't remind her of coming home to a pair of dogs and cooking up a late night meal of grilled cheese sandwitches and tomatoe soup. She was alone there, too, but it wasn't as lonely as here, where no one knew you and when they found out who you were, automatically, you were outcasted for wearing a badge and finding murderers. She was the bad guy in a place like Rhydin, and the switch was a confrontation she wasn't prepared for.
The key was jingled out from her pocket while the large, brown paper bag was stuffed in the crook of her arm. There was a wish, deep inside of her, that she would open that door and Jackson would be there. A shadow of a man, preparing some odd dish for her to taste and then pulling her into bed. The music of Dean Martin in the backround while he touched her breasts and told her how beautiful she was.
The memory clouded over her until she opened that hotel room door, and found darkness. Foolish, Billy thought to herself. Absolutely foolish.
There was a curse as she was surrounded by black. The moon barely peeking through the large window to the balcony creating a mass of silhouettes from chairs, bed and counters. Fumbling for the light switch against the wall while trying to not trip over clothes she had strewn about the place.
Once the light was one she was throwing down the bag and beginning her stationary rummage through it. Twinkies and cholesterol galore was tossed out. It was when she was trying to decide what to eat first when that coppery scent was heavy on the air. Fresh. It was fresh.
A lean back to bring her head to a full swing. The glock she carried at her side already yanked and cocked, ready for spit out a bullet. The body she found wasn't alive, though. It was dead. Shot straight through the head, leaving the hotel maid to her death bed, literally. Strewn out across the sheets that were now blood stained and wrinkled was the woman. The name tag said Lupe. Oddly enough, the woman was thin and slightly pale. Young. Too young to be Billy but from behind she could have been mistaken.
Eyes widened. Was there someone else within the hotel room? Her body went on a search to the bathroom, then to the closet. Nothing. She wasn't ready to put the gun down, though, and cursed something foul.
That's when she noted the hole in the window. The slight shatter of where a bullet would have been stream lined. It lead from the balcony. Billy took closer look to it and lined it up to where Lupe was probably standing. Bent slightly to make Billy's bed. Or steal her money is what she guessed better at. It was too late for room service. Lupe was a thief, and payed the price dearly.
"Shit... shit." Muttered. The glock was put away when she opened the balcony door, careful not to disrupt any more of the glass.
It had to be from across the way. What hotel room was right across from her? Her eyes squinted and tried to imagine the room numbers but to no avail. This was bad. This was really bad.
Within minutes, Billy was packing up her stuff. Anything and everything that signaled she was here, stuffed away into small suitcases. Billy's name hadn't been registered to this room. It was a fake name, a made up one that the chief decided would be a good idea. There were only three people that knew she was here. The name Marie Sweigert was what the bell hop had called her, what the front desk had snickered about.
It was a toss up between two sects: Either that bitch Maria and her beau were sending out the troops, or the Figgs had finally caught on that Billy was indeed, in town. Maria wasn't smart enough to hitch up something like this though. And Ace didn't seem the type to just send out a couple of hired guns to do his dirty work. She marked them away with a clean slate, for now, and left it up to the Figgs. Those bastards.
Had Jack told them she was here? Did it leak out somehow? The only person that knew was Jack. Jack was the only one to know her real meaning for being here. The rest were clueless. There was a sharp sigh as a glance was taken to the dead body.
That could have been her.
The thought of it left a cold shiver up her spine. She had faced death many times, though this was far worse in her opinion. She couldn't tell the chief what happened. Hell, she couldn't tell anyone. She would loose her job and probably be killed in New York within two seconds flat if she went back. Figgs had their greedy hands everywhere. Bastards.
"Johanson, it's Monticue. Look, I need you to do me a favor." Davids and Johanson were trust worthy in her book. She had worked with them for over five years, not to mention, they were some of Jacksons closest friends. Johanson sounded like he had been sleeping, groggy tongued and shifting in bed.
"Shit, Billy. What time is it?"
"Don't matter. I need you to do me a favor. I need you to get me into another hotel, tonight. Use another name. Terminate the stay of Marie Sweigert here." Billy rambled, quickly. She was licking the dry spell of her lips.
"Whoa, whoa. Monticue, what's going on?" Johanson sounded more awake now, startled out of his sleep by the frantic Billy.
"I think they know I'm here."
"Who?"
"The Figgs."
"Billy, Christ! What the fuck are you talking about? Figgs are somewhere out in Jersey. You know th--" Billy was quick to snarl into the phone, pausing her packing to scold Johanson.
"Don't give me that shit, Johanson. Don't you fucking dare. You know, just like I do, that that's all just a bunch of shit. Cover up, conspiracy. Whatever you fucking want to call it. They are here. I have information that they are."
"Billy, first off, you ain't supposed to be doing nothing but bring that Franzetti broad back to New York. Second, that case is closed, Billy. Ya' need to just get over it. Jackson's dead. Dead, Billy. Regardless of what ya' do, he ain't coming back. Now what the fuck is going on?" Johanson's voice snarled right back. He rarely took Billy's shit, even if he looked out for her every now and again under principle.
His words stung. They stung deep and she sheltered it all into hate before it could spring tears from her eyes. "I came to the hotel room after getting some shit, and the maid is laying out on my bed. Shot through the head.That bullet was meant for me, Cole. Me."
"Hey, maybe I should call the chief about this.."
"Don't you fucking dare. I'll loose my fucking job if he knows I came out here for the Figgs! You just get me a new fucking hotel room, all right? I'll be expecting a call from you in an hour. One hour, Cole." She hung up before he could protest, and she was out the door before she got sick from the pungent rank of so much blood.
-
Things were spiraling out of control and no matter how hard Billy tried to grip onto something stable, it slipped past her fingers and faded into the chaos.
She had to move hotel rooms considering the murder and watched about it on the local news channel. Billy had done nothing about that girl. Nothing because she was so full of vendetta's that even something like that didn't phase her. Was that horrific of her? To not even try to find the killer? In her own way, she would find the killer when she found the Figgs.
Though the Figgs had already found her it would seem. From one hotel to another, and back out. Goons had struggled to strangle her, capture her up and take down the infamous shark. Unfortunatly they were too new at their job to know who they were dealing with. Billy never went down. Not yet, at least.
That man, Seth Blackmoore. He was a curious fellow. Handsome, distinguished. Business like yet with too many secrets in his eyes. Billy had shared a cab with him and the coincidence that surrounded her meeting. He was there, at the hotel, when the Figgs hired guns were after her. That was something to ponder about.
She hadn't spoken to Jack, either. Afraid or enraged, confused or curious. It was a toss up for what she felt about it. Her decision was to just stay away from the man, keep her distance and her pride intact. Billy got the information she needed from the man. Why else would she need to speak with him?
The day at the bar had taken another odd detour on her path for revenge. A woman threatened her, out right, in the public eye. Spoke of death if a hand was laid on the Franzetti woman. Billy was tempted almost to shoot the damn lady in the face to shut her the fuck up. It was no business of hers, and not to mention, the lady had no clue what she spoke about. What was going on in Billy's head. Why she was really here.
The street lights passed her by in the cab. Eyes fixated out to the city that seemed asleep, but being a fed, you knew better. Knew that crooks and criminals were hiding in the corners. Creeping in the shadows. She was beginning to find this place like a whacked out New York, in her opinion. She lit a cigarette and rolled the window down some, letting some of the urban breeze into the cab.
And what about the tattooed brute, Billy? Sure, he was great at pool. Had a chip on his shoulder the size of a redwood. Though tonight he had dared cross a line that was thought unheard of. Pinwheeled around and finding her lips, he had smacked her hard with an animalistic kiss that stunned and startled her. It didn't last long. She didn't want it to yet secretely she loved it. Loved the feeling of remembering what being a woman was like.
A snort. Billy sniffed at the thought and took another hungry drag from her cigarette. Men. They were pawns, nothing more. This was all business and the only pleasure she got out of the lookers around here was turning them down.
Though there were some you just couldn't reject when the night was late, and the bed was cold. The mind would wonder.
The cabby yelled out the drivers side window at another cab, startling Billy from her thoughts.
Enough about the men that she found appealing. Billy needed a hide out, a place to keep low and stay hidden. She wouldn't even call Johanson, afraid her phone might have been tapped. The idea that Johanson and Davids were crooked in their dealings with the FBI never, ever had her thinking twice. They were good men. She had known them for a long time. They were Jacksons best friends when he was alive. They couldn't be what Maria had said they were.
"Yo, lady, where ya' goin'? My shift ends soon." The cabby seemed irritable. He had been driving around for an hour with no real direction. Billy fidgeted with her cigarettes and took a glance to the luggage she brought with her.
She knew a couple of people, but who did she really trust? Trust. What a fickle thing to think about when you were being tagged like a deer during season. Trust. Who did Billy trust?
"Lady, come on. Give me a break, will ya'? Jus' lemme drop you off at a hotel a'somethin'." The cabby's accent had her missing New York. He eyed her through the rearview mirror.
"Nah, thanks. Just take me to the bar over north, up near the country." Murmered around her cigarette. Fire born eyes looked to the dark, dingy browns of the cabby's from that mirror.
"You serious? Lady, as much as I want t'drop ya'ass off anywhere, ya' sure ya'wanna be stayin' over night at a place like that?" His concern humored her. Enough to have her smiling.
"Yeah, I'll be fine. They got rooms upstairs. I just gotta wait on a friend, anyways." She used the word "friend" loosely. Hard to believe she would be calling anyone around here a friend. Again, people found out you were a fed and suddenly you were public enemy number one. People thought you were suddenly tailing them, talking to them because of their past, or there to offer some more news breaking coverage on police brutality. People didn't know her, but they judged her by her profession.
Billy-boy had. And it stung to finally realize that full on. Jack probably did, too. Same with Mesteno, Elias, Thorn. God only knew who else.
The cabby swerved around a corner and began the semi-long journey to the bar. The one with all the crazy's that the cabby swore belonged in a Fantasia movie, or the asylum up the street. Billy somewhat agreed with him.
She made a decision, though, right then and there. Elias would be her choice to ask. She didn't know why, but the kid was easy on the eyes and easy on the nerves.
Atleast, for now he was.
-
Danger was something Billy dealt with all the time. Day in, day out. It was either shed blood, or have your blood shed. There was no middle ground for the things that she did as an agent. As part of the law. A higher angel amoungst most of the lower one's, yet still risking everything just like they did. Over and over.
The days had passed and she had never made it to Elias'. Shit had hit the fan, so to say. Dealing with Billy-boy had become a priority. He knew the underground just as well as Roulette did, thus, Billy-girl drew him in and in some odd sense, the man had helped her. Then again, he had also condemned her to where she was now.
It had happened in sudden events that she wished were spurious. Fake. Not real. Surrealistic if anything and bad nightmares to boot. Unfortunatly, that was not how God would have it.
It started with a night in the pasture of gutter borns and crack fiend Kings. With the queens of harlotry on the corners and a lone, walking shark within all the debris of street lamps and dark alleys. It was here that Rosso and Sullivan had tailed her. A warning given with rough hands, cackling mouths and bloomed blue-violent bruises. From there it worked to their demise. Billy-boy, the brute, had no tolerance for such thing. Dead as the corpses beneath the cemetary dirt, now, with the message to the Figgs given. Hallelujah's had to be put on hold, of course.
Gun slinging creep shows came out of the wood work. Screaming a war song that was of sprayed bullets and victims bones. Shooting up Billy-boy's place like it was a roach motel with the two insects inside. Bodies fell, and they rode off. Each quick to do what they needed to survive. Billy Jean had taken a bullet in the shoulder in saving this mans life. It had to mean something.
Two years. Two years with out affection from a man and now she was starving for it with the left over taste of Billy-boy on her tongue. He kissed like how she would have figured: Rough edged yet dominant in smooth touches rather than harsh bites. It had happened within that abandoned warehouse while the rain hissed outside. It happened while the world of crime was looking for them. Heated moans and breathless murmers. Names traded off easily and hands basking in the essence of nude sinew. It had been ecstasy.
Now, though, days later, Billy-girl was shacked up within the gritty walls of a run down hotel room. It was possibly the worst she had ever seen: Bullet holes in the walls, bars on the one, small window and dirt layering on the carpet.
Jackson's secrets had been exposed. The truth of his lies finally crawled up and to her ears. Now, he was dead. The questions were so scattered in her head that she couldn't pick one to focus on. There had been screaming matches with the walls. Empty bottles of Jack Daniels layed broken to area's of the place. Stains of tears a long her face. This wasn't just a hotel room: It was hell.
He had been crooked the whole time she knew him. Working for the Figgs Brothers. The only reason he was dead, was because he was going to turn himself in. Himself, and everyone else. Jail time meant nothing to him, it would seem. A life with no lies to Billy Jean was what he wanted. He wanted her. Perfection with her long legs (legs for days, he used to say) and those brilliant eyes. She made him laugh. He made her laugh.
And now, in his grave, he made her cry.
Six years of being held under water. Drowning and not knowing it, until the truth spilled out and that first gulp of air was suddenly not enough. The abyss of knowing was a long, long drop off.
Paranoia was set in her pores, and the instinct to distrust any disposable body had come on high alert. Not even Roulette and Cabal knew where to find the shark. Worried, they were out searching. Finding nothing. No trace, no sign. No Billy Jean.
<center>http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...e_queen/10.jpg</center>
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<center>Once I thought I knew
Everything I needed to know about you
Your sweet whisper, Your tender touch
But I didn't really know that much
Joke's on me, It's gonna be okay
If I can just get through this lonesome day
Hell's brewin' dark sun's on the rise
This storm'll blow through by and by
House is on fire, Viper's in the grass
A little revenge and this too shall pass
This too shall pass, I'm gonna pray
Right now all I got's this lonesome day
It's allright? It's allright? It's allright
Better ask questions before you shoot
Deceit and betrayals bitter fruit
It's hard to swallow, come time to pay
That taste on your tongue don't easily slip away
Let kingdom come I'm gonna find my way
Through this lonesome day</center>
<center>Bruce Springsteen / Lonesome Day</center>
<center>http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...SmallFamke.jpg</center>
