Deep Undercover: Endgame A-9
Madame Franz is a pacer. You know the type. Rattle their nerves and they’ll wear holes in the carpet trying to make that worry go away. She’s settled on a predictable pattern, walking over to the office door, peeking out, then retreating. Then the nerves take over again, and she’s headed back to see if Tara’s shown up yet.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting in this creaky chair, enjoying the view. If Marta manages to dodge the bullets and the long arm of the law, she’ll have a very secure career for herself as a TV weather girl. Her ass could launch a magazine. It wiggles just so as she stalks the office, unwilling to plant it in a seat, much to my appreciation. I don’t bother to hide my wandering eye. This could very well be the last gorgeous woman I’ll ever see.
As I sit, she makes another circuit, ignoring my stares, unwilling to it that it’s wasted energy. If traffic on the 405 is what it normally is this time of day, Tara’s not going to roll in for at least another twenty. I’m saving my nervous energy for that moment, when I find out whether I’m dealing with the Tara who wants to put a bullet between my eyes, or the one who only mostly wants to put a bullet between my eyes.
I’m also using that fantastic ass to distract myself from my guilt. This whole story has been full of off-ramps, and I sped past all of them. My partner is determined, sure, but I’m her hypnotist. Besides, even deeply-brainwashed Tara isn’t immune to being knocked out, or tied up, or locked in a trunk and driven clear to Oregon until whatever Avery’s done to her wears off.
But, no… I got hoodwinked twice, by the same woman, wearing two different personalities. Tara was positive she could fool Avery and, when that blew up in our faces, along came the backup Cassie I’d created to convince me of the same thing. We can pull this off! I know it! Shit, am I really that gullible?
Don’t answer that. I’m well aware of how stupid I’ve been. It’s not just that I am in love with her. It’s that… because I’m in love with her, I always see where Tara’s going with these undercover schemes of hers. They’re risky, but they’re brilliant, and how can I say no to them?
Besides, we planned for the worst. And then I went back and planned for much worse.
A few days ago
“Back to the surface now. Eyes open and fully awake. One two three four five six seven.”
I’ve always been awful with trigger phrases. We’ve all read the same spy novels where someone is brainwashed, and their trigger phrase is something poetic and elaborate, something about roses blooming or snow falling on palm trees. I nearly flunked high school English a few times, so I’ve always been partial to numbers instead.
My blonde sleeper agent blinks herself back into reality. She cocks her head, curious, like she’s just finished a round of medical tests. She’s eager to hear the results.
“How’d it go?”
I have no good results for her. I’m as frustrated as she is disappointed, and I shake my head. “Tara keeps fighting my suggestions. It’s everything she was supposed to do with Avery, only now she’s doing it with me.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, like I’ve just told her about a parking ticket. “Avery’s got her that deep?”
I have to it that it’s kind of funny, hearing Cass throw around hypnotist lingo like she’s been doing it herself for decades. I should ask her to come up with some trigger phrases.
It’s also hard to believe that this same woman wanted to blast a hole in my stomach two hours ago. Now she’s sitting in the easy chair I hauled in from the living room, allowing me one last chance to pry Tara out from under Avery’s crushing thumb. But it’s not working. Not even a little.
People who fuck with minds tend to be sloppy, focused only on establishing that initial toehold, a level of control that only needs to last until their victim has emptied out her bank . Avery, no surprises here, is better than that. He’s a real asshole, taking Tara’s natural willfulness and turning it against me. I can put her under, but every time I suggest that she’s able to reclaim her freedom and go back to being the Tara we all know and love, Avery’s programming tugs at a string, and she’s telling me to go fuck myself.
“I love my Master,” she keeps telling me. She gets flushed whenever she says it, her skin reddening, her hand drifting to her crotch. Did I mention that Avery’s an asshole? I can’t wait to put a bullet in his stomach.
“Yeah, he’s got her that deep.” I sigh, heavy and full of breath. I’m exhausted and demoralized. “I really did not give this jerk enough credit. Whatever he’s doing to them in that chair of his, it’s fucking thorough. Way beyond what I can do with a pocket watch. I’m honestly worried that we’ll never get her back, even if we get out of this with our skins.”
My hands are shaking, and Cassie can see that. She leans forward in the chair, her great tits dangling just so. Tara needs to getting dressed, so Cassie is buck naked.
“I still think the only way out is to go forward,” she says, softly, like she’s breaking the news to me for the first time. “Let’s put this bastard away, and then you’ll have all the time in the world to bring her back.” She leans back and snorts out a laugh. “Maybe his chair has a ‘reset’ button.”
“I don’t think Avery has ever needed a reset button in his life.”
“Okay, sure, but you and Megan together… she’s a hypnotist, too, right? Maybe Avery didn’t plan for anyone other than you trying to hypnotize Tara.”
“You think she’s been programmed to disobey me, specifically?”
Cassie nods. I’m reminded again of how easily she’s adapted to all of this hypno-lingo. It’s not so funny at the moment. “If she’s fighting you, that means that he assumed that it’d be the first thing you’d try if you ever captured Tara. But… maybe Megan can go where you can’t? He might not have planned for her.”
“Tara knows that Megan’s a hypnotist. So now Avery knows that she’s a hypnotist. I can’t imagine he didn’t throw up the same guardrails to block her.”
Her face falls. Mine, too. It’s another dead end.
We sit together in silence for a while. A couple of squad cars race by my building with sirens blaring. That breaks the spell, and Cassie begins to stroke her chin, lost in thought.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” she says. “About Megan being better than you. I’m not saying that… just that she might have been able to come at this from a different angle.”
“No worries, Cass. And thanks. But… we’ve got to figure out something soon. I can probably convince Tara that she had to wait all night to get a shot at killing me, but she’s got to be out of this apartment by sunup, or Avery’s going to catch on.”
“You know what my answer is to that.”
“I do. I still hate it. Tara told me that Avery puts his girls through the process on a regular basis, to keep all of his suggestions and commands from fading. We have to assume he’s going to keep doing the same to her, and every time she sits in that chair, we risk Avery finding out about you.”
Cassie soaks it in, without complaint. She’s over here pondering. Goddamn, how does this woman do it? She’s just discovered that she’s not even a real person, for fuck’s sake. Just a facade for another facade, and yet she’s… doing exactly what I programmed her to do.
Be Tara’s lifeboat.
“She has to have a weakness,” she finally says. “A soft spot. You’re in love with her. That’s your soft spot. Avery knew exactly where to hit you and how. So what’s her soft spot? Where can we hit her where it’ll hurt the most?”
“She’s headstrong and stubborn. But those only work against us, not in our favor.”
“Anything else? Even if she loves chocolate ice cream, we can… I have no idea what I’d do with that, actually. But maybe you do, or maybe Megan does.”
Shit. I really do need to call Megan. I never responded to her text from earlier. When Tara called me in a panic, everything else went out the window. Even now, sitting here, I really couldn’t care less about Megan’s promised news about ‘Cassie’ and Madame Franz and Navy secrets. I just want my partner back.
But we’re in a full-blown crisis, and I need all hands on deck, even if my stupid ego keeps insisting against all logic that I can handle this myself. Professional jealousy is a cancer, the sneaky and subtle kind. You start to think you’re hot shit, until… you’re where I am right now.
Even so, I can picture the look on her face if she ends up solving this puzzle for me. That head of hers is big enough as it is. If she can break Tara’s programming with ease while I’m over here spinning my wheels? The bobbleheads they hand out at Dodger Stadium are going to look anatomically correct by comparison.
That makes me laugh, which draws Cassie’s attention. I attempt to explain. “Megan and I have a little professional… competition.”
“Oh?” Her innocence is refreshing.
“We’re the only two private eyes in this town who are also skilled hypnotists. And we know each other well. And we work cases together. So it’s constantly a case of which one of us got the client under the fastest, or the deepest, or who had the best suggest… you know, it doesn’t really matter. I’m just going to accept that Megan will never let me hear the end of this.”
I start scanning the room for my phone, before I that it’s still sitting on the bathroom sink. I’m about to hop off the bed to retrieve it when Cassie says something ridiculous.
“Sounds like she has a schoolboy crush on you,” she snarks.
She’s trying to lighten the mood, I’m sure, but I’ve heard it enough times from Tara that it rankles me. “You sound just like Tara,” I tell her.
“I mean, that is who I am.”
“No! What I mean is… what time is it, by the way?”
“I have no idea. You’ve had me zoned out so much.”
My watch is also in the bathroom, and Cassie’s naked, so we’re both reduced to scanning the room for my alarm clock. It’s lying on the floor, a victim of the earlier fight. One fifteen in the morning. Megan’s a night owl. I’m sure she’s still awake. She’ll be pissed at me, but-
“Does she have a crush on you?”
Cassie’s back to being ridiculous. I throw up my hands. “We don’t have time for this high school bullshit, Cass,” is what I want to say, but I’m too exhausted to get into a fight with her over something so petty. Instead I respond with a blunt “No,” followed by “Why are you asking me?”
God, those eyes. There’s something going on behind those eyes. It’s a Tara thing, and now it’s also a Cassie thing. “Trust me,” she says, confirming my suspicions. “I’m going somewhere with this. You got angry when I mentioned Megan having a crush on you.” She crosses her arms and studies me. “Why?”
“Because you won’t… Tara won’t ever it that she feels threatened by Megan. We’ve been professional partners for three years, and for that entire time she’s felt inferior, like eventually I’m going to part ways with her and start a new practice with Megan as my new partner.”
“Has she told you this?”
“No. But it’s my job to notice things that aren’t said. I’m damn good at it. She’s wrong, anyway. Megan and I would make a terrible team. Too competitive. Always trying to one-up each other. It’s like having Batman and Batman instead of Batman and Robin.”
Cassie nods, but she’s frowning. The eyebrows shoot up. “Tara’s a detective. I guess that makes me one, too. And my gut says that there’s more to this than employment.” She looks disappointed in me. “You’re not telling me the whole story. Again.”
I take a deep breath, because I don’t want to hear what I’m about to say, but Cass is right. She asked me to tell her the whole truth, and now she’s asking for it again. There’s nothing to lose by spilling it. “Megan and I are very, very, strictly platonic, but Tara’s never fully believed that, either. Whenever we shit-talk each other, she sees at as flirting.”
“Like she’s jealous. Like Megan is going to steal you in that way, too.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re hoping that Tara has those same feelings for you?”
Three years ago I would have turned beet red at the suggestion, but that was a long time ago, and a private detective has to roll with the punches. I don’t respond at all, the same as saying yes without the effort.
“Paul.”
I get off the bed. “I’m going to call Megan. Let’s see if she can think up—”
Cassie snags my right wrist as I walk past her chair. I always forget how athletic Tara is until she does something like this. I’ve got a good fifty-pound advantage and momentum on my side and she’s still able to drag me to a halt like an anchor chain.
“Hold that thought.” She points to herself, then to me, then back at herself. Her left hand sweeps from her chin down to her stomach and back up. “I think we just found our weakness.”
Now
Forty minutes have gone by since Marta tossed that flaming bag of dog poo onto Avery’s front porch. The Caltrans website isn’t showing any major road delays near us. That means that Tara will be here soon. My chair squeals as I rise to my feet.
Marta glares at me again. “Oh, you’re ready to do something now?”
“There wasn’t much to do before now,” I shrug. It’s the truth, but it doesn’t make either of us feel any better. “First things first. Plan A is that Tara comes in with guns blazing. If that’s the case, she’ll be coming in hot, like The Terminator. But it also means she’ll be coming in alone. I’m sure Avery’s got her programmed with a cover story in case she gets arrested, something about a lover’s quarrel or drug deal, and that story won’t hold up if one of his regular goons is caught in the same dragnet.”
“Ok. That makes sense.”
I continue with the quiz. “So. What do we do in Plan A?”
“You take cover by the front counter. I flip that desk onto its side and hide behind it. Rezo por nuestras almas.”
“Thanks. I probably need a good word with the man upstairs. Let’s move on to Plan B. Tara’s here to haul you up into the hills for a session in the chair. How will we know it’s Plan B?”
I’ll give Marta a hell of a lot of credit. The moment I start talking about concrete action, the worry in her eyes vanishes, and the defiant bitch who chewed out Avery resurfaces. She currently looks like she’s ready to punch someone in the face.
“Megan. If Tara shows up with Megan, we’ll know it’s Plan B.”
“Correct. Gold star. In that scenario, I’m the one back here in the office and you’re the one taking point up front. Play dumb and get them separated. Don’t pretend to be hypnotized, and for fuck’s sake, don’t let yourself get hypnotized.”
“I am not that stupid, Paul!”
I turned my palms skyward, the universal symbol for you’ve already been hypnotized against your will once this month.
“Ay! Olvídalo! Just when… you…”
I’m about to ask for the follow-up when I notice why I’m not getting one. Marta’s skin is three shades lighter, her eyes wide and staring. She has one shaky hand on the doorknob. It rattles along with her.
I’m on my feet and by her side in an instant.
A person standing in our position has a pretty good view out the front windows of the spa and into the parking lot, where a yellow Porsche Boxter is presently backing into the space furthest from the door and closest to the alley. I recognize the car immediately; it’s a gift from Avery to ‘Cassie,’ and the person driving it is clearly prepared to speed out of the lot and into the maze of back streets before any potential witnesses can make her. Tinted windows, of course, so there’s no way to tell from here if there’s one woman inside, or two.
Without thinking, I grab Marta’s free hand and clutch it. “Get ready,” I tell her. “It’s go time.”