//------------------------------//
// Chapter 9: Foreboding Shadows* 
// Story: Bailing Out 
// by PhillyCh3zSt3ak 
//------------------------------//

Chapter 9: Foreboding Shadows




Canterlot Throne Room

“So Twilight, what have you found out?” Celestia asked from her throne, her sister beside her. Both were in dresses that highlighted their forms and respective domains of the day.

“Well after many hours of calculations I found that the gem will have to take an approximated five hours of exposure to the Elements before we can attempt to contact Spitfire audibly. And even then it’s not guaranteed. Then will be the transport test, I’m planning on sending an object through and taking an inanimate one from their side,” Twilight replied handing over sheets upon sheets of calculations to the diarchs. “If these numbers stay constant, which is a fifty-fifty shot, it’ll take a full two months of charging the gem stone we already have, and at least a second if the numbers say anything.”

“The gemstone was enchanted by our brand of magic, yes?” Luna asked looking at the blueprints for the final rig.

“Yes, I did the enchanting myself on both the one with a residual charge and the new empty one. We can charge it faster, but that’ll be less sessions with the trade off of more time per session which means exhaustion for the bearers, including me.”

“Do what you need to, but stay safe,” Celestia said.


***


The Shadow of Vegas Bar and Grill, two months later

I had managed to get a bartending job at a bar. I knew my drinks and had even created one just for the owner’s birthday last week. He liked pumpkin pie so I managed to find a way to get pumpkin spice, cinnamon, and vodka to work together with Irish cream. He loved it. Personally I think I got lucky, but hey I got a nice little bump in my paycheck that week as thanks. He’s even thinking of adding it to the drinks list as a house specialty.

Spitfire has been working as a card dealer at one of the blackjack tables at one of the mega casinos. No it wasn’t the one that I won all that cash from. Plus I don’t think I’m welcome there anymore especially after I cleaned them out. She brings back a nice paycheck and I bring quite a bit back from both hourly pay and tips. Thank you shadowy government organization for paying for the house. Where was I? Oh yes.

Well this entire month that Spitfire and I have been… awkward. And not in the normal “just learning how to live with your spouse” type of awkward. Yeah we’ve lived with each other a month before this, but now we’re technically married. The first few days we slept separately, I still slept on a couch, but at least it was a comfy leather one, and she took the bed. While I may be a guy and appreciate the female form like any other hetero guy, I do have my standards though. I won’t force a lady into doing anything she doesn’t want to do.

I’ve purposely gotten up early on days and take a jog or run in the morning and come home and find Spitfire already awake and dressed, leaving the shower vacant for me. Right now I’m just respecting her privacy and space, but if she wants to get more romantic, well we’ll get there when we get there if at all.

We get called in every two weeks to head up to Area 51 to provide some more samples, mostly small blood cultures and in one instance Spitfire actually got the opportunity to fly. She even brought down a cloud to demonstrate the powers that angels have. She sat on it without touching the ground and it acted like a floating ball of fluff but when I or the other scientists present tried it our hands just passed right through the cloud.

While we’ve been on base though I’ve taken up some marksmanship classes with both rifles and pistols to hopefully work on my accuracy. I’ve also been taking training in various fighting styles. In fact the other day one of the other Marines stationed on the base were in a friendly knife fight using shock knives that simulate pain with an electric shock. It hurt like a bitch, but it was worth it. I’ve also been taking a few mixed martial arts classes while the scientists do their scans and stuff on Spitfire. I always end up exhausted, but I feel great at the same time as well. Alive even.

They called us in a week ago to implant a, what was it called? Oh yeah, a sub-dermal transmitter/tracker. Well they don’t want to lose their greatest biological asset and her bodyguard. It also makes sense because of all the espionage going on. You never know who is working for whom. They said it was pretty spotty underground and inside buildings with tons of steel in it, but they said they were working on it or something.

Right now I’m working the bar on a semi-slow night. It’s one of those nights where it has its bouts of large amounts of traffic and then an hour or two of almost absolute silence. It’s weird if you ask me. My boss is a good money manager and hired a good sales rep that has our bar advertised but nights like this are to be expected when you have mega casinos that have several different clubs and bars inside them that each offer something different in them.

As I clean the bar itself, sort of like you’d see in old westerns, I start thinking about where Spitfire and I are at. As far as my coworkers are concerned I’m “happily” married to a beautiful young woman with fiery red hair. As for us though we’ve only gone to a dinner and a movie a few times during the first two weeks. We established that kissing was allowed, aka first base, which we would have to do anyway to keep up appearances until we decided otherwise.

By the third week, last week, we mutually decided that we could touch each other intimately. Intimate as in extended bodily contact being within either of our personal spaces, not sex; get your mind out of the gutter. Included were hugs, cuddling, and hand holding. Well unless we said otherwise of course, at least I’m trying to be the gentleman here.

A few more bodies come into the bar and walk right up to my station. “What can I getcha?” I ask.

“Bud lite,” a scrawny guy no older than twenty-five said.

“Margarita,” said a slightly older guy of maybe thirty.

“ID’s,” I reply pointing to our ‘We ID’ sign in plain sight. I start grabbing a pint glass and the bar supplies to make the margarita as they pull out their wallets. Seeing that they met the legal age of drinking, twenty-one, I poured the beer and handed it to the guy and started on the margarita.

“So did you hear about the Slasher? Apparently he took another victim last week,” the younger one said.

“Yeah, that has to be what? Twelve now?” the older one replied.

“This is a fucked up world we live in, Chuck,” the young guy stated taking a swig.

“You know it Cole,” the older man, now Chuck said. I handed him his drink and he drank it in no time flat.

I continue my bartending, knocking out a few shots that a mixed group of men and women ordered. Jaeger bombs. I swear if they puke here I’m slashing their tires. Hey if they’re too drunk to keep their stomachs under control they have no business on the roads. Or I could just remove one of their battery leads, probably the latter. Plus it’s bonus entertainment watching drunks trying to troubleshoot machines. YouTube gold.

“Hey Andy,” Spitfire said taking her usual seat at the bar.

I walked over to her and leaning over the bar I gave her a quick kiss, “Hey Sam, how was your day?” Spitfire had gotten used to her new alias quickly, then again I’m only calling her ‘Sam’ when we’re in public. She had started calling me ‘Andy’ as a pet name in the last two weeks or so as I had been using ‘Spits’ or ‘Sam’.

“Fine.”

“The usual?”

“Yeah.” I pulled out a pint glass and filled it with ice. Then I poured Smirnoff vanilla vodka, chocolate liquor, and some Guinness draught in and topped it with some heavy whipping cream.

“Here you go Sam, one Guinness Swirl,” I say handing the glass over.

“How did you ever think of this?” she asked taking a drink.

“TV remember?” I say with a smirk. The bar was still slow so I washed out some of the used mixing materials so they would be ready when needed. I looked at Spitfire and she looked troubled. “You ok?” I ask.

“I’m fine,” she replied averting her eyes as she took another drink.

“Sam, you know I can tell when you’re lying,” I stated. She looked defeated, “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, it feels like I’m being followed and watched or something.”

“When did it start?” I say leaning on the bar getting closer while scanning the room. No one stood out.

“About a week ago. I started feeling an unnatural staring while on shift. Then I started to think that someone was following me home the other day but they turned before I reached our street.”

“What about today?”

“I didn’t’ see anyone, but I could feel their gaze.”

“Do you have your gun?”

“No, I left it at home since they don’t allow it in the casino.”

I sighed and I reached to my belt and pulled my firearm out and checked it beneath the counter. I pulled the slide slowly so the sound would be drowned out by the music playing. I saw that a nine-mil round was chambered. I let the slide close slowly and put the safety on.

“Here, take my Sig,” I put my gun on the bar and Spitfire took it and placed it in her coat pocket. “When you get home lock the doors.”

“Thanks, I will,” she replied slightly relieved.

“Remember, if there is someone going after you head towards a large populated place. If you can’t be ready to shoot to kill, got it?” She nodded. “Good. Now don’t worry, it’ll be ok,” I say giving her a kiss on her forehead.


***


Briggs residence

He was lying in wait. It wasn’t that hard to find the spare key in the fake rock. ‘They should really think about new ways to hide keys nowadays,’ he thought.

The woman had caused him a heap load of trouble, more than the previous woman he was with. Everyone except for her was easily seduced into a one night stand that got a… little more interesting for both of them. She had hurt him where it counted and he was definitely going to return the favor.


***


As Spitfire parked in the driveway something felt off but she couldn’t figure out why. The house was dark, like she left it when she left for work. But Andrew usually left one of the lights on to scare away burglars just in case.

As she opened the front door she reached inside her front pocket and brought out Andrew’s Sig Sauer P226. She held her finger outside the trigger guard as she brought it up to her dominant eye. She walked slowly inside sweeping from left to right as she progressed further inside the house. She slowed her own breathing and listened but only heard her own breathing. She slowly lowered the gun only to have the sharp pain of a needle be stabbed into her neck. Instinctively her finger pulled the trigger letting off three rounds. Then she faded into oblivion, dropping the gun in the process.


***


“Damn it,” the man said ripping the needle out of the redheaded woman. He hadn’t expected her to have a gun, or for her to fire it. ‘Definitely a pain in the ass,’ he thought as he dragged the unconscious body out of the door, but before he did he left a little “gift” for the police and the family of the woman.


***


Shadow of Vegas

It’s only been thirty minutes since Spitfire left and a few minutes after she did the traffic started flowing right in. And with traffic comes bar-hoppers, and with bar-hoppers comes drunken idiots, and with drunken idiots come idiots who think it’s a good idea who think it’s a good idea to get into a fight with the bartender over their bill.

“Come on man, let me start a tab,” the drunkard said.

“We don’t do tabs here,” I reply staring him down, and him trying to stare me down back.

“But what about that redheaded cutie? You let her have a tab,” he countered.

“No, that was my wife and she’s allowed to because I pay that tab before I leave from my shift.”

He swung a punch at me, drunkenly of course. I slapped his arm away and countered with a punch to the sternum. That knocked his breath out and left him flat on the floor. I grabbed a rope from underneath the counter and placed the drunk’s hands behind his back and tied them. I pulled out my phone and called the cops.

“Las Vegas police,” the semi-pleasant sounding dispatcher said.

“Yes can you send an officer to The Shadow of Vegas Bar and Grill? I have a drunk and disorderly person under citizen’s arrest,” I stated.

“We have alerted the closest officer, he will be there shortly.”

I hung up and of course that was when the guy decided to start pleading his case for me to let him go. To each one I said a variant of “no.” This went on for a good twenty minutes before the cop showed up. The African-American officer walked into the bar.

“My name is Kurt Davis and I’m here for a citizen’s arrest,” he said in a deep baritone voice.

“Over here officer,” I said flagging him down. When he came over and saw the man he gave me a look, “Drunkie here didn’t like it when I said he couldn’t keep a tab. He threw a punch and I threw one back and then restrained him. I called immediately afterwords.”

“Do you wish to press charges?” he asked.

“No harm no fowl, but I think my boss wants him out of here though. The drunk tank should be enough for this guy.”

‘We have a 10-71, shots fired at the following location,’ the dispatcher then said my address. My face went absolutely pale and the officer noticed.

“Sir, are you all right?” he asked.

“That’s my address. FUCK!”

“Sir, what’s wrong?” he said trying to calm me. Which didn’t work at all.

“My wife, she said someone was following her for the last week. She stopped in under an hour ago and I gave her my gun just in case when she told me,” I said as I walked out the door and got onto my Harley.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to let us take care of this he said putting a hand to where his Taser was.”

I can’t believe this is the time to use this. I pull out my wallet and as I open it I pull the hidden sub-wallet that holds my Department of Defense badge, “My name is Lieutenant Andrew Briggs of the United States Air Force, and my wife is a high value person working with us on a project of a classified nature,” I reply starting the bike and pulling my Glock 17 out of the side bag and holstering it. “Tell whoever is responding that someone from the DoD will be on scene,” I finish putting on my Bluetooth headset before putting on my visored helmet.

I peeled out leaving the officer in my dust. I sped through many red lights, which lead many drivers to flip me off and yell profanities, but I don’t care. As I pull up I see my front door wide open and a pair of tire burns on the street. My Evo was in the driveway, which told me that Spitfire had come home. I unholstered my gun and went inside. I brought my gun up so that I could see down the sights. As I did, I did a tactical clearing of each room. As I approached my living room I saw three brass casings and my Sig. I left it were it was and looked around with my pistol still out.

I found a syringe on the ground. I tapped it with the end of my gun to see if there was anything still in it. None, the plunger was all the way down. I looked from where my gun was and saw three bullet holes in the wall. One bright note was that Spitfire’s aim was improving since all three rounds were in a tight grouping. Whoever grabbed her was lucky that she didn’t hit them. They wouldn’t be so lucky with me when I find them. I look at the scene more and see an ajar closet door.

“So whoever did this came from the closet after she passed he jumped her, injecting her with whatever was in that syringe,” I mutter just above a whisper.

I tap my headset, “Call the boss.” As my phone headset rang I looked down near the TV, there was a box tied with a red ribbon. I heard of this before, it was the MO of the Vegas Strip Slasher. “Oh shit,” I said not knowing that the colonel had already picked up.

“Lt. Briggs, what’s going on?” he said with a tired disposition.

“It’s Spitfire, sir. She’s been nabbed by the Slasher not too-”

“LVPD put your hands up!” a female voice said. I turned around and there enough there was two officers. The female was of Latina appearance and the other, who I assume is her partner, a male of Caucasian appearance. I raise my hands slowly and above my head I eject the magazine and pull the slide back, ejecting the chambered round before dropping my Glock on the ground.

“I’m going to have to call you back, colonel,” I say craning my neck so that my ear touches my shoulder and the button on my headset, which cut the call. The male officer walked over to the box and opened it.

“SWEET MOTHER OF GOD!” I heard him yell. He must have found the ear, confirming my original suspicions.


***


I spent the next fifteen minutes in cuffs on my couch while they waited for those CSI guys to show up and start processing the scene. I don’t know how the colonel pulled strings, no wait I know how, because he works for people above these local LEOs. Because they uncuffed me as soon as they got off the phone with whoever was their boss.

“Our apologies Lieutenant,” the male officer said.

“No worries, you were just doing your job. Can I get my firearm back?” I asked in response. The female officer reluctantly gave it back. I placed it back in its holster.

“So Lt. Briggs this is your house?”

“Yes.”

“When did you get here?”

“About five minutes before you came in almost shooting me. I came here after hearing my address mentioned on an officer’s radio when he was arresting a drunk at a bar that I work at. I came straight here seeing if my wife was ok, but as you can see she’s not here and the Slasher’s calling card was over there.”

“What’s the name of your wife?” the female officer asked.

“Samantha Briggs,” I answer.

“What does she do for a living?”

“That’s classified. What I can tell you she’s private civilian contractor with a side-job as a dealer at a casino.”

“’Classified’ as in you don’t want to tell us or ‘classified’ as in-?”

“It’s above your pay grade,” came a deep voice behind us.

I turned around nodded my head, “Colonel.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“From what I’ve gathered in five minutes is that Sam came in and was holding one of my spare guns because she said she was being followed,” I said walking back to the front door demonstrating using my fingers as a fake gun. “She walked in and swept the room before stopping here convinced that she was ok. Can you stand over here please?” I ask the female officer. She nods and comes over and takes my place where I was standing. “Now the assailant, the Slasher, I assume comes out from the closet and stuck her with whatever was in the syringe there,” I say ‘creeping’ up behind the officer and putting my fist on her throat mimicking injecting something. “She let off three rounds into the wall there and was dragged away,” I finish my guess on what happened.

“That’s extremely odd though, he’s never left any evidence of the abduction before,” a voice said from behind us.

“And you are?” the Hernandez says.

“Detective Joshua Reynolds,” he replies.

“Why would you say that though,” I ask.

“His MO has always been to grab his victims silently and leave only the ear of his previous victim and no other evidence for us to track him with,” he says pulling out a glove and puts it on. He lifts up the syringe, “This is the first time he’s been spooked like this to leave such an important piece of evidence behind.”

“Sir, what about her sub-dermal tracker?” I asked.

“It goes cold downtown, the analysts think he went underground or a place with a lot of steel and concrete,” Hernandez replied.

“Then there’s still a chance to save her, I just hope she can hold on until we find her.”


***


???

Spitfire felt as though her head were made of lead, it was difficult to move. As she came back completely her senses started booting up one after the other. She couldn’t see anything, but felt something over her eyes. She also felt duct tape over her mouth, muffling her every attempted word. She also felt that her arms and legs were restrained as she tried to move them.

“Ah so the lady awakens,” a male voice said. “Oh how I’ve waited for this moment for well over two months.” She recognized this voice, she heard it once before. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find one person in this massive metropolis. Oh, but I think you want to see me now, yes?”

He ripped off the blindfold and before Spitfire stood a white, scrawny male of about 5’11” with a demented smile on his face. She recognized him as the pig from the bar she kicked in the nads “Oh, I see you remember me, how nice,” he said. Then he grabbed her chin with his hand and forced her to look at him, “My dear you’ve caused me trouble and pain, and we’re going to have lots of fun together,” he started giggling like a madman.

*Fade out with an eerie song playing*