Just a Freakin' Wheel

The second sip couldn’t have been long enough.

“I think it’s been five months since I’ve had a Coke.”

Her shoulders slumped against the wall. Cold wood, the kind that’s been wet and dried off over and over again. Already, the paper cup in her hand was growing light. It’d been years since Monica felt the temptation to touch her ear. Dozens of shadows would have shielded her if she had.

A short, curt laugh. “That might have been the dumbest part of your cover.”

Monica returned the laugh. A solid metal block jammed into her back. She lifted herself off the wall another inch. It’d be terrible to travel this far, only for her own gun to be the cause of her demise.

Red and blue neon lights cut across her face. Soothing, in an odd sense.

“Yeah, well who wrote it?”

Monica stepped away from the wall, slowly, then quickly, all the same. A groan followed a pair of hums. Nearby laughter drowned out her handler’s response.

“That story was the best draft. Trust me.”

“The best draft? Sure.” Monica laughed. For a moment, she didn’t care that she was on the run. Burnt meats and a waft of butter carried her further into the crowd. “After all this time.” She shook her paper cup and sighed.

“Another sip and I’m all out. Is the coast clear yet?”

Black and square, it pulsed on the desk.

All for a freaking Coke. All this trouble for a damn sugary drink. There were better places for the handoff, but Dennis would have to make do. Words flashed across his head. Dennis was forced to bite his lip. He leaned back, thinking his computer screen would grow bigger. Thoughts of frustration needed to remain in the confines of his head.

“Straight ahead, I don’t see them.”

Dennis didn’t have to look at the screen to know the tails weren’t anywhere near Monica. The fairground was busy. Old school rock blared through his headphones. He couldn’t imagine how loud it was down on the pier. In front of Monica was a murderer’s row of cholesterol creators – two funnel cake booths, a hamburger stand with a massive line wrapped around the stall, and a man holding a sign advertising dozens of different flavors of popcorn.

Monica must be in heaven, Dennis thought with a sneer.

“You hear that chord right now?”

Dennis did. A couple of notes were mashed together by Journey, a great band from Detroit. It did sound fun.

He turned his head. Again, the black phone danced a song of half a dozen vibrations.

Too early, he realized as he looked at his watch, and bit his tongue.

“Hell of a rift,” Dennis guessed.

“That riff was copied by every band wannabe when I was in college.”

Music was the only thing Monica could talk about that wouldn’t cause Dennis to roll his eyes or gag.

“I remember, right before I dropped out, my friend and I were at this frat party.” Monica started to laugh. Her head darted around. Two families, each with young boys hanging off their arms, surrounded her. An avenue for easy breathing was found.

She held up her hands, knowing damn well Dennis could only see her back.

“And there was this kid, he wasn’t little, he was just super short, with this massive guitar, and when he tried to do the riff, the big solo part, the guitar fell on top of him and smothered him on the ground.”

“Jeeze.” A giggle sounded out from the other end.

“I can’t imagine you’d have the honor of being a frat boy.”

“Neither can I.” What a stupid question, Dennis thought. What a stupid privilege, Dennis mused.

Monica laughed, but only for a moment. It came deep within her chest. She bet her smile was wide. Skin on her face threatened to tickle her ears. The line moved, until Monica looked up. Suddenly, she wasn’t in the mood for a funnel cake. Sighing, she side-stepped out of the line.

Board creaked underneath. Not a worrying amount, but just a reminder.

“A lot colder than Egypt, huh?” Monica angled her body toward the giant display of popcorn. Kernels spilled out. She moved toward the stall.

“Yeah, but you get that sweet Jersey smell.”

“I know. I missed it.”

A broad set of shoulders caught Monica’s attention. She walked faster. “Hey, as soon as I complete the handoff, you’ll be able to come out of the hiding and get a whiff.”

Popcorn. Dennis could have torn his hair out. They were on the run, desperate to get back home, with days left of their journey to the safehouse, never mind when they could see their families, and this dumb broad decides to down a massive bag of popcorn.

More vibrations drew Dennis’s attention. His contacts weren’t patient. Their window was much tighter thanks to Monica’s deviation. He flipped open the phone, the only other light aside from his bulky laptop. Dennis didn’t even bother turning on the light of the apartment. He’d broken in while on the run, not been let in to set up for a surprise party.

“My seven. You see him?”

Fumbling, Dennis widened the video feed. He cut the man out and pasted him to the side of the window: wide shoulders, jaw sharp as glass, and sunglasses. The rest of the feed ran as normal. No loops of Little Jimmy losing his Skittles.

“Yeah, I don’t-,” and the scan finished. The guy was some nobody, probably drunk and didn’t want anyone to take his keys. Dennis relayed his theory to Monica.

He watched her turn around on the feed.

“Can you tell? Does Alfred know?”

“No, I didn’t run him. Focus.”

The small square light began to fade away. Dennis jabbed at the screen. It took so long to build this phone. Jamming technology on one side and a motherboard that wouldn’t look out of place in 1998. He had no intention of breaking it now.

Words appeared that caused his stomach to turn: “HURRY. SCHEDULE CHANGED. TAKEOFF EARLIER.”

She had a watch, but somewhere between Mexico City and North Carolina it broke. Monica didn’t know how much time they had. Last night was the first time either one of them had slept for more than five hours in weeks. Speaking for herself, Monica felt right as rain.

A little bit of arthritis began to flare in her left shoulder. She spun around, grimacing to better hide the pain.

“Watch me. Let me get a little closer.”

No objections from the other end. Maybe he was beginning to see the bigger picture. Monica pushed ahead. They had targets, sure, and assignments, buried deep in manila envelopes. Sometimes, though, the only bad guy that needed stopping was right under your nose.

A shoelace suddenly needed to be tied and her head rose for a second. The same broad shoulders hovered above.

“Am I good?”

Silence. Monica didn’t wait. She exploded up, coughing so as to cover her tracks. There’s a reason people thought colds were common. Hints of nail polish and lime hammered her nostrils. Coughing almost rose, for real.

But his gut was soft and then they both fell on the ground. The man grunted. Women gasped, but people were enjoying themselves too much to help either of them off the ground.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry.”

What was left of her Coke splattered all over the ground. Even when thinking fast, Monica didn’t miss a single detail. Dennis couldn’t even find a good place to set down a goddamn stuff animal. He only turned back to the feed to see the man stand up in a daze.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t even see you. I just bent down to tie my shoe.”

A few keystrokes and Alfred confirmed what Monica thought. The man in the beige sweater was drunk as a skunk. In another life he could have been Monica’s son. Something, not so deep inside of him, wanted to yell at the man, to tell him to push her down onto the ground and run.

But the man only grunted.

Something shined right where Monica was standing. Dennis held his mic steady. “Right behind your foot.”

The field agent grabbed the man’s armpit and wrist on the same side. She dragged him only an inch, but it was enough of an inch to where she could kick away his keys. The throng of people didn’t notice.

“I don’t think you have to lay it on too thick here.”

Dennis was careful to whisper. He wasn’t sure how good the man’s hearing was, even if he was in an inebriated state.

“Hey, honey. Are you ok? Let me help you up here. So damn busy, even for the weekend.”

Down in his lap, he still hadn’t responded. For weeks, he’d dreamt of this moment. Finally, the chance to turn Monica in, for the chance to see some revenge for heroics that left a terrible fallout in their wake.

But nothing. His mind was blank.

 She ducked her head, acting like she had to deal with an itch, and hurried away, zigging and zagging between the masses of people. He reeked and didn’t know where he was, so Monica wasn’t worried about the drunk tattling on her and Dennis.

Dennis was more talkative than tonight, but it could have just been a sign of growth. Their missing was long and terrible. It caused her to shutter to think if there were worse or more accurate adjectives to describe the past few weeks.

“You seeing this?”

It wasn’t the ringing of the bell or nor the excited laughter of either side that caught Monica’s attention. To her left, a young man tried impressing a date with a game called Mallet Smasher. On her right, the pitter patter of a BB gun caused a small crowd to marvel at an elderly woman’s aim. Monica didn’t care to waste too much time on the booths. She bet she was going to pass tons of games on her way out of the fair.

“Den? Still got eyes on me?”

He mumbled. “Sorry, yeah. Looking at some extraction details.” A moment passed. Monica stared up and realized the laughter wasn’t coming from the games. She laughed and even leaned back while on her own two feet. Memories flooded her mind.

“Get a load of this.”

A wheel. A freaking wheel with all kinds of lights dangling from the sides of the carts. That’s all it was. He couldn’t believe the dumb stuff Monica became enthralled by. Yet another reason why he was ever so happy to hand her over.

“Wow,” was all he said. Two windows, both blasting his eyelids with color, were open side by side. How he wished he had a bigger monitor. The one on the left reflected the pier’s exit. An even longer line of booths framed the masses.

“You know, I had my first on one of these?”

“I’d think a lot of kids.” He looked down at his lap. Still no return text from his contacts. Dennis swore a trio of figures, all donned in varying black hoodies, leave a teddy bear on one of the garbage cans. That was the sign, the sign for him to get Monica moving, and double time.

The agent scoffed on the other line. “Not sure we’re on the same page.”

“Oh, you weren’t talking about a kiss?”

RED COAT. WHITE EARPIECE. TEN MINUTES.

“No, my first you-know-what.”

“Stateside?” Dennis enlarged the window on the left. A small door caught his eye. It was a utility closet, right behind one of the rare, empty booths.

UTILITY CLOSET BEHIND THE SPARE BOOTH. Sent without thinking. Maybe that was Denni’s problem.

“Some bumble fuck town in Arizona. Guy was dead before we even completed a full rotation.”

“You think I got a minute?”

Monica’s early days with the Internal Affairs department were some of the worst. They even felt more dangerous than the early days of Desert Storm. But this Ferris Wheel was different. The same bright lights, same rocking of the cars, and hell, she bet the wind even caressed the faces of the passengers in the same manner.

She looked at the line. Long, but not too long, she didn’t know when their ride was going to be ready. Even the attendants looked excited. It was their ride, after all.

“I’m not sure,” came the voice on the other line.

One tall girl, her uniform peeking out from under an oversized hoodie grabbed the hang of a small child. He was crying, hysterical, but his parents let him walk onward. The attendant smiled, a sympathetic grin, and handed him off to a kid with equally red hair, before tightening their seat belts.

“You’re right,” Monica said. “It’s just a freakin’ wheel, after all.”

“Sorry, man. If you turn around and head back to where we came from, you’ll see our exit.”

She did just that. Out of the corner of her eye, a set of broad shoulders in a tan jacket was asking people if they’d seen a pair of car keys. Again, Monica kept her head down. She did force herself into a small shake. They might be in the home stretch, but even stateside, Monica had to be careful.

“Stay to the right around the central building. Some of the cops on the other side act like they have eyes in the back of their heads.”

At least until they made it to the safehouse.

The officers in question weren’t bigger than the average man or woman. They hung back, none of them talking to each other. Lithe, like a panther waiting for her prey, they observed the crowd. They stood as if they were on the lookout for something more dangerous than rowdy kids. Even though the crowd was thicker on the right, Monica worried someone was still waiting for her.

“Good catch, kid.” Someone bumped into Monica, but she was the one to excuse herself.

“I have a few.” A flurry of keystrokes peppered her earpiece. “Our ride is here. Black sedan. Twenty nineteen model.”

“A little bougie for our luck.” She quickened her pace. Around the corner was still an extension of the peer, but the wood felt sturdier underfoot.

“Define bougie,” and Dennis laughed.

“Bougie. Stylish and expensive, especially for us busy bodies.”

Monica was in equal parts stunned and relieved. The throng of people still didn’t show a single space, not even shoulder to shoulder. She careened her head. White tents signaled more games. Air wafted scents into any nostril within a half mile radius scents of grilled meats and fried, greasy dough.

She patted herself down, making sure everything was in check, and thought to keep an eye out for more soft drinks. Another Coke was earned, dammit.

Until a sight caused her to freeze in her tracks. A small teddy bear dangled off a nearby garbage can.

The masses kept moving. God, were they wasting their time with such frivolity. It was the only sign that Dennis knew his feed wasn’t broken. Monica remained glued to her place. He could just barely make out the small bits of fur atop the garbage can.

Could that be the reason why she stopped? Did she know?

A hand covered his mic. Now wouldn’t be the time for her to hear him breathing. Gun still in its holster, he eyed the door. It hadn’t moved.

Just then, Monica took a step. And then another. Her body hadn’t been jolted to life. She veered away from the garbage can and toward the exit.

“You see the sedan?” Dennis asked and then he put himself on mute. Holding the small black square up to his face, he didn’t have time to even wait for a voice on the other end.

“She’s on the move. Keep two of your guys in the room.” Dennis eyed the black sedan in the corner of the screen. His mouse hoovered over the car.

The call hung up. A fourth man in a black hoodie knocked the stuffed bear into the trash can. He had no issue weaving in and out of the pathetically excited fair attendees.

 Dennis unmuted himself. “Get down, Monica!” He yelled, remembering to sound panicked. At the same time, his mouse clicked.

A ball of fire rose in the air, right above the exit. Monica could have sworn it was their exit plan. One moment, she had eyes on the sedan. The next, it became a fiery ash.

She turned. More people were heading to their left. Monica kept her head low, like everyone else, and found safety in numbers. There’d be another time to get a Coke. For now, the teddy bear left her mind, and she followed the growing number of people who took the exit ramp onto the beach.

Until she fell.

The ground rose up to meet Monica, but she couldn’t remember moving so fast. You alright, was asked at her, yet the yelling and hysterics made it hard for her to listen. She followed the good Samaritan, his grip tight on her arm, away from the crowd.

Monica wasn’t even going to say a word. Simply, she was going to thank the man in the black hoodie, until her eyes grew heavy. She stumbled, and took another step forward.

“You alright?” He asked. But his concern was impossible to fake.

Quickly, as if she was floating on a cloud, she was carried into darkness, a bag over her head, but it was all too late for her to realize it was Dennis who was to blame.