Читать книгу Rita Royale 2 (The Beach House) - Terry JD Anderson - Страница 3

The two military women matched strides as they walked down the street toward the pier, the clouds hanging low, threatening rain, but still pleasant afternoon walking weather. Both women wore black low heeled shoes, black knee length skirts and black Badger Troop flight jackets, their weapons concealed, black berets on their heads.

“You don’t have to do this, Major. I can handle this.”

Rita glanced at the red haired lieutenant, nodded to a man walking past. “Its okay, Dixie. A nice day for a walk.”

Dixie Applegate looked up at the clouds, glanced at her new major. “We may get wet, Ma’am.”

Rita spotted three teenagers with olive green Army shirts hanging with about a half dozen other kids. “That looks like our little graffiti artists.”

The teens stared at the military women as they approached them. Rita smiled at one of the boys wearing an Army shirt; he looked to be the leader.

“So what’s this I hear about you three spray painting certain names about me on the outside of Kats Klub?”

He stared at Rita, her black uniform. “We didn’t spray nothing about you. I don’t even know you.”

“You know, its not very nice to call lesbians names. One of them just might kick your ass one day.”

He just sneered. “As if.”

Rita grinned. “Wanna bet I can kick all three of your asses and not even work up a sweat?”

The teens not wearing Army shirts began to walk away, leaving only the three facing Rita and Dixie.

One boy standing next to the leader spoke nervously. “They’re Badger Troop, Alex.”

He glared at him. “I know that.” He looked at Rita. “You can’t touch us, we’re minors.”

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t have to tell you.”

“Want to see what an Army jail looks like?”

He thought about this. “Alex Racine.”

“Okay, Alex Racine. Cut the tough guy crap. You and your buddies will clean off the graffiti tomorrow and never do it again. And whatever the hell it is you dislike about lesbians, get over it. Because I’m one dyke carpet-muncher you don’t want to mess with.”

“We were only fooling around. I got nothing against dykes.”

“Then why did you write those words on Kats Klub? Carpet-muncher? Dyke?” Rita caught the sound of a boat pulling up to the pier, glanced in that direction, looked back at the kid. “You know, the soldiers who wear that color uniform you’re wearing would be pissed if they knew you guys were going around spray painting slurs against their fellow comrades.”

The second teen said, “I won’t do it no more.”

Dixie spoke to Rita. “Major.”

Rita looked at her, at the three men now walking toward them. Heard the cry of the eagle in her head. Rita looked at the three teens. “Get away from here now. Move it.” She unzipped her jacket, pulled her weapon, as did Dixie.

Dixie pointed her pistol at the three, spoke in a loud voice. “Stop right there. Hands above your heads.”

Rita stared at the three Middle Eastern looking men, the travel bags they each held, her 9 mm trained on one of the men. He dropped his bag to the wooden deck, reached for the handle of his pistol sticking out of his waistband.

Both women spotted the pistol; saw the other two men reaching. They rapid fired, the reports a pop pop pop, their bullets striking the three repeatedly in the chest and face, killing them all before any of them had had a chance to return fire.

Rita ran to the edge of the pier, quickly changed magazines in her pistol and fired several times at the escaping small open boat, killing the pilot, the boat slowing, moving round and round in a circle and quickly running aground.

She glanced at the three kids, their eyes wide open. “You still here?”

They ran away as fast as they could. Rita heard the sirens, glanced at the three dead men, at Dixie. “Where the hell did these guys come from?”

Dixie just shook her head.

A few people walked onto the pier and toward the women. Rita watched two green Army vehicles slow, their brakes squealed, soldiers in green exited from the back of a truck and ran toward her and Dixie, rifles in hand.

Rita just looked at them. “And how the hell did the Army get here so fast?”

A sergeant walked up to the women, his black and white MP armband quite visible. He looked at both Special Forces women, their weapons still in their hands, spotted Rita’s oak leaves on her collar tips, stared at her very attractive face. He’d never met the new Liaison Officer, but heard she was quite the looker. “Major Royale. I’m Sergeant Lewis. My team can take it from here.”

Rita studied the man slightly taller than herself, his narrow face, thin lips that smiled like they didn’t mean to smile. Lips that looked used to putting on a certain look. She said, “I’d like a look inside those bags, Sergeant.”

He shook his head. “Major. This is an Army matter.”

She holstered her pistol. “Just the same, Sergeant, I’d like a look in the bags.”

He stared at her, shifted his feet. “Major, you’re pretty new in Sidney. My guys deal with illegal entries all the time.”

“You can do your job, Sergeant, but I want a look in those bags.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Rita watched as one of the travel bags was unzipped, the sergeant removed one of two square packages wrapped in white plastic and held it up.

“Cut it open it, Sergeant.”

He looked at her, removed his knife and made a small slit in the package. Showed her the white powder on the blade. “Its drugs, Major.”

“Yes, but whose drugs?”

“I don’t know, Ma’am.”

Rita looked at the sergeant. “I’d like a copy of your report when its completed.”

“I’ll need statements from both you and the LT, first, Ma’am.”

“Not much to tell. They came in on that boat.” Rita pointed. “Lieutenant Applegate ordered them to stop and raise their hands. They reached for their weapons and we shot the savages.”

He asked, “And did you see any weapons before you fired?”

She tilted her head slightly, looked down at the dead men’s guns lying on the deck close to their bullet riddled and bloody bodies. She spoke slowly, her voice edged with sarcasm. “Yes, Sergeant. We saw their weapons.”

The sergeant caught her tone. Stood up straight. “I guess that’s it for now, Major. My team can take it from here.”

“I’d like a copy of your report when its finished, Sergeant.”

He nodded and released his breath. He knew he wasn’t going to win this one. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll have it sent to your office.”

Rita glanced around at the other MPs, glanced at Dixie, looked at the sergeant. “Fine.”

The two Badger Troop women walked through the human barricade, soldiers dressed in green keeping back the now growing number of onlookers. Rita glanced back at the dead men, at the sergeant talking on his cell phone. She studied the faces of the people watching, some staring back at her and Dixie. Two ambulances arrived on the scene, their sirens loud, lights reflecting blue and red in the afternoon gray and light mist.

“Does something feel wrong to you, Lieutenant?”

She looked into Rita’s green eyes, the green quite visible even in this gray light. “What are you sensing, Major?”

“I’m not sure. What do you know about that sergeant?”

“Sergeant Lewis? I haven’t heard anything bad. He does handle the policing around here. He and a Lieutenant Sweet. He could have just been patrolling close to here. It might be a coincidence.”

Rita looked at her, kept walking. “Yeah, maybe. Why did he have so many MPs with him? That doesn’t seem normal, does it?”

“Some new MPs arrived at their base recently. Maybe he was out training them or something.”

Rita thought about this, looked at Dixie. “Could be that.”

They entered the Liaison Office; Rita glanced at the wall clock, just past four. Smiled at a Badger Troop lieutenant sitting at her desk. “Everything okay, Cathy?”

Cathy Blackmore nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. I heard sirens.”

Rita decided to let Dixie explain what happened. She walked into her office, kicked off her shoes, removed her black skirt and slipped into a pair of tight faded blue jeans and an old pair of worn and scuffed tan colored elk hide cowboy boots. She walked back into the main area wearing sunglasses and holding her motorcycle helmet. Looked at the two lieutenants, both sitting at their desks in the large open office space.

“Its Friday. I’m leaving a few minutes early.”

Dixie looked at Rita’s very short buzz cut blonde hair, her clothes. “I hope you’re not going to just sit in that beach house by yourself all weekend, Major.”

Rita grinned. “I’ve only lived in the house for two weeks. I’m quite enjoying the salt air and peacefulness.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I’ll be home tonight if you need me.”

Rita walked out the back door, fired up her old cruiser. The green and silver motorcycle had become like an old friend. They had traveled many good miles together.

It didn’t take long to leave the town of Sidney, B.C. As Rita rode south on the Pat Bay Highway, she felt more comfortable living on the coast now. A major departure from Base Killdeer in Saskatchewan, that was for sure. Her skin even felt smoother, not so dry like on the prairies.

After a few minutes Rita left the highway, turned onto the narrow paved road, throttled up and leaned into a curve, the road now running parallel close to the beach, her new house only a short distance ahead, the surf rolling to shore like horses racing side by side in a long white line. She downshifted, the bark from the exhaust loud, rode onto the driveway next to her house and parked under the car port. Shut down the motor.

She looked at the beach, two people walking, both males, playing stick toss with a dog. An older woman looked at her from the yard next door. The woman waved and walked toward her.

“Hello there. Nice to finally to meet you. I’m Stella Rhodes. Also known as the kooky Christian who lives in the first house.”

Rita grinned. “Hi Stella. I’m Major Rita Royale. A kook doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

“That’s what I say too.” She eyed the taller green-eyed blonde, her very shapely figure. Stunning was the only word that came to mind. “You’re military?”

“Yes. I’m the new Liaison Officer in Sidney. Would you like a glass of something? Juice? Beer?”

“I think a beer might be good. The weeds are winning today. I need something to drown my disappointment.”

The two women moved onto the front porch. Sat on brown wicker chairs with large flat arms. The view was open but for the roof and a low wooden wall about two feet high that decorated the front and sides. Both women admired the ocean view, sipped their cold beer.

Stella said, “So Rita, you look very young to be a major.”

“I turned thirty-six three days ago.”

Stella nodded. “You look thirty.”

Rita grinned. “Thanks.”

“I remember thirty-six. That’s when men still chased after me.”

“They probably still do.”

Stella smiled. “I’m a kook. A sixty year old kook. But truthfully, I enjoy living on my own. I guess that’s why I never did marry.”

Rita looked at her handsome face, small lines under her blue eyes, along her cheeks.

Stella asked, “Have you ever married?”

“Once. She died last November. We were married a year. Her helicopter went down. A malfunction.”

“You married a woman? And how are you feeling now?”

“I still think about her all the time. Her name was Arizona.”

“Ah, a dark haired beauty?”

Rita grinned. “As a matter of fact she was.”

“I’m told Victoria, and even Sidney, have many eligible woman of your persuasion.”

“I suppose.”

“You’re heart is still heavy. In time perhaps you’ll find love again.”

“What do you do, Stella?”

“My parents, God rest their souls, left me financially stable, which allows me time to do the Lord’s work.”

Rita squinted. “What’s that?”

“I lay hands on people who come and visit me with problems. Mostly it doesn’t work. That’s why I’m called a kook. But sometimes the Lord does work through me and the person gets healed.”

The major grinned. “A kooky Christian?”

“I follow Jesus. Maybe stumble along behind would be a better description.”

Rita smiled, looked at the water, Mount Baker standing tall across the ocean, the inactive volcano clear and visible today.

Stella asked, “Have you always known you were attracted to women?”

“Yes, I suppose I did. I thought by dating men, maybe it would pass. The feelings for women, I mean. One day I just accepted the fact I’m attracted to women. Men not so much.”

“Men are peculiar creatures. Still, I do like the way some men smell when they perspire.”

Rita smiled. “That’s funny, because I don’t like that smell. I’ll take a sweating woman over a sweating man any day.”

“The beauty of God’s world. We are all so unique. Though, I also think we have twins out there in the world. You resemble a French actress named Brigitte Bardot. When she was young. Amazing resemblance actually. Same facial shape, cheek bones, and full lips. I can’t recall if her eyes were green though.”

Rita smiled. “I’ve heard of her. Maybe I’ll look her up on the internet.”

“I think you’ll be amazed.”

That same evening, after a dinner of stir fry for one, Rita sat on the sofa, the sliding glass porch doors wide open in the warm June darkness. She picked up the receiver and dialed a familiar number.

“Arnold here.”

“Hi General, its Rita.”

“Rita. I was just about to call you. I’m told you had some trouble today.”

“Three Middle Eastern looking guys with bags full of drugs. Probably cocaine.”

“Damn sorry that had to happen. I sent you to lotus land for a vacation of sorts, not to fight. You’ve earned a time out, Rita.”

“I had Dixie with me. She’s a capable woman.”

“I talked to Colonel Robinson at the Army base in Sidney. He’s delving into things on that end. Let him do his job, Rita. You just take life easy. Go to a few luncheons, dinner parties with the mayor, that kind of thing. No more shooting.”

“Yes, sir. That’s my hope too.”

“Other than that, how are you?”

Rita sensed something outside. Heard a faint noise that sounded an awful lot like a rifle being cocked. “I’ll call you right back, General.”

She switched off the lamp, picked up her pistol from the coffee table and eased herself off the sofa. She listened, heard the squeak of the front gate. The house was dark except for a dim light from a streetlight in front of Stella’s house casting shadows across the living room floor and walls. She was thinking she really didn’t want to shoot anyone in her new house. She heard something out front again, kept herself low as she crawled up close to the open doors. She peeked out, spotted a crouched figure in the yard, just this side of the short white picket fence. She gripped her pistol, crawled in silence onto the porch and hid behind the low wall lining the front, glanced over the top and rested her gun hand on the flat surface, aimed at a man’s chest. Light reflected off something in his hand.

“Stop right there.”

The man froze but a moment, began rapidly firing his weapon at the sound of Rita’s voice, his bullets slamming into the wall behind her head, Rita ducking for cover, splinters and paint chips landing on her head, back and neck. She heard the gun jam. Looked over the wall and fired three times, her bullets hitting him squarely in the chest.

Another bullet struck the front of her house just near the open glass doors. Rita crawled to the end of the porch, jumped over the low wall, landed barefooted on the paved driveway and crouched down. She knew someone was just outside the fenced yard. Feet scuffed the road.

She made a decision, ran quickly and silently along the driveway toward the street. Spotted a man bent low, taking cover behind the fence. His eyes looked toward the porch. She fired three times; her bullets downed the man before he had seen her.

She heard the report of another gun behind her. A wind that blew past her cheek. She turned around, saw a burst of fire, watched a man fall to the pavement beside her parked motorcycle.

A voice called out. “Hope I didn’t hit your motorcycle, Rita.”

“Stella, go back inside, its still not safe.”

Rita sensed something else. She looked along the road in front of Stella’s house, a car parked near the streetlight. She ran toward the car, the lights coming on as someone tried to start the vehicle. She rapid fired. Her bullets smashed through the back window, through both left side windows, the car moved slowly, turned off the road and stopped part way on the beach. Rita held her fire.

Stella called out. “Okay Rita?”

Rita walked to the driver’s window; her gun aimed at the man slumped against the steering wheel. Blood on his face and the side of his head. Hair stained dark and matted. She heard Stella walk close.

Rita glanced at her double barrel shotgun, it looked ancient. She grinned a little. “He’s dead, let’s check the others.”

People began to appear out of the darkness, neighbors who lived along the beach road. Rita looked at Stella. “Keep them back from the bodies. I’ll go call the MPs.”

“Okay, Rita. That was some shooting.”

Rita grinned. “You too, Stella. Thanks for getting that guy.”

“I saw the three walk along the road toward your place, I saw they carried guns. Thought you might need help.”

“Where did you get that shotgun?”

“My dear old sainted father left me this shotgun.”

Rita nodded, walked into her house, called the military base, then dialed the general’s number.

“Rita? What just happened?”

“I had some visitors drop by. Unfortunately, they shot at me. There are four dead men near my house at the moment.”

“Four? I’m pulling you out, Rita. What the hell are you in to there?”

“Please don’t do that, sir. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t know, Rita.”

“I’ll be fine, sir. I’ll keep Dixie or Cathy close by.”

“Post a guard around your house tonight. I’ll call Robinson and tell him to step up this damned investigation. Eight dead men in one day? Hell of a vacation destination.”

“Yes sir. I should go now. Looks like people are gathering out front.”

“You stay safe, Rita. I didn’t post you there to get shot.”

“I will, General.”