STONE COLD PART 5: Visitation
By Merz
A strong woman recently out confronts her past

I meant to look up my ex-husband a few months after I got out of 
prison.  He'd framed me and sent me inside for five hard years, 
so you might say we had some issues to talk through.  But I'm 
not a big talker.  Prison taught me patience, so I wasn't going to 
run right after him my first day out or even my first month.  If he 
hadn't forgotten me completely I wanted him to wonder where I 
was and what I was doing.  And I wanted to get established 
someplace, settled down in a way, instead of letting Hank shape 
my life like he had when we were married.  I'd pay him a visit to 
settle up when I was ready, but on my timetable, not his.

When we did meet again I figured Hank might not recognize me 
right off.  I put on about seventy pounds of rock hard muscle 
while biding my time in prison, a little better than a pound a 
month for my whole stay.  He had made fun of me for ruining my 
skin working outside so our landscape company could pay its 
bills, and now my skin is pearly white again.  And nowadays I 
wear my hair in a bushy Mohawk just because I think it looks 
more intimidating than what my old stylist might have 
recommended.  Intimidation is the name of the game now, head 
to toe.  I can crush most men like my Styrofoam coffee cups and 
stand up to getting hit in the gut with a ball bat, but the more I 
can intimidate the little fish feeding at the bottom where I swim, 
the less real work I have to do.  I'm hired muscle for a two-bit 
gangster named Marlowe, sort of a pioneer in opening new job 
opportunities for women.  

Marlowe was keeping me busy enough.  Doing little odd jobs for 
him like breaking the legs of a deadbeat or beating on a cheat 
kept me close to town and kept my mind off Hank.  I was 
learning on the job, picking up a few advanced lessons I missed 
in the women's prison like how much pain a man can take before 
passing out.  Turns out it's less than a woman who's anything 
like the same size.  The bones break the same way, the joints 
give out at about the same angles, but it gets quiet quicker when 
you're busting up a man than the women I had to persuade when 
I was inside.  And I was learning some good fighting moves that I 
hadn't needed just working on those women.

This is business, so it's not like Hollywood makes it look.  If a guy 
like Marlowe wants to stay in business he can't have a lot of 
gunplay around his affairs.  That would bring the cops down on 
him real quick, and the reporters.  Bodily injury is another matter, 
not something the police have time to look into very far and not 
exciting enough to sell newspapers.  If Marlowe needs shooters, 
he'll rent some.  But they aren't the workaday employees like 
me.  Me and the hookers I share a house with and the bookies 
and the drug runners just do our jobs day in and day out and get 
paid piecework.  Nothing flashy but while we feed along the 
bottom we're expected to handle whatever trouble comes up, like 
a john getting rough or a mark pulling a gun to try renegotiating 
his debts, and do it without attracting unnecessary attention.

Maybe if I had a regular partner with more street experience they 
would have sniffed it before I did.  I went from the straight life to 
the joint and into the trenches for Marlowe so I never developed 
that sixth sense that tells you when you're being followed or 
when a job goes too easy.  After Leroy retired I was on my own 
for a few months until Marlowe hired some more help.  Filling the 
gap Leroy left in the ranks had me hopping because a lot of the 
little fish figured it was safe to feed when the big man went down.  
I had to show them otherwise, that they still had rules to follow 
and someone ready to swallow them up if they got greedy.

I was making my rounds one night, visiting a list of clients I got 
when I picked up the car.  Things had gone okay, no problems 
with the deadbeats and free thinkers Marlowe sent me to 
negotiate with.  At least no problems for me.  Those with debts 
forked over what cash or trade goods they had to buy a little 
more time.  Eventually the ones with questionable loyalty 
promised they'd be true blue to Marlowe.  Most became 
believers when they saw I was wearing the jacket I took off of 
Leroy and they pictured me wearing their hide if they didn't make 
me happy.  Only one had made me take the jacket off so he saw 
the pythons that were about to put a world of hurt on him for 
thinking outside his box.  No witnesses, but no doubt in the 
minds of other clients who had rearranged him for trying to do 
some freelancing.

Early on I made a bigger deal about showing the arms to let the 
little fish know they were outclassed, but now I'm past that.  The 
muscles aren't there as a warning.  If the little fish see them now 
it's already too late for talk.  When I take it off I'm just making 
sure the jacket doesn't get blood on it and I have room to 
unwind.  Under the jacket I mostly wear a leather vest over a 
cropped T-shirt or halter.  My abs look like a white brick wall so 
the fish know there's nothing they can throw that will hurt me.  

I had one last stop before I dropped off the car in an alley 
downtown like I'd been told when I picked it up.  Somebody I'd 
never see would take it back to the airport or some convention 
hotel before the owner knew it had been "borrowed" for a few 
hours so I could make my rounds.  I parked on the street and 
walked up to the second level of a downtown parking garage to 
meet somebody wanting to sell a shipment of dope to Marlowe.  
It seemed he forgot the original price that was agreed to and now 
was holding out for a fatter cut.  I was supposed to remind him 
that men of honor like dope runners don't go back on their word, 
at least not without consequences.  If it was around when I 
finished that conversation and there wasn't anyone to remind me 
about paying for what Marlowe received, I could pick up the stuff 
and bring it in myself. I doubted he'd have it with him, but you 
never know.

My guy was sitting in the shadows like I expected, on one of the 
few cars parked up there.  "It's late and I'm ready to turn in.  My 
man says your price is too high now.  He says hand it over like 
you agreed and we can both be on our way.  That sound easy 
enough to you?"  That was about as long as my speeches 
usually get negotiating with the clients.

"It's not my price.  I'm just a mule.  My man says his costs went 
up and if your man wants the goods he gotta pay what they're 
worth today, not what they were worth yesterday."

I unzipped the jacket and started taking it off to proceed with my 
negotiating when the stairway door next to the client's car 
opened and out stepped Hank.  With a .38 pistol in his hand.  
"Here's a better idea.  I'll take the goods in question and you two 
can finish your discussion in private.  Lucky I recognized your 
voice, sweetheart, you put on some weight since I saw you last.  
And I love what you've done with your hair.  You weren't much to 
look at when I saw you last, but at least I could tell you were 
human.  Put up your hands."

Whatever.  The mule raised his but I finished taking off my 
jacket.  "Yeah, Hank, I pack a lot more weight now.  A lot more 
than you can handle.  Better just run along and let me and the 
nice man talk grown-up talk."  I glanced back when I heard a 
door open on what looked like an economy rental car parked 
back in the shadows.

"Angela, check his car and see if he has it with him.  Don't worry 
about her, her bark was always worse than her bite."  

"Christ, Hank, why'd you bring her along on this?  You have to 
know you can't come out of this sort of amateur stick-up alive.  
Did you really want to haul her down with you?"  I tossed my 
jacket onto the hood of the mule's car.

"Oh, we'll come out of it just fine.  When the police find a muscle-
bound monstrosity like you next to this one, I don't think they'll 
bother much about the details of who cleaned up their city for 
them.  And the other parties will be content to let it lay as well."

"There's nothing in his car, Hank.  He didn't bring it."  

"Of course I didn't.  I know better than to trust Marlowe.  Do what 
you want with his pet gorilla, but you don't get anything without 
paying my man's price."  The mule was trying to sound more 
confident than he looked, trying to bargain his way out.  I don't 
get that sophisticated when I negotiate.

His little blonde wife started walking over next to Hank.  She got 
a step too close and Hank was a step too slow.  Before he could 
shoot I had her by the throat with my left hand, and cocked back 
the right to smash her face.  Her eyes were popping a little 
because she wasn't getting all the air she was used to breathing, 
but I saw they were popping out even more as she stared at my 
arm.  I looked, too, and then our eyes met.  Between us was a 
blood-engorged monster that pulsed with power and bulged with 
strength.  The veins looked like a family of snakes crawling 
toward her. I loosened my grip a little so she could catch a full 
breath, but still held her like a shield between me and Hank.  "Go 
ahead," I told her.  "Check it out.  Hard to believe it's real, isn't it?  
You want her back while you can still recognize her, Hank, you'll 
toss the gun."

Now that she was just trapped instead of half choked she did feel 
along my arm, first rubbing and then squeezing or pinching here 
and there just to prove to herself that my body was as hard and 
strong as it looked.  Like most people I don't think she really 
believed it even then, but sometimes nightmares can scare us 
even when we know they aren't real.  She was scared.

"Okay, just let her go.  You're right, she doesn't belong in the 
middle of this.  Here, I'm putting down the gun."  Hank stooped 
and set his pistol at his feet.  Just to make my point I one-armed 
Angela a little off the ground by her neck and told him to step 
away.  He put his hands in his jacket pockets and took a half 
step away from his gun.  

I dropped Angela, who landed on her butt with nothing really hurt 
but her pride, and started toward Hank.  "Get your hands out 
where I can see them, sweetie pie.  We have some old 
memories to discuss."

I heard the pop of the pistol and felt the hot metal slam into my 
chest, knocking me back a step.  He pulled the little gun out of 
his pocket so he could aim better, thinking he'd finish me off with 
a head shot.  I wasn't waiting on him to pull the trigger a second 
time.  Just as he fired again I slapped the gun aside and heard 
the mule grunt when the bullet hit him.  Hank took one look at the 
third eye he'd put in the guy's face and took off running to the 
stairway, leaving his ridiculous little gun on the floor.

"Don't move or I'll shoot.  I mean it."  Angela hadn't wasted any 
time scrambling over to Hank's other gun and drawing a bead on 
my back.  

"Didn't you just get the message?  It takes more than a bullet to 
stop me."  Angela stared as I wiped my left hand across the 
blood leaking from my chest.  I took a step toward her and held 
out my hand so she could see the fresh red stain.  She stared as 
I waved my left hand and gave me my second chance at her.  I 
guess she was a slow learner about how quick someone as 
strong as me could be.

I lunged forward and grabbed her hand and the pistol in my right 
fist. I shoved it up so we squeezed off the shot together.  Then I 
started putting on the pressure.  The little gun squirted out of her 
grip like a bar of soap as I compressed her hand.  Without it 
there was nothing to give her hand any shape except the bones 
inside, and they didn't last long.  Even over her screams I heard 
the bones snapping as I bore down, felt her hand change from a 
solid structure to a mass of small chunks and slivers inside a soft 
covering.  I quit when some of the splinters started to poke 
through the skin.  No point taking a chance one of them might 
stick me.

This time I did throw my fist into the middle of her face and felt 
her nose and teeth crunch from the impact.  She hit the ground 
hard and bounced a little.  From farther up the stairwell I heard a 
fire door slam.  If Hank was going to run from me the least he 
could have done was show a little sense by going down instead 
of up where I would have him trapped.  "Dumb shit.  Lucky I'm 
not the one married to him anymore."  I tossed away the .38 so 
she couldn't hurt herself with it if she came around, and kicked 
Hank's backup piece under the mule's car where she wouldn't 
find it.

I jerked open my leather vest to check the damage. The little 
dark hole in my chest oozed blood.  Inside I could feel the little 
pellet that had dug through a couple inches of muscle to stop 
against my rib.  It still felt hot inside there, and for an instant I 
pictured it was Hank's cock that had penetrated me, hot but tiny, 
unable to satisfy me or get the job done the way he wanted to do 
it.  His puny .22 lost enough steam getting through his leather 
jacket and my vest that it didn't have a chance against pecs as 
hard as mine.  Running on adrenaline and fury I could ignore the 
pain for a while, but later the injured muscle would stiffen up and 
really cause me some misery when I moved.  Hank had to take 
his fall in the next few minutes while I was still at my peak.  I 
stuffed my bandana over the wound and buttoned up the vest 
again to cut down on the chance of leaving blood behind as 
evidence.  My own blood anyway.

I intercepted Hank sneaking back down the ramp from the roof.  I 
guess he realized he'd be trapped up there but wasn't going to 
take his chances on the stairs again.  I came out from behind a 
support pillar and slapped him flat on his back.

"You shouldn't have shot for my heart, darling.  There's nothing in 
there a bullet could dent anymore."  

I had thought about grinding Hank up slowly, one piece at a time 
until there was nothing left of him but fear and pain.  Now that I 
had him my professional instincts took over and I did the job as 
quick and efficient as I would on anyone else I met on the 
bottom.  Maybe I showed off a little bit more than I would on a 
normal client without any chance of their telling the story or any 
witnesses to impress.  Still, I made it go quick because my chest 
was starting to hurt pretty fierce.  

Maybe he fought back, but not enough to notice.  Just three 
punches to bust up his ribs, then I wrapped my arm around his 
like a snake wrapping up its prey.  He used his other arm to try 
pushing against mine, to try fighting against the pressure I was 
applying to straighten my arm and bend his against the elbow 
and between the joints.  I went slow on this part so he could feel 
the muscles and realize both his arms weren't enough to stop 
me straightening mine. 

His arm snapped in two spots and he was left sobbing and 
hanging on to me with his only good arm, right up against me.  I 
could feel how soft his body was as it pressed against me.  A 
weak man who had sent me into the furnace that tempered my 
own muscle and soul into steel.  I tried to stir up some hate for 
him, but couldn't work up any feeling at all.  He was just a 
problem I had to dispose of.

I shrugged him off and grabbed him at the throat with my left 
hand and his crotch with my right.  I lifted him up chest high and 
started walking back to the roof where I could toss him over.  He 
was crying and trembling like a kitten as I carried him along.  
Down below I heard a car start up, but I didn't stop walking.  I 
just pressed him on up above my head.  

When I heard the tires squeal I stopped and turned to face the 
car.  His stupid wife was doing a poor job driving with just her left 
hand.  Finally she got everything straightened out and hit the gas 
heading right for us and accelerating as she came.  I could feel 
Hank was pissing his pants as I held him above my head.  I 
didn't have to crush his nuts but as long as they were in my hand 
and he needed to learn to control himself I went ahead.  Him 
pissing on my hand was pretty disgusting, but this isn't a job for 
the squeamish.

She had the car up to about thirty by the time she was ten feet 
from me.  I tossed Hank at the windshield and jumped aside as 
she roared past.  Hank cracked the windshield when he landed, 
and I could hear them both screaming as she fought to control 
the car and hit the bakes, unable to see where she was headed.  
The car crashed into one of the support pillars and they both hit 
the pavement.  I guess she forgot to buckle up for safety 
because she flew right out through the windshield.

So here's a fine mess.  A rental car with Hank's name on it 
wrecked inside a parking garage.  Two bodies up here and one 
dead errand boy down below.  Guns laying around here and 
there.  Blood leaked down my front but so far I didn't see it 
dripping off, so I shouldn't have left much DNA around for 
anyone to find, or any prints. But I had to do some cleaning up to 
keep the police from making a connection to me or Marlowe from 
all this instead of our drug supplying associate.  I walked to the 
car and saw the trunk was sprung from the impact.  I lifted the lid 
and spotted the answer to my problems: they packed for this little 
working vacation of theirs.

I grabbed the two suitcases and popped them open.  From the 
clothes inside I grabbed one of his clean shirts and dumped 
everything else into the trunk.  She was a little thing anyway so it 
didn't take much to get her stuffed into the smaller bag and the 
latch snapped.  Hank was tougher.  For one thing, he was still 
alive when I started.  After I bent him double and used all my 
strength to flatten his torso down between his thighs, that 
changed.    The legs were still too angular to fit into the suitcase 
and get it closed, so I had to do some modifying there, too.  
Finally I had him packaged up neat and tidy and got the lid 
snapped shut.  I used his shirt to wipe off the car where I had 
touched it and everywhere on the suitcases but the handles.  I'd 
do them last.

Now the last part, and the hardest.  I had to get down the stairs 
and out of the building to a dumpster, looking like a more or less 
normal citizen with something to toss, in case I had any 
witnesses.  The suitcases weighed nearly three hundred pounds 
together, and I had to do it in one trip, not making it seem like I 
was carrying more than a tenth of what I was so a bystander 
wouldn't look twice.  I combed my hair down with my fingers so it 
lay down to my ears and made scruffy bangs in front.  I worked 
my hands and arms to get them ready for the load.  The arms 
were already pumped, hard, vascular, throbbing with the power 
that had taken Hank and his wife apart and then folded them up 
like laundry.  They glowed hot pink from the exertion, like I love 
to see them.  But I needed to work them to keep from cramping 
so I flexed and stretched until they looked to have pumped out 
another inch worth.  When I stood with my load my left pec was 
on fire from the strain on the bullet wound.  It got worse with 
every step and my arms felt like they'd be torn from the sockets 
but I just kept going, one step at a time.  

Down two flights I stopped to get my jacket and zipped it up all 
the way, then stooped again with my back straight to grab the 
handles of the two suitcases for the home stretch.  By the time I 
got to the dumpster in the alley behind the garage blood had run 
down clear into my left boot.  I dropped the bags, wiped them for 
prints, then opened the top of the dumpster and heaved Hank 
and Angela in for the next leg of their journey.  They seemed like 
good quality bags so the locks would probably hold all the way to 
the dump.

There's health insurance of a sort in my line of work   I rousted 
out a doctor who was on the hook to Marlowe.  He was grumpy 
at coming to his office in the middle of the night but couldn't say 
no to one of Marlowe's people.  Besides, his fee varied with what 
we could pay at the time and how much bedside manner we 
wanted to buy, and I was worth a couple hundred to him.  
Because he was on the hook to a second-class gangster we all 
knew not to expect much when we had to go in.  He couldn't do 
anesthetic and put you under when he worked like a hospital 
could.  Plus, it made sense to go in only if you knew you'd be up 
and around within a day or so.  Longer than that and Marlowe 
was likely to arrange that you wouldn't be up at all.  It's not a 
business where he can afford a sicklist of thugs or hookers, so 
medical problems were either minor or terminal.  Nobody would 
take a chance going to sleep at the doctor's because with just a 
phone call he could arrange with Marlowe that you never woke 
up.   In my case I'd make sure a bullet in the chest was just 
minor.  

The doctor needed a little reminding to keep his mind on his job 
and off the size of my arms or my chest.  Eventually he dug out 
the bullet and handed it to me, then stitched things up inside and 
out so it would all heal clean and pretty. I'd have to keep the 
wound hidden, and I'd have to bandage it heavy enough so 
when it tore open from needing to use my left arm the blood 
wouldn't show and give me away to anyone outside the 
organization or inside.  Feeding at the bottom you get a good 
nose for blood in the water.  If one of the fish sniffed it and knew 
I was vulnerable there'd be a feeding frenzy around me, with 
Marlowe doing what he had to, to show the rest he wouldn't 
tolerate a soldier too weak to take care of herself.  

Later after the johns quit coming around I laid in the bathtub with 
Roo-anne and got her to tell me her story, how she ended up 
running a whore house for Marlowe and what happened to the 
kids she had by the straight shooter she met in high school.  
Roo-anne was gentle changing the bandage on my chest, firm 
rubbing my arms where they were stiff from hauling the baggage, 
hypnotic telling me her story.  My mind drifted along on her 
words, but a part of it was still swimming along the bottom, 
poking into some dark holes.  Like wondering how a citizen like 
Hank could track me across the state line and right to my door in 
a city he didn't know at all.   I doubted he had the savvy to even 
dig out what info I'd given the corrections people about where I 
was setting up, and that wouldn't lead anyone to the door I was 
really behind.

Marlowe.  Nobody else I knew would have the reach to find Hank 
and then let Hank know how to find me.  Roo-anne moved up to 
my shoulders and used her full weight to unkink a muscle she 
found there still knotted from my little weight lifting 
demonstration.  I moaned with pleasure when I felt the knot give 
way under her pressure.  Marlowe set me up.  Probably still 
sweating over having a woman on the payroll tough enough to 
stay alive in this line of work and smart enough not to let him 
shove her into any traps.  I'd take my own fall when my time 
came, but I wasn't the type to take one for Marlowe. 

Okay, now I know the game and I'm almost ready to play, too.   
Couple weeks and I'll be good as new with just a small scar to 
show for my reunion.  Couple more months and I'll be deep 
enough into his accounts Marlowe won't know who or what went 
swimming there.   Not until it's too late for him to hang onto the 
shirt on his back or the pot he pisses in.