The Test –a prequel by
Comix_Fana
The X-Files, Mulder and Scully are the brainchild of Chris Carter and a
registered trademark of 20th Century Fox. No copyright infringement
is intended and no profit will be made. Brenda Wade and Sara Kraft are the
creation of Mr. X. All other characters mentioned in this story were created by
yours truly.
Comments? Feedback? Drop me a line at comix.fana@gmail.com
Small studio apartment,
Quantico Virginia, many years ago
“If only all physiotherapy sessions were this pleasant!” The rookie
FBI agent thought, staring at the ceiling, smiling.
He turned his head and cast his therapist an admiring look, as she stood
in front of the mirrored closet door near the bed. Dressed in nothing more than
her birthday suit, she was busy fixing her wavy brown hair with a subtle smirk
on her lips. So petite and dainty, with hands so deceptively strong and breasts
that seemed much too large for her small frame, the diminutive physiotherapist
had proven to be a vigorous lover.
“Scorching hot…reminds me of you know who, only shorter…proportionally
similar mind you…” He thought with a sigh, the
stray memory of his ex-girlfriend ruining his pleasant mood.
He shook his head, as if it would help him clear his mind.
“Damn it, did I have to think of the ice queen when there’s a hottie
in my apartment?” He thought, returning his attention to his
nubile therapist with a mischievous grin.
He sat up in bed, wondering what was going through her mind at that very
moment.
“Yeah, she’s my physiotherapist and this ‘clandestine romance’ is
wrong on a whole bunch of levels…but fuck it, I really do like
her!” He thought.
He got out of bed and walked behind her. She looked at him through the
mirror and smiled.
“Is it okay if I hold you? I mean, ours is a professional relationship
after all…” He asked, tongue in cheek, his voice deep and mellow.
Giggling, she leaned against him; teasingly grinding her firm ass in his
crotch as he wrapped his muscular arms around her body, resting his hands on
her abdomen.
“Professional indeed, we just fucked like horny rabbits for the
past 45 minutes, let alone the past few weeks! You don’t need my permission to
put your arms around me big boy; in fact I’d appreciate it if you did…it’d give
me the illusion that this was a bit more than meaningless sex.” She
said.
He frowned, shocked that she would think of their secret romance as
nothing more than meaningless sex.
“Seriously? Is that all this has been to you? Well let me tell you, it’s
been much more than meaningless sex to me Lucy, in fact, I’ve needed this from
the moment you first laid your talented hands on me; the intimacy, the tenderness…and
I have a hunch you needed it too.” He said.
Her eyes widened, surprised by his reaction.
“Oh I definitely needed it, perhaps more; but you known what I
mean!” She replied, eyebrows arched.
He sighed and nodded. No matter how close he felt to her, the fact
remained that she was still a married woman; never mind the fact that her
husband was an abusive bastard.
“Yeah, I do know what you mean. I guess by that comment that you
decided go back to that abusive asshole.” He said, surprised with his
own disappointment.
Her hands firmly gripped his wrists, feeling guilty.
Perhaps she had used him out of a sense of self-preservation; her
involvement with the rookie FBI agent had provided her with a powerful ally
against her abusive husband. She could have argued that the sex was
compensation for his bodyguard services and moral support; but that
would have been a bold faced lie.
“Who am I kidding? Quentin makes me feel safe, and wanted. The
repeated in-home physio sessions were my idea; a sorry excuse to get
laid by a patient that makes me feel safe…but I’m not in love with him,
this whole situation is unfair to him.” She
thought, privately.
“That’s where you’re wrong Quentin; your moving me to that safe house
was the best thing to ever happen to me. I’m not going back to him; ever.
In fact, you’ve given me the courage to go ahead with divorce proceedings, and you’ve
made it clear to him that if he so much as looks at me the wrong way, you’ll
see to it personally that he eats through a straw for the rest of his life.”
She said, her hazel eyes probing his through the mirror.
“So what’s preventing us to pursue a relationship then Lucy? The
neck and shoulder are almost fully healed, don’t you have the right to date who
you please on your own time?” He said, hating the desperate tone his voice had
taken.
“I’m attracted to you Quentin, make no mistake about that, and you’re
hot in the sack…” She said.
“But?” He said, eyebrows arched.
She sighed.
“Oh for the love of God, do I need to spell it out for you? I may be attracted
to you, but I’m not in love with you. Soon you’ll be moving
to Washington and I have a career here, with a reputable Clinic; are you
suggesting I drop everything and follow you? Especially when deep inside,
you’re not in love with me either Quentin Sullivan, don’t deny it, deep
inside, you know you’re still in love with that Brenda Wade
chick.” She said, dryly.
“Now wait just a minute…” He protested.
Unfortunately, Lucy was having none of it, cutting him off.
“In fact my dear Quentin, I’d venture to say that you’re still so much
in love with her that a romantic relationship between us would be doomed
to failure; am I right?” She said, her voice taking an annoyed edge.
He nodded slowly, releasing his embrace. He knew she was right, but it
didn’t make things any easier.
“I could argue with you that I’ve been over Brenda Wade since long
before moving to Quantico but…forget it. If I’ve learned anything
from that relationship, it’s that once a woman has her mind made up, Armageddon
won’t change it. So this is goodbye then?” He asked, looking away from the
mirror.
She turned around to face him, putting her hands on his muscular
shoulders, giving him what she hoped would be a comforting smile.
“It doesn’t have to be, not until you move anyway; as long as you need
treatment I’ll be there for you…professionally. You have a big heart
Quentin, but face it, we’re not right for each other.” She said, giving his
lips a gentle kiss.
He shrugged and they made their way back to the bed. He sat down on the
edge of the bed as she quietly got dressed, neither one of them sure of what
else to say under the circumstance. Fortunately, the phone rang breaking the
awkward silence. He stood up and picked up the phone.
“Sullivan here.” He answered.
“Gear up, pack your bags and report to Turner Field probie; we got an
emergency X-file case out of Bayou County. You’ll be briefed on the way.” His
senior officer, Robert Baxter said.
“On my way.” He replied, terminating the call.
“Must be one hell of an emergency if they call me while I’m still
officially on the injured list…” He mumbled.
Still naked, he grabbed a suitcase and tossed in his toiletries bag,
clean underwear and a few clean T-shirts. He opened the mirrored closet door
and picked out a clean shirt, a red tie and his standard-issue suit.
“I’ve never seen you in a suit, I bet it makes you look quite handsome!”
Lucy Said, smiling, almost fully dressed.
“Meh, a pain in the ass to wear, especially the tie…how good are you at
tying ties?” He asked.
“Pretty good! My you are a quick dresser!” She said, glad that
the awkward silence was broken and that he wasn’t mad at her.
“Comes with the job…you need to be ready at the drop of a hat, 24/7.” He
said, socks on his feet, shirt fully buttoned up and suit pants on.
“Going commando must be quite the time saver too!” She said, teasingly.
He handed her the tie, which she slipped under his shirt’s collar and
tied it in a full Windsor knot.
“Well done, those hands of yours aren’t just great at massaging, they
knot up a neat tie!” He said, looking at himself in the mirrored closet door
and slipping on his leather holster.
“And they give a mean hand job!” Lucy said a la Groucho Marx,
grinning.
“Got that right!” He said, chuckling, clipping his FBI ID to his belt.
He opened his lock box and pulled out his standard issue Glock 22, and
placed it in his holster.
“I know you’re a trained professional, but those make me feel
uneasy.” Lucy said, as he slipped on his jacket.
He picked a pair of glossy black steel toe cap loafers from the closet
and sat on the edge of his bed to slip them on.
“My fondest wish is that I’ll never need to use it; but if the situation
calls for it…I can, and will. Come Lucy, I’ll walk you to your
car.” He said, picking up his suitcase as he stood up.
Swamp Fever
“…so Sheriff Beauregard is trying to keep a lid on things; his deputies
are bed-ridden with a rare case of Swamp Fever and he’s convinced that the
perpetrator they have in custody has placed a hex on them. He sounded a bit
freaked out when he contacted the Bureau, he wants the X-file department to
handle things from this point on.” Special Agent Carla Montoya said, unable to
repress a smirk.
She was Sullivan’s senior by five years, an attractive divorcée of
Paraguayan descent who had shot down the advances of every fellow agent, save
for Sullivan who hadn’t even bothered to try.
“Rare case indeed, the last Swamp Fever pandemic in the area dates back
to 1852 with a few sporadic cases since, all of them properly treated by modern
medicine, except for those deputies…but true cases witchcraft are also
quite rare…any specifics on the perp?” Special Agent Robert Baxter asked.
“Her name is Réjeanne Boudreau, other than moonshining, there’s nothing
of major impact in her file. A few love potions here and there, medicinal herbs
and such.” Montoya said.
Baxter nodded thoughtfully and turned his attention to Sullivan who was
absent-mindedly looking out the window.
“Say probie, are we boring you? How about you keep your private life at
home? Your constant brooding over the sluts who cut your balls off…”
Baxter began.
“Baxter, come on, that’s way out of line!” Montoya interjected, shocked
by Baxter’s callus tirade.
“…is counter-productive and I need you to focus. If I’m
pissing you off, I can give you a free shot at me once this case is solved, and
then we can all go out for beers. Until then, pay fucking attention!” Baxter
said, ignoring Montoya and gauging Sullivan’s reactions.
Montoya observed anxiously as Sullivan clenched his fists until his
knuckles turned white. She let out a sigh of relief as he smirked and
unclenched his fists.
“Y’know, you did piss me off, but you’re right; those bitches
aren’t worth the constant brooding. Now Montoya, I’m not saying all
women are bitches…” Sullivan said.
“Oh I know I can be one!” Montoya said, smirking.
“Never to me you haven’t! But I’ve been making myself miserable
wondering what I’ve done wrong; so it’s time I stopped, screw them. By
the way Baxter, the last guy I popped in the mug ended up with his jaws wired
shut…so let’s just skip to the beer part once the case is closed, shall we? You
have my apologies and my full attention.” Sullivan said.
Baxter smiled, nodding.
“I like your style probie, that’s one of the reasons I asked you on this
mission.” Baxter said.
“And the other reasons?” Sullivan asked.
“I’ve read up on your file, I saw that you’re familiar with the locals?”
Baxter asked.
“When I was a kid I’ve spent quite a few summers on my Uncle Ian’s farm
a few miles from Saint Marc. I’ve attended my fair share of Zydeco festivals
and learned the Cajun patois on the fly…that’s kind of what inspired me
to learn French in Senior High; which led to an education in arts and
literature…” Sullivan said.
“And athletics? According to your file you nearly made the
US Olympic weightlifting team…” Baxter said.
“And didn’t make it because that bitch Brenda Wade broke my heart…” Sullivan
thought, privately.
“The athletics were a means to an end, a way to get a
scholarship. At the end of the day, an Olympic medal can only do so much to put
a roof over your head and food on your plate. A few endorsements perhaps if
you’re lucky, a spokesperson position for a sportswear company if your really
lucky…ultimately, I took a cue from my sister Isabella and looked into law
enforcement instead.” Sullivan said, glad that he could answer without bringing
his ex into the mix.
“Muscles and a brain, I’m impressed Sully!” Montoya said,
smiling.
“Sully…I like that!” Sullivan said.
“That’s the reason I requested you join this team probie; something
tells me that us ‘fancy-dressed big city cops’ might offend some of the locals.
Having someone on the team they can relate to will be a major asset.”
Baxter said.
“What do you mean? We’re coming at the Sheriff’s request, to investigate
the ‘mean old witch’….” Montoya said, confused.
“Small town mentality, tightly-knit community. To them, we’re outsiders
meddling in their private affairs. Something tells me that Sheriff Beauregard’s
decision to call the Feds to the rescue wasn’t exactly the most popular one.”
Sullivan said.
“Makes sense…” Montoya said.
“Told you the kid was good!” Baxter said.
“Ah shucks, you’re far too kind! Also, you said that the perp was a
moonshiner and dealt in love potions and medicinal herbs Montoya…seems to me
that said perp, that Miss Réjeanne, would actually be pretty damn popular
in Bayou County, and that the local authorities must have royally pissed off
the locals when they arrested her.” Sullivan said, eyebrows arched.
“Makes a whole heap of sense, but if we do accept that Réjeanne
Boudreau has any occult powers and that she has indeed hexed the deputies, what
was her motivation? As you pointed out, the locals are likely on her side and
demanding her release. Agreed, the Sheriff ain’t likely to share
that part of the story with us; but if the hex was about her arrest, why only
hex the deputies and not the Sheriff too?” Baxter wondered aloud.
“Until we’ve gained the trust of the locals, they’re not likely to be
very talkative. However…what if we were to ask for a few minutes alone with
Miss Boudreau, tell the Sheriff in front of her that she isn’t going anywhere
until we have her side of the story…” Sullivan said, his voice trailing
off.
“Then it’ll be obvious to her that we’re not taking the Sheriff’s
version of the facts at face value and she might confide in us…you’re right
Baxter the kid is good!” Montoya said, impressed.
Bayou County
Saint Marc, the main hub of Bayou County, a throwback of its French
Heritage. Bayou County was a forgotten piece of land by most, squeezed in
between the States of Mississippi and Louisiana.
As anticipated, the reception for the FBI team as their car neared the
Sheriff’s Office was all but welcoming, as ten to twelve men of ages ranging
from 18 to 67 were gathered in the building’s outdoor parking with their arms
crossed, scowling.
“Go home macaques!” the eldest one shouted as the rental car
pulled into a parking space.
“Oué go home! You no wanted here!” a younger one, likely his son, chimed
in as the car’s doors opened.
A loud “go home” chant started as Baxter and Sullivan got out of the
rental car.
“Look at la Gaienne! Prudy little thing ain’t she?”
another man interjected, as Montoya exited the car, and straightened her skirt
before following Baxter and Sullivan to the Sheriff’s Office.
“Oué, she be real purdy! Drop da skirt Gaienne!” another man
called, as the others whistled and chuckled.
“Oué, drop da blouse too!” he chimed in again, joined in by his friends
Montoya clenched her jaws, trying to keep her anger in check, but unable
to conceal the angry blush on her cheeks as the “Drop da skirt! Drop da
blouse!” chant grew louder.
Sullivan stopped, and looked over his shoulder.
“Sullivan, what do you think you’re doing?” Baxter mumbled, as Sullivan
took a few steps towards the reception committee.
“Just gonna have a few friendly words with them.” Sullivan said,
removing his Ray Ban’s.
“Oooh looky here, da macaque he be mad!” the eldest one said,
chuckling.
“He gonna defend her honor eh?” His son said, with a derisive smirk.
Sullivan treated them to a cold gin, sarcastically applauding them.
“Bra-vo! Bunch of grand beede’s acting tough! Yo’ beloved Miss
Réjeanne, you really think she approve you acting like a bunch of peeshwank
saleau?” Sullivan said, in his best Cajun patois.
A hush came over the angry group. Sullivan shook his head, taking a few
steps closer.
“We be here fo’ da facts. If Miss Réjeanne she be innocent, she
go free. Da Sheriff he say she be a moonshiner, dat true?” Sullivan
asked.
The small mob looked at each other nervously.
“I reckon dat be a yes. And moonshining is a Federal offense so…go home.
Still has to be proven in a Court of Law and Sheriff Beauregard ain’t pressed
any official charges yet…he be juss’ in a big hurry to pass her onto da
Bureau…and we be here to find out why.” Sullivan said.
“So you really be here fo’ da truth?” the eldest asked,
his voice now taking a nervous edge.
“If you know somethin’ we don’t, let’s hear it.” Baxter said, now
standing next to Sullivan.
“Well, those saleau’s Miss Réjeanne hexed; they be filthy pigs,
they…” the eldest man’s son began, in a shaky voice.
The sound of a gunshot interrupted him, startling everybody.
“Now you bunch o’ grand beede’s scat! Leave da Feds be!
Robertson, Thibodeau, Newman; take yer kin and git outta here! Da next one to
bothuh ’em gets an arseful o’ buckshot!” Sheriff Beauregard shouted, the barrel
of his shotgun still smoking from the warning shot.
A burly man with a bad knee and fond of cheap cigars and cheaper Whisky,
Sheriff Edward Beauregard enjoyed the power trip that his Office provided him.
More upset that frightened, the small mob dispersed, mumbling.
“I apologize for da heated reception, da locals can be a bit protective
o’ their own. Right this way.” Sheriff Beauregard said, limping back to his
office.
“Gotta love how Beauregard stepped in just as we were about to get some
key info…I’m curious to meet that Réjeanne Boudreau.” Sullivan said in a low
voice, with Baxter and Montoya nodding in agreement.
“Sheriff, give us a quick minute? I don’t think the Motel 6 receptionist
quite made out my Queens lingo, I’d like my subordinates to straighten
out our sleep over arrangements.” Baxter said aloud.
“Subordinates?” Montoya mumbled in disbelief,
as Sullivan chuckled.
“What’s dat? You mean you ain’t taking the prisoner over today?” Sheriff
Beauregard said, looking pale.
“Due process Sheriff, we need a full copy of her arrest’s
report, statements from the arresting officers…” Baxter said, enjoying the
anxious look the Sheriff was giving them.
“They all be hexed!” Sheriff Beauregard said, his voice taking a nervous
falsetto.
“Are you saying they arrested her without taking any statements or
making any official report? That’s very sloppy work! Any witness
testimonies? How about the perp, what’s her testimony? What exactly what was
she arrested for? I hardly think it was for witchcraft.” Baxter
continued, keeping a straight face in spite of his urge to laugh.
Beauregard took a few painful steps towards Baxter, seemingly insulted.
“Now looky here, I dunno how you big city folks do business but dis be
mah backyahd! We handle thangs our way, informally.” Sheriff Beauregard
stammered, his face beet red.
Baxter took a few steps towards Beauregard, close enough to smell the
cheap cigar and corn Whiskey off his breath.
“No, you looky here Eddie-boy, you’re the one who
called the Bureau for help. We’re here, so now we’re gonna do our job by the
book, formally. Or if you prefer, we could just leave; if us doing our job inconveniences
you.” Baxter said, staring Beauregard straight in the eyes.
“Now Agent Baxter, let’s not be hasty…” Sheriff Beauregard said, his
voice taking its comical nervous falsetto again.
“Special Agent Baxter, if you please.” Baxter said, dryly.
“Of cou’se, Special Agent Baxter, please…Saint Marc’s
Sheriff Depa’tment be in over its head…I’ll cooperate best I can…” Sheriff
Beauregard stammered, sweating profusely.
“I’ll join you in your office, give us a minute.” Baxter said.
Beauregard nodded and waddled his way back to his office.
“Okay, now that Sheriff Humpty Dumpty is out of listening range, I need
you two to do some fact checking; chances are he’s gonna stall and serve me
some bullshit double-talk. First check out Saint Marc General, see what you can
find out about those Deputies, if they’re in talking condition see what they
have to say.” Baxter said.
“Aren’t they contagious?” Montoya asked.
“There would be a whole protocol of wearing hospital gowns, latex gloves
and surgical masks for protection, but if a hex caused the Swamp Fever, it
would be as a means of revenge. We weren’t the offenders so we’d be
quite safe.” Sullivan said.
Both Baxter and Montoya stared at him gape-mouthed.
“What? I did a lot of homework in preparation for my X-Files
assignment.” Sullivan said, shrugging.
“Like I said before, muscles and a brain…that kid’s going to be
an asset to the department!” Montoya said, smiling.
“Told ya! After the Hospital, spend some time in town, see if you can’t
find the kid who was about to confide in you Sullivan. Here Montoya…” Baxter
said, tossing the rental car keys to Montoya.
“Buzz my cell if you come across anything relevant.” Baxter concluded.
“Will do.” Sullivan said.
“On it.” Montoya said.
Montoya smiled at Sullivan as Baxter made his way to Beauregard’s
Office. She tossed him the keys.
“Here Sully, you drive. We’ll cover more ground if we split up,
drop me off at the Hospital and you go downtown. You know the lingo better than
I do anyway.” She said, winking at him.
“Oh God don’t tell me she’s flirting with me…that’s all I need,
complications from a work place romance…” He thought
privately, as he unlocked the doors and politely opened the passenger door for
her.
“That’s a great idea Montoya.” He said, as he climbed in the driver’s
seat.
“Carla, my friends call me Carla Sully!” Montoya said, buckling up.
“Then Carla it is!” Sullivan said, also buckling up.
“Come on Quentin, be mature about this. She’s probably just being
friendly, don’t read too much into it…after all she turned down pretty much
every guy in the department! Mind you, I can think of worse things than having
sex with her; she’s one hot mamacita!” He thought,
as he turned the key in the ignition; trying to ignore the budding involuntary
erection growing uncomfortable in his pants.
The Facts
Sheriff Beauregard put his shotgun back in its rack and sat down behind
his desk with an audible grunt. A freshly opened bottle of Whiskey unashamedly
sat on his desk, flanked by a glass with melting ice cubes and an ashtray with
a recently put out cigar. Baxter exhaled quietly in masked disgust.
“Have a seat Special Agent Baxter…you gotta unnerstand, dat Miss
Réjeanne, she be real powe’ful…thi’d o’ fifth generation Hoodoo
priestess, she be real dangerous-like…” Sheriff Beauregard said.
Baxter sat down.
“Dangerous how exactly? That mob that greeted us were hardly demanding
her to be burned at the stake; in fact they seemed quite upset that she was in
custody.” Baxter said, observing Beauregard’s body language.
He was sweating profusely, his hands were shaking, desperately wanting
to pour himself another drink but not daring to do so in front of a Federal
Agent.
“Bunch o’ superstitious fools…they figure that rootin’ for her
will put ’em in her good graces…here’s the arrest report.” Beauregard said,
handing the file over to Baxter.
Baxter read the file with a slight frown, shaking his head in disbelief
at certain passages.
“So let me get this straight, after several complaints from anonymous
sources reporting moonshine trafficking, your deputies went to bring her in
for questioning. She refused to cooperate and became rambunctious
resulting in your deputies forcibly restraining her; a woman who as per
your report is all of 4 foot 10, and weighs all of 108 pounds?” Baxter said,
eyebrows arched.
“She be no run o’ da mill week ole lady believe you me. She refused any
medical treatment and asked for young Roland Thibodeau to bring her some of her
medicinal herbs…we neve’ had a chance to interrogate her, mah boys got hexed
wit’ Swamp Fever dat same night.” Sheriff Beauregard said.
Baxter leaned forward and gave Beauregard a hard stare that made him
flinch.
“If your report is accurate, you’ll be lucky if your men don’t face
charges for police brutality! As you know that’s a felony in this
great Country of ours!” Baxter said.
Meanwhile, at Saint Marc General Hospital, Special Agent Carla Montoya
spoke with the Physician on duty, a Doctor Noel Copeland.
“It baffles the mind Agent Montoya, since the day they were admitted
their temperatures have been a steady 102 Fahrenheit, no higher, no lower.
They’re unresponsive to medication, seem permanently semi comatose, and are on
constant IV to keep them hydrated.” He said.
“Any anomalies? By that, I mean any seemingly unrelated cuts or
abrasions that could have been the method of infection?” Montoya asked.
Doctor Copeland scratched his head, frowning.
“Anomalies…well, all three men had blood alcohol levels well over .08%,
not that it would be a means of infection, the alcohol would have killed the
virus, but…” Doctor Copeland began.
“…but Ms Boudreau is a moonshiner…” Montoya said.
“Indeed…as far as bumps, bruises and abrasions go, Deputy Pete Leroux
was admitted with a shattered cheek bone; Sheriff Beauregard claimed that it
occurred because Ms Boudreau resisted arrest…” Doctor Copeland said,
rolling his eyes.
“You don’t sound convinced.” Montoya said.
Doctor Copeland sighed.
“Ms Boudreau can come off as gruff and stand-off-ish, but I’ve known her
for many years. That woman wouldn’t hurt a fly…unless provoked. Even
then, hitting a Deputy Sheriff in the face with a blunt object…the poor woman
must have been in fear for her life.” Doctor Copeland said, looking at
Montoya with his eyebrows arched.
“So you think she was assaulted?” Montoya asked.
“I would need to examine her to be sure, but she’s refused any medical
treatment. And let’s not forget the other injuries: Deputy Dan Marchand’s right
hand knuckles looked bruised, as if he’d punched someone in the face, hard. Deputy
Clovis Wright has bruises on his left shoulder that look an awful lot like
teeth marks…” Doctor Copeland said.
“And the Sheriff says Miss Réjeanne Boudreau hexed them…” Montoya said.
“I’m a Doctor and I believe in science…but I have no scientific explanation
for these men’s current condition.” Doctor Copeland said, with a shrug.
“Let us postulate for a moment that the deputies helped themselves
to Ms Boudreau’s moonshine; and then decided to help themselves to Ms Boudreau
as well…” Montoya started.
“I’ve been entertaining the same theory…but that’s all I have, a
theory. As long as Ms Boudreau won’t allow me to examine her, I can’t
prove a thing.” Doctor Copeland said.
Montoya frowned pensively.
“It’s a working theory at least, thanks Doctor.” Montoya said, making
her way to the elevator.
“Any time, I’ll keep you posted if their condition changes.” Doctor
Copeland said, as Montoya entered the elevator cab.
She pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and typed a quick
text message to the attention of Baxter and Sullivan.
“Hex confirmed, motive likely revenge, possible sexual assault at time
of arrest-need to get Ms Boudreau’s side of the story.”
While Baxter went over Sheriff Beauregard’s report and Montoya
questioned Doctor Copeland, Sullivan had driven around town a few times in
hopes of running into some members of the reception committee. After a third
pass, he recognized the young man who was about to confide in him sitting on a
park bench, speaking with his father and another man who stood on crutches. He
parked the car and walked towards them.
“Ohé p’pa! Is da FBI man!” the young man, one Roland Thibodeau
exclaimed, smiling.
“Sweet baby Jesus, thank God you came lookin’ fo’ us! Beauregard be
coverin’ his arse, Miss Réjeanne be da victim I tell ya!” his father, René
Thibodeau said.
“Like I said, we be here for da truth, rien que la vérité!
Sheriff Beauregard rudely interrupted us, so what da scoop?” Sullivan asked.
“Mah cousin Guy, he tell you, he saw everything!” Roland said, pointing
his thumb at the young man on crutches.
Guy Thibodeau hesitated, seemingly frightened to talk.
“I must apologize, we never were properly introduced…I’m Special Agent
Quentin Sullivan.” Sullivan said, smiling.
“Sullivan…any relation to old Ian and Stephanie Sullivan?” René
Thibodeau asked.
“My Uncle and Aunt. I be a City Slicker but I spent many a summer on my
Uncle’s farm.” Sullivan said.
“Da Sullivan be honorable people, you can trust him Guy. Mah name be
René Thibodeau, dat be mah son Roland and ya already know mah nephew Guy.” René
Thibodeau said.
Guy Thibodeau sighed.
“Well…I was on mah way to buy some ‘shine off Miss Réjeanne…gotta use a
hovercraft to make it to her shack y’see…I noticed her rowboat was gone so I
figured she’s gone to town to make her rounds…I purdy much know her route so I
went after her…” he said, taking a pause to catch his breath.
“I made it to the other shore and moored mah hovercraft near Miss
Réjeanne’s rowboat. I saw dat a few ‘shine bottles were missin’ from da box…so
I walked a few yahds in da woods and heard some laughin’…Deputies Leroux,
Marchand and Wright were drunk like skunks, helped themselves to miss
Réjeanne’s ‘shine. Miss Réjeanne be purdy mad too, asked ’em to pay fo’ what
they took…” Guy continued, breathing fast, almost sobbing.
“They juss laughed at her, tellin’ her shit like ‘Cops never pay’,
s’pecially not a half-breed bitch like her…dat it was their ‘fee fo’
lookin’ the other way’…Leroux he shove her down. Miss Réjeanne she
snap…grab a empty ‘shine bottle and took a swing at Leroux…Leroux went down
screamin’ like a girl…Marchand he punched her in da face…ah tried to scream but
mah voice got stuck in mah throat… “Guy Thibodeau said, sobbing.
“They pinned her down and tore her shorts off…ah managed to scream a
weak ‘leave her alone’…Deputy Wright pulled a gun on me, shot me in da leg…ah
fell over and hit mah head on an ole tree limb. Ah guess they figure they let
me bleed to death…ah feel like such a cowa’d…I crawled my way back to
the hovercraft, all da time hearing them taking turns raping poor Miss
Réjeanne…” Guy Thibodeau finished, tears coursing down his face.
“You lived to fight another day mon frère. Had you tried to help
her, they surely would have killed you, and still raped her.” Sullivan
said.
“He’s right you know.” René Thibodeau said.
“Ah went into hiding. Uncle René pulled da slug from mah leg and
stitched me up. Then I hear dat Cousin Rollie, he brought some mojo powder to
Miss Réjeanne in jail…” Guy Thibodeau said, sniffling but mustering a smile.
“Miss Réjeanne she use da powder to heal her wounds…right after she used
it to hex da deputies, using da filthy cum they left in her pussy!”
Roland Thibodeau said; with a cold grin.
Sullivan nodded.
“It explains why Sheriff Beauregard wasn’t hexed and why he hasn’t laid
any charges yet: his deputies are rapists…it also explains why he’s so
eager to push her back to the Bureau, it’s a massive cover-up operation. Gotta
wonder what excuse they used to bring her in custody…” Sullivan wondered.
“Moonshining, resisting arrest and aggravated assault…Beauregard done
everything to cover his boys’ arses, they still be hexed like da sons o’
bitches they are.” René Thibodeau said.
“Okay, I’ll try to help, but you need to speak up Guy, testify.
Sheriff Beauregard won’t dare touch you after what happened to his deputies.
Miss Boudreau’s freedom may depend on your testimony.” Sullivan said.
“You said you felt like a cowa’d Guy, here’s yo’ chance to do well by
Miss Réjeanne.” Roland Thibodeau said.
Guy Thibodeau nodded quietly as Sullivan’s cell phone chimed with an
incoming text message.
“Excuse me…” Sullivan said, reading the incoming text.
From Montoya “Hex confirmed, motive likely revenge, possible sexual
assault at time of arrest-need to get Ms Boudreau’s side of the story.”
“No kidding…” he mumbled.
“Motive indeed confirmed, sexual assault verified; found an eyewitness
willing to testify. Agree on interviewing Ms Boudreau.” He typed.
“Here Agent Sullivan, mah phone number; you can reach mah nephew here.”
René Thibodeau said, handing Sullivan a small piece of paper with his number.
“Merci Monsieur Thibodeau…we be talkin’ to Miss Boudreau next.”
Sullivan said, taking his leave.
At the Sheriff’s Office, Special Agent Baxter took a gander at the
incoming text messages.
“Interesting…” Baxter said, grinning.
“What up?” Beauregard asked.
“Next step in the procedure Sheriff, taking a statement from the alleged
perpetrator.” Baxter said.
“What d’ya mean ‘alleged’?” Beauregard protested.
Ignoring him, Baxter typed a reply.
“Meet up at the Saint Marc County Jail. Good Work.”
Saint Marc County Jail
“Standard procedure or not let da record show I’m allowin’ dis under
protest!” Sheriff Beauregard grumbled, as he guided the FBI team to the
holding cells.
“Duly noted.” Special Agent Baxter said, in a bored tone of voice.
“Fancy-ass big city coppers thinking they can show me how to do my job,
undermining mah authority…” Beauregard continued, unlocking the door that
led to the holding cells area.
“Like I told you before Sheriff, we can still turn back. This muggy
weather don’t agree with me, and there are plenty of other cases for us to
handle if you feel we’re undermining your authority.” Baxter snapped
back, seriously annoyed with Baxter’s antics.
“What’s this I hear Eddie? Can’t handle things no mo’, y’need outside
help?” A female voice asked mockingly from the holding cells area.
Sheriff Beauregard let out a frustrated grunt.
“Right this way, she be all yers; ah’ll be at da front desk if ya
need me.” Beauregard mumbled, limping his way back towards the front desk area.
“Dat right Eddie-boy, be quiet an’ let da grownups talk!” The mocking
voice or Réjeanne Boudreau chimed in again from the holding cells area.
Baxter, Montoya and Sullivan looked at each other, repressing a chuckle.
They entered the holding cell area, which stank of feces and stale urine. The
neon lights flickered and hummed in the background.
“You can’t tell me the custodian’s been hexed too; this place reeks!”
Montoya said, with a disgusted wince.
“Nope siste’ no hex…ole Eddie he figure dat it teaches criminals a
lesson…ya break da law you don’t deserve clean cells or workin’ lights.”
Réjeanne Boudreau said, sitting on her cot.
Dressed in a County jail jumpsuit, the attractive mulatta cast her
visitors an appraising glance. Her pretty face still showed signs of fading
bruises, in spite of her healing spell.
“It would seem that the good Sheriff bends the rules to his liking…from
what I’ve seen of him so far, the shoddy conditions come as no surprise.”
Baxter said; shaking his head.
Réjeanne Boudreau chuckled quietly, nodding in agreement.
“I am Special Agent Robert Baxter, my partners are Special Agents Carla
Montoya and Quentin Sullivan of the FBI.” Baxter said, smiling.
Réjeanne Boudreau sighed, her expression becoming morose.
“I be Réjeanne Boudreau, but y’all already know dat… I reckon ole Eddie
brought y’all here to make da mean Hoodoo Priestess go away…” She said,
her voice trailing off.
“Not quite Miss Boudreau, we’re actually here for your version of
the facts. You see, the only arrestable offence we could book you on is moonshining…but
the Sheriff has pressed no official charges yet, believe it or not.” Montoya
said, eyebrows arched.
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Big surprise! Eddie-boy always been big on firing his guns
but not much for thinkin’ things through!” Réjeanne Boudreau said, laughing.
“What Sheriff Beauregard doesn’t seem to grasp, is that the moment he
called us in to ‘handle your case’, that put us in charge. We
call the shots from this point on whether he likes it or not.” Baxter added.
“We got an eyewitness with an entirely different version of the
facts than what Sheriff Beauregard claims in his report. The deputies are
facing charges of rape, assault and battery and abuse of power. And Sheriff
Beauregard is looking at perjury, filing a false report and withholding
evidence…” Sullivan said, with a satisfied smirk.
“Oh no hansom’; no witness!” Réjeanne Boudreau said, looking
agitated.
“But it could put those bastards in prison, boot Beauregard out of the
Sheriff’s chair…” Montoya reasoned.
“No honey, you dunno them people; Bayou County got mostly good folk, but
them deputies…they be good ole boys in da worst sense, they know people;
dangerous people…anybody testifiyn’ against ’em be a sure
way to die in a horrible accident if ya get mah drift. What happen’ to
me is a small sample of what they be capable of!” Réjeanne Boudreau said,
breathing rapidly.
“Damn…getting the Hate Crimes Task Force involved is gonna take time;
and there’s no guarantee the witness and his loved ones will be kept safe…”
Baxter said, scratching his head.
“Unless…what if…I could get a confession out of them?
Would it be possible for you to render them conscious long enough for me to
interrogate them?” Sullivan asked.
Baxter and Montoya looked at him with a curious frown.
“Well if they confess…I doubt they will, but yeah, I could make
’em conscious fo’ few hours.” Réjeanne Boudreau said.
“As Special Agent Montoya said, the only arrestable offence we could
book you on is moonshining, and the Sheriff has pressed no official
charges yet. If you were to…unofficially give up the moonshining
business, then we would have nothing. And if we have nothing, Sheriff
Beauregard has no other choice than to release you.” Sullivan said, smirking.
“And if Special Agent Sullivan gets that confession, I will see to it
personally that the deputies are put behind bars, for a long, long time.”
Baxter said.
“Personally, I know a few reporters who would love to hear about
a Sheriff covering up a case of assault, battery and rape by his subordinates,
and how the victim was incarcerated in a County Jail unfit for farm animals,
let alone a human being!” Montoya said, with a grin.
Réjeanne Boudreau nodded thoughtfully.
“Okay, da bastids be in talkin’ condition tomorrow mornin’…say 9am ’til
noon, then da hex back on full. Say hansom’, can I have a private word
with you?” Réjeanne Boudreau said with a mischievous smirk, moving closer to
the bars.
Sullivan looked at Baxter and Montoya with a shrug.
“Go ahead probie, we’ll be waiting for you at the front desk.” Baxter
said.
“If she discloses anything pertinent to the case, be sure to share.” He
added in a low voice.
Sullivan nodded, Special Agents Baxter and Montoya took their leave,
wondering what was so important to tell Agent Sullivan privately. He took a few
steps closer to Réjeanne Boudreau’s cell, who scrutinized him with an intense
stare.
“What’s up pretty lady? Is my fly open or something?” Sullivan joked.
She chuckled charmingly.
“Ah like you hansom’, there be many excitin’ things in sto’ fo’ you…y’see
Ms Réjeanne she got a gift…ah can read people…fo’ instance, I can tell
you been goin’ from one woman to anothe’ desperately tryin’ to replace dat
special one dat got away an’ broke yo’ heart…an’ lyin’ to yo’self
about it too, am I right?” She asked with a smug smirk.
Sullivan took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“Well…it would be fair to say I’ve been trying hard to forget the
past and live the present… moping about how ‘dat special one’ broke
my heart would be pointless…” Sullivan said, trying to keep a steady voice.
“Fo’get da past eh? Seems to me dat yo’ been cultivatin’ yo’
anger, and throwin’ yo’self into one meaningless affair afte’ anothe’ to make
you fo’get, pas vrai?” She said, left eyebrow arched, with that same
teasing, smug smirk that was beginning to annoy Sullivan.
“Look, is this going anywhere? If there’s a point you’d like to make,
make it now; I’m kinda tired right now.” Sullivan said, dryly.
“Ho there hansom’, simmeh down, ah meant no offence…mah point be,
things’ll fall into place eventually…thar be a few mo’ meanin’less
affai’s in da between…but you will find dat special one again ah promise
you dat…You will find true love, but fi’st you need to relax…juss enjoy
da ride until it happens.” She said, smiling.
Sullivan chuckled in disbelief.
“A few more affairs huh? Care to elucidate?” Sullivan asked.
“Ya doubt me eh? I tell ya what, da way dat attractive Gaienne Montoya
been undressin’ you with her eyes da whole time you guys been here; wouldn’t
take much convincin’ for you two to be doin’ da horizontal boogie before
long! And ah get da feelin’ you wouldn’t mind it either!” Réjeanne Boudreau
said.
Sullivan looked down blushing, hoping that Special Agent Montoya hadn’t
overheard this.
“So…if ah be you, ah’d loosen up Sully, y’ juss need a bit o’
faith.” Réjeanne Boudreau concluded with a wink.
Sullivan looked up blankly at her, trying to hide how freaked out he
felt and failing miserably.
“Montoya nicknamed me Sully earlier today; how in God’s name could you…”
Sullivan said, looking unusually pale.
“Da same way I knew ’bout yo’ broken heart and attempts at
romantic affai’s…relax big boy, I told you ah read people, don’t pass out on me
now!” Réjeanne Boudreau said, giggling.
“Ah…I…I’ll be fine…see you tomorrow, hopefully with a confession and
your release.” Sully said, absent-mindedly turning around to take his leave.
“Ah ‘preciate dat…Say Sully? Thanks. You an’ yer crew you be good
people, Miss Réjeanne she be no ingrate.” Réjeanne Boudreau said, with a
comforting smile.
Sullivan turned to face her and returned her smile with a nod.
“We’ll see to it that justice be done; I can guarantee you that much.”
Sullivan said; taking his leave.
He made his way back to the front desk where Baxter, Montoya and
Beauregard were waiting for him. Baxter approached him with a curious frown,
but it was Montoya who spoke first.
“So, what was that all about Sully?” She asked.
“Ms. Réjeanne saw it fit to give me a demonstration of her gift…I
got my fortune told.” Sullivan said, with a dismissive shrug.
“Anything exciting probie?” Baxter asked, with a grin.
“Time will tell Baxter; time will tell.” Sullivan said, casting Montoya
a cryptical look.
Motel 6 later that evening
“I guess my prognosis of the neck and shoulder being fully healed was premature…I
never was officially cleared by the Doctor; and after that last conversation I
had with Lucy, having her treat me again is gonna be damn awkward.” Sullivan
thought, performing the stretches that his former lover and physiotherapist had
taught him; sitting on the floor, dressed in his briefs.
A gentle knock at the door got his attention.
“Just a sec!” he said, standing up.
He opened the door, casting his visitor a curious glance.
“Carla, what’s up?” Sullivan asked.
“I can’t sleep…mind if I come in?” She asked in a soft voice, dressed in
a worn blue and white football jersey several sizes too large, which she used
as a makeshift night-gown.
“Jersey’s so large her cleavage’s exposed…oh my God, that bronze
complexion of hers…yowza…” Sullivan thought, privately.
Her feet and legs were bare, making Sullivan wonder if she wore any
panties underneath her jersey.
“Sure Carla come in, I couldn’t sleep either. Dinner isn’t agreeing with
me, and since Baxter drafted me before I was officially cleared for duty
by the Doctor, well…the neck and shoulder are flaring up something fierce from
the stress.” He said, ignoring the appreciative glance Montoya was giving his
muscular, naked upper body.
“I know what you mean about dinner, that jambalaya was something else…I
love spicy food but that was overdoing it; in fact I was wondering if you have
any antacids? Baxter’s snoring and I’d rather not wake him up.” Montoya said;
forcing her eyes on Sullivan’s face and away from his muscular upper body.
Sullivan nodded, trying himself not to stare at Montoya’s cleavage or
shapely legs.
“Though looking at her pretty face ain’t half-bad either…” He
privately thought.
“Yeah, I found some generic Zantac and some mineral water at the
convenience store across the street…” He said, walking towards his room’s night
table.
“Awesome, you’re a life saver Sully!” Montoya said, smiling.
“No worries, I needed it: like a moron I forgot my muscle relaxant
prescription at home, so I ended up substituting with Ibuprofen.” Sullivan
said, rubbing his stomach with his right hand.
“Uh oh, with the amount of hot sauce that chef put in the jambalaya, the
Ibuprofen must be burning a hole through your stomach!” Montoya said, looking
concerned.
Sullivan pulled two antacid tablets from the box and uncapped the bottle
of mineral water for her.
“You ain’t kidding! So I took two of those and a big gulp of mineral
water…let out a big belch and then got busy with the stretches…if I could just
get rid of that knot near the left shoulder blade and relieve the pins and
needles in my left hand fingers…” Sully said, handing the open bottle and the
antacid tablets to Montoya.
“Thanks Sully…maybe I can help with your sore shoulder? When I was a
teenager I lived in Japan, my Dad worked for a software multinational so we
travelled a lot…anyway, while in Japan I learned Ashiatsu, back-walking
massage. Not as painful as it sounds, though we might want to reconvene in the
bathroom so I can use the shower curtain pole for balance.” Montoya said,
before washing down the antacids with a sip of mineral water.
Sullivan cast Montoya an incredulous look, wondering if she was kidding.
He then smiled and nodded.
“I’m game Carla…and if I’m not being too presumptuous…I feel
privileged. I’ve seen so many agents hovering around you like vultures only to
be shot down…yet here we are, on a first name basis and me, about to get my own
personal Ashiatsu session from the attractive Special Agent Montoya…makes me
feel special.” Sullivan said, grinning.
Montoya snickered, giving Sullivan a playful swat on the shoulder.
“Oh stop it! I’m human just like you! Vultures indeed, most of them
married men or chauvinistic pigs who thought I fucked my way up the ladder and
thus would be an ‘easy lay’…” Montoya said, rolling her pretty brown eyes.
“Not all of us men fall into that category!” Sullivan said, eyebrows
arched.
Montoya smiled charmingly, moving closer to him, looking into his eyes.
“Indeed not, Baxter definitely knows how to treat female agents with
respect, and the new recruits – yourself, Townshend, Carter and Robinson have
been acting aloof around me and the other female agents…but tell me, if you
find me attractive, why haven’t you ever made a move on me?” Montoya asked,
with a mischievous smirk.
“And stoop to the level of those disgusting pricks who thought you’d be
an easy lay? No thanks. Besides, I like to think that even as a rookie I can
show more professional decorum than those idiots.” Sullivan said,
sounding defensive in spite of himself.
To his surprise, Montoya smiled, moving a bit closer, the fabric of her
jersey being the only barrier separating her firm breasts from his upper body.
“Easy Tiger, that’s why I like you so much: you have principles.
And you are special.” She said, her voice taking a seductive, breathy
quality that gave him goose bumps.
“I am attracted to you Carla, and it scares the crap out of me…we
barely know each other and romantic relationships between co-workers have a
tendency of ending badly…could even wreck our careers…” Sullivan said,
tentatively putting his hands on Montoya’s waist.
She put her hands on his muscular chest, flashing him a lustful look.
“Don’t over think this Sully, I’m fully aware that this is nothing more
than a passing fling to satisfy our carnal needs as it were…it doesn’t
mean we can’t be friends once we’re done with this mission does it? Good God,
you’re so warm…” She said, in a near whisper.
She went on her tiptoes, bringing her lips to Sullivan’s kissing him.
Sullivan pulled her in closer, kissing her back, their tongues sensually
meeting. After a few moments, Montoya pulled back, panting.
“Wow Sully, you’re one hell of a good kisser! Never mind Ashiatsu, let’s
make this a full body Nuru massage…too bad we don’t have the massage gel
for full effect!” Montoya said, pulling her jersey over her head.
Sullivan observed gape-mouthed as the lovely Carla Montoya undressed
before him. She was indeed not wearing panties underneath the football jersey,
which made Sullivan smirk as he stared in awe. And for once, the urge to
compare his conquest to be to his ex Brenda was the farthest thing from his
mind.
“…juss enjoy da ride until it happens…okay Miss Réjeanne, you talked
me into it!” Sullivan thought, dropping his briefs.
“Room service seems to have missed a big bottle of bath oil from the
prior customer; will that do?” Sullivan said, his mouth feeling awfully dry.
“Yeah, it’ll do! Nuru starts with a hot shower with plenty of
soap…we’ll need to layer a few bath towels on the bed so we don’t stain it too
badly with bath oil; you need a mattress for Nuru! Right this way young man,
your masseuse Carla will take good care of you!” Montoya said, taking his hard
cock in her smooth right hand with a gentle, but firm grip; leading him to the
bathroom.
She flipped the bathroom’s light switch with her left hand, and let go
of Sullivan’s cock as she turned the taps for a hot shower. She put her arms
around him, hugging him sensually as the shower reached the appropriate
temperature.
“Right this way please…” She said with a teasing smirk, pointing at the
shower.
Sullivan stepped into the tub, followed by Montoya. They drew the shower
curtain and let the hot, steamy water wash over their bodies. She grabbed the
bar of soap and began lathering Sullivan’s shoulders.
“Say, I don’t mean to pry but, what did Baxter mean by that crack about
the ‘sluts who cut your balls off’? You looked like you were about to
rip his head off and spit in it. I mean if you’d rather not talk about it, it’s
okay but…” Montoya said, now lathering his chest.
Sullivan sighed.
“Beats me how he found out but…let’s just say that there was more to my
explanation of why I didn’t make the Olympic weightlifting team than I let
on…it kinda goes like this, ‘there once was a girl named Brenda, who captured
the heart of this fella; just before the tryouts, the cold bitch skipped out,
leaving this poor fella heart-broken’.” Sullivan said, as Montoya lathered his
abdomen.
“Talk about rotten timing!” Montoya said, carefully lathering his groin
area, paying particular attention to his erect cock, making his gasp out of
surprise.
“Easy there Carla…yeah, rotten timing. Miss Ice Queen told me
that ‘it had been fun but she had a destiny to pursue’ and that her
plans didn’t include me. Then, to really piss me off, she added ‘you have my
permission to find yourself a new fuck pal‘…I swear my ears
were ringing, I felt like I was on the verge of throwing up… she sneaked out
just before I punched a hole the size of Texas in my dorm room’s wall with my
fist.” Sullivan said, his face looking grim in spite of the soapy hand job he
was receiving.
“What a cold-hearted, stuck up bitch…” Montoya said, now carefully
lathering his scrotum and inner thighs.
“Oh baby that’s nice…anyway, I was so angry that I went on a beer
bender, missed the weightlifting team tryouts from being too hung over; nearly
flunked my finals from brooding over her…thank God my sister Isabella talked
some sense into me.” Sullivan said, as Montoya lathered his thighs.
“Man that was a close call, you nearly threw your future away over a
broken heart!” Montoya said, moving down to his shins.
“Thing is, I was genuinely in love with Brenda you know, and I
believed she was also in love with me. Crap, to this day I’m still convinced
she was in love with me! It’s almost like she had an evil twin: the woman who
broke my heart was condescending, contemptuous and frigid. A far cry
from the Brenda I fell in love with. Anyway, she was the first ball-cutter.”
Sullivan said, as Montoya rinsed the suds off his body with the hand held
showerhead.
“The first, how many were there? Turn around so I can do your
back.” Montoya said, in a gentle tone of voice.
Sullivan nodded and turned around.
“Only one more. As you probably heard, I hurt my neck and shoulder
during hand-to-hand combat training. My weight-lifting background didn’t
exactly make me agile or flexible, I mean it’s improved a great deal, but I’m
not quite cat-like. I took a bad fall after a routine throw, and next thing you
know I’m on the injured list and getting physiotherapy. Hmm, the way you rub
that soap bar on my left shoulder blade feels real nice Carla.” Sullivan said,
as Montoya lathered his upper back.
“Was your therapist that cute curly haired brunette who’s assigned to
the department’s aches and pains clinic? I hear her husband’s a real piece of
work.” Montoya said, working her way down Sullivan’s back.
“The one and same…at first there was some innocent flirting, you know,
nothing serious; we kept things strictly professional and within
the clinic. A few sessions later, the first accidental boner happened…we
just laughed it off and left it at that. A few sessions after that…her husband
decided to show up drunk and belligerent at work. Lucy had a bruised cheek she
tried to conceal with makeup, but was still visible.” Sullivan said, as Montoya
lathered the small of his back.
“That son of a bitch… wait a minute, are you saying that she was the one
who…” Montoya said, lathering his buttocks.
“Yeah, she’s the second ball-cutter. Anyway, he was raising a
raucous in the reception, demanding to see his slut wife; threatening
to harm the receptionist if she touched the phone to call security. I told Lucy
to relax, that I’d handle this. Dressed in nothing more than my boxer briefs, I
went to the reception and told him to follow me, that I’d show him were Lucy
was…lured him to the men’s locker room. I pinned him against the wall until his
feet no longer touched the ground and asked him what it felt like to be a
helpless victim.” Sully said, as Montoya lathered his hamstrings and calves.
Montoya laughed, as she put the bar of soap on its recessed shelf. She
reached around Sullivan’s waist and proceeded to gently jerk him off, slowly
rubbing her firm breasts against his soapy back.
“Serves him right! What did he say?” Montoya asked, varying the cadence
of her hand job.
“Easy there Carla, I don’t want to shoot my load too soon! He didn’t say
a whole lot at first, though he did manage to stutter ‘who do you think you
are, I know people, I’ll find out where you live’…I just laughed at that. I
told him to knock himself out, and see how going after a Federal Agent works
out for him…he nearly pissed his pants. Then I told him that his wife was done
with the punching bag gig, that she was under my protection, and that if he so
much as looked at her the wrong way, that I’d see to it personally that he eats
through a straw for the rest of his life. Then I let him go and he stumbled his
way out of the clinic.” Sullivan said, interrupting the hand job and turning
around, wanting to face Montoya, the shower stream rinsing his broad back.
“Sully, what are you…oh!” She said, smiling as she understood what he
had in mind.
She resumed her slow hand job and kissed him.
“When I returned to the treatment room, I told Lucy that I’d escort her
back to her place so she could gather some personal effects and then to a safe
house…next thing you know we were fucking like rabbits on that massage table,
excuse my French. The following treatments were house calls… don’t get
me wrong, we’d do physio, but after the physio, more sex. Then, just before
Baxter called me for this mission, I got the old I’m not the one for you
speech.” Sullivan said, his eyes going from Montoya’s pretty face to her
shapely breasts, then to her hand jerking him off and then back up to her face.
“Tough break! After all you’ve done for her to get away from her asshole
husband!” Montoya said, squeezing his cock a bit harder, and cupping his balls
with her other hand, making him gasp.
“At least she’s gasp she’s following through with divorce hmm
di…divorce proceedings, I get some gasp satisfaction knowing she’s s…s…safe…oh
my God Carla slow down, you’re gonna make me cum!” Sullivan said, breathing
heavily.
“Ah, ah, not so fast big boy! Finish rinsing off and shut those taps,
I’ll grab those towels and the bottle of bath oil. I’ll get the bed ready!”
Montoya said, letting go of his boner and opening the shower curtain.
She got out of the tub, water running down her sexy bronze body.
“Damn you’re sexy…and making a mess on the floor!” Sullivan said with a
grin, watching her walk out of the bathroom leaving wet footprints behind her
as he rinsed the remaining soap from his back, buttocks, hamstrings and calves.
“Thanks, you’re pretty hot yourself! Don’t worry about the mess, I’ll
help you tidy up once we’re done!” She said, from the room.
Sullivan sighed and shrugged as he turned the taps off.
“When in Rome…” He thought, getting out of
the tub, taking care not to slip.
He held his breath, drinking in the sight of her as she rubbed bath oil
all over her body, arms, shoulders, breasts, stomach, legs, feet and buttocks.
“Here Sully, stop staring with your mouth wide open and rub oil on my
back. Nuru massage involves the hands, feet, forearms, boobs, butt…the
masseuse uses her entire body to massage the recipient, so both our bodies need
to be thoroughly oiled up.” She said with a wink, handing him the bottle of
bath oil.
She turned her back to him with a mischievous smirk. He poured bath oil
in the palm of his left hand and clumsily splattering it across her upper back.
“Gentle with the ham hands there! Gen-tle, more palm; nice and
smooth Sully, smooth!” She said, snickering.
“Sorry, I’m not exactly an expert at this…here, is that better?” He
replied, pouring a bit more bath oil in the palm of his left hand and now
oiling up the small or her back with a smooth, open handed stroke.
“Much better, like a smooth caress Sully! Rub more oil on my butt
please?” She said, anticipating the feel of his strong hands on her ass cheeks.
“Careful what you ask for, a guy could get carried away with that
gorgeous ass of yours!” He replied in a husky voice.
He poured more oil in the palm of his left hand and put the bottle on
the floor next to the bed so he could use both hands.
“My Agent Sullivan how you do carry on! Gasp…and what strong
hands you have…getting a good feel are we? Not that I’m complaining…” Montoya
said, as Sullivan fondled her firm buttocks, slick with bath oil.
He sensually slid his hands to the front of her body, caressing her
abdomen, moving up to her firm, C-cup breasts, giving them a firm squeeze and
then sliding down her body all the way to her pubis, giving her labia a gentle
rub, making her coo with pleasure.
“Ooh, how I missed the feel of manly hands all over me…you’re
distracting me you naughty boy, who’s massaging who?” Montoya said, in a
pleasured moan.
Sullivan chuckled, letting her go.
“All yours pretty lady, should I lie down so you can oil me up?”
Sullivan said, grinning.
“Yeah, on your stomach; I’ll oil you up and rub you down!” She said,
giving his butt a playful swat.
Sullivan laid face first in bed, wincing a bit at the scent of bleach
emanating from the towels. She climbed in bed next to him and liberally applied
bath oil over his back, buttocks, hamstrings and calves. She put
the bottle on the night table and proceeded to smooth the bath oil on his body,
using her hands and forearms. Grinning, she straddled Sullivan’s ass,
distributing her weight on her hands and feet and began sliding her firm ass up
and down Sullivan’s back.
“Whoa, that’s intense!” He gasped, the sensation of Montoya’s shapely
ass massaging his back making his balls ache with desire.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet lover boy!” Montoya said, pushing herself up
from Sullivan’s body and changing her stance, still straddling him, but on her
knees.
She slid down, lying down on top of him, and began sliding her oil slick
body up and down his, her firm breasts moving from the small of his back up to
his shoulder blades and back; breathing down his neck every time she slid
upwards.
“My, my, Sully, you are shaking!” Montoya said, teasingly.
“I’ve had tantric sex before – sex was great with the Ice Queen in the
beginning I’ll give her that – but this sensual teasing of yours…damn I’m gonna
cum buckets!” Sullivan groaned.
Montoya snickered.
“Why thanks…I think! Let’s focus on those knots on your upper back…” She
said, putting the palms of her hands on his shoulder blades and pushing herself
up, applying moderate pressure; taking care not to slip.
A muffled cracking sound was heard.
“Whoa, I think you just straightened my spine Carla! You may have just
fixed me up!” Sullivan said.
“That’s great! Now the front, flip over big boy!” She said, first
kneeling up, then sitting next to him in bed.
Sullivan turned over, lying on his back.
“Big boy indeed, you were hard at first but wow!” Montoya said, licking
her lips.
“Flattery will get you everywhere you gorgeous…” Sullivan started, his
voice trailing off.
Cat-like, she climbed on top of him, exhaling through the mouth in a
soft hiss. She began rubbing her slick breasts onto his muscular chest.
“You…you forgot to rub the bath oil on my front…” He said, his voice
sounding hoarse.
She looked him in the eyes with a passionate, piercing stare. Without
warning, she slid her body down, impaling herself on his hard cock.
“HUUH! Oh God your pussy’s so HOT!” Sullivan grunted out of combined
surprise and pleasure.
“Still think you need oil?” She said, smiling mischievously.
“Oh hell no, you’re already so damn wet! Just gimme a sec, to compose
myself…I’m on the verge of cumming, I don’t wanna cum just yet.” Sullivan said,
taking slow, deep breaths.
“Okay Sully, I’ll keep very still!” Montoya said, quietly enjoying the
throb of Sullivan’s cock within her tight, moist core.
He reached around her, grabbing onto her firm oil-slick buttocks.
Tentatively, she squeezed his cock tightly with her vaginal muscles and began
gyrating her hips, rubbing her firm breasts against his upper body at the same
time.
“Oh yeah Carla that feels awesome!” He said, kneading her
buttocks with his strong hands.
Breathing heavily, Montoya let out a surprised “OH!” as Sullivan began
to gently massage her anus with the tip of his right hand’s middle finger.
“Is that sore?” Sullivan asked.
“No actually, I…I like it…just don’t stick it in okay? And pump that
cock into me Sully, do me!” Montoya said, still gyrating her hips and
rubbing her breasts against his upper body.
“You asked for it!” Sullivan said, thrusting his pelvis back and forth,
trying to ignore the sensory overload that the beautiful Carla Montoya was
giving him.
“Oh yeah…OH YEAH…like that Sully don’t stop!” She grunted, using
every ounce of self-restraint not to scream out loud.
“Let’s get a bit more leverage…” Sullivan said, holding her
against him and rolling on top of her.
“WHOA!” She yelped out of surprise.
He distributed his weight onto his hands and knees and she spread her
legs open. Using the mattress for extra momentum by pushing down with his arms
as he pulled his hips away and releasing the mattress as he pushed back in.
“Oh…OH…OH…GOD! So-in-tense-so-good-so-HARD!
Gon-na-make-me-cum-gon-na-make me cuh…cuh…HMMMMMMYEAAAAAAH!” Montoya shouted,
grabbing the pillow next to her head and covering her face with it to muffle
her screams.
Sullivan kept still, waiting for Montoya’s orgasm afterglow to taper
down. Panting, she moved the pillow from her face and gave him a curious frown.
“Didn’t…didn’t you cum yet? I thought you said you were about to fire
your load?” Montoya said.
“Nope, not yet, I’m in the zone now…doggy style! Go on your hands
and knees Carla!” Sullivan said, his voice cool and in control.
“Are you serious? You still have the stamina to go…whoa!” Montoya said,
as Sullivan slid out of her and used his upper body strength to flip her over,
as he felt she was taking too long.
She giggled, assuming doggy position.
“What do you think? After all the teasing and turn-ons, you bet your
firm, tanned ass I’m serious!” He said, grabbing her hips and kneeling behind
her.
“Yeah, I’ve been a bad, bad chica, teasing poor Sully until he
cracked! Punish me Sully! Fuck my pussy, spank me! Fuh…huuuuuuuhhh…” She said,
moaning loudly as Sully slid into her, slowly and deliberately.
“How’s that?” Sullivan asked.
“Deep, feels so good…you’re in control Sully, fuck me hard, just
don’t stick it in my ass okay?” Montoya replied, taking deep breaths.
“I promise Carla, tell me if I’m going too hard though.” Sullivan said,
thrusting his cock within her moist core with increasing speed, giving her firm
right buttock a playful swat.
“OH! Yeah…yeaaah…Yeaaah…oh God!” She moaned, reaching once again
for the pillow and burying her face into it to muffle her increasingly loud
screams of pleasure.
“Yeah baby, yeah! You’re so damn hot I can’t get enough!”
Sullivan said, teeth clenched, pumping into her like an out of control
locomotive.
Breathing hard, Montoya raised her face from the pillow.
“Oh God Sully stop…stop, stop, stop; please…wow…I’m
getting sore down there, is it okay if I make you cum with my mouth?” She
asked, secretly wondering what she’d gotten herself into.
Feeling a bit disappointed, Sullivan stopped his pounding and pulled out
of her pussy.
“Sorry about that Carla, don’t know my own strength! Go for it babe,
that sounds scorching hot!” He said, pulling out of her and lying on his back
next to her.
“Babe…I like that! But don’t let it slip in front of Baxter, it
could land us in a heap of trouble!” She said, smiling as she knelt next to
him.
He observed in awe, as the gorgeous, sultry Carla Montoya, her bronzed
skin glistening with oil, bent over to engulf his hard cock in her pretty
mouth. She cupped his balls in her left hand, jerked him off with her right
hand and focused her mouth on the head of his dick, bobbing her head up and
down increasingly faster.
“Oh yeah that’s good…hmm don’t stop Carla, faster…faster…I’m
gonna cum! I’m GONNA CUM!” He grunted, firing his load in her mouth, taking her
by surprise.
“HMM! HMM! HMM!” She whimpered at each salvo, trying not to choke on his
cum.
Sullivan squirmed as her tongue still caressed his glans and her hands
still slowly stroked his shaft and rubbed his scrotum; his cock rendered overly
sensitive from his orgasm.
“Oh Carla…gasp…stop, too…gasp… sensitive!” He said,
breathless.
Once she was sure the gusher had stopped, she sat up, letting go of his
cock and balls. She grabbed one of the towels she had laid flat on the bed and
brought it to her mouth, discretely spitting out his semen.
“Whoa, when you said I’d make you cum buckets you weren’t kidding!” She
said.
“The credit’s all yours Carla, you’re one seriously hot woman!” Sullivan
said, sitting up.
He put his arms around her, pulling her closer. She chuckled charmingly.
“That’s sweet Sully, normally I’d love to lie down and cuddle after sex;
but I’d better get back to my room before I’m spotted here and Baxter finds
out…” Montoya said.
“Yeah, it could cost us our careers…mind you I’d have no regrets!” He
said.
She kissed him.
“You are quite the charmer…anyway, let me help you tidy up; then
we better hit the sack; we have a busy day tomorrow!” She said.
They got out of bed and began cleaning up the mess they made.
The next morning
Still in that zone between slumber and awareness, Special Agent Sullivan
was making sweet passionate love to a woman whose features morphed from those
of the vivacious Brenda Wade to those of the sensual Lucy Morris and again to
those of the sultry Carla Montoya; only to settle into a composite of all
three, with tan lines on her breasts and ass that struck him as impossibly
sexy.
A sound, persistent and annoying was slowly but surely pulling him away
from his sweet, sensuous dream.
“Siren…police car…no…Fire truck…no…Ambulance…” Sullivan
thought, slightly annoyed at being awakened.
He got out of bed, dressed in his briefs. He opened his room’s door and
took a peek.
“Son of a bitch, the paramedics are right next door…that’s …that’s
Baxter’s room!” Sullivan thought, rushing back into his room to
slip his pants on.
He ran back out, barefoot and bare chested. Montoya was escorting the
paramedics as they wheeled Baxter out in a gurney.
“Oh Sully, thank God you’re up, Baxter called 911 early this morning
complaining of nausea, chills and a sharp pain in his lower abdomen, they think
it may be appendicitis. I’ll go with them; you handle the deputies Sully.”
Montoya said, keeping a calm front.
“Wait, what…protocol dictates that…” Sullivan said, still processing
what was happening.
“To hell with protocol Sully, the plan was yours anyway; get that
confession and keep me posted by text…I’ll keep you posted on Baxter’s
condition. Snap out of it, get dressed and go! I’ll ride with him in the
ambulance.” She said, tossing the rental car keys to Sullivan.
“You got it.” Sullivan said, turning around.
He returned to his room, closing the door behind him. He looked at his
watch and saw it was 7:30 am. He grabbed his toiletries bag from his open
suitcase and made his way to the bathroom.
“Okay…Miss Réjeanne said the deputies would be in talking condition
between 9 am and noon, shower, shave and get dressed…I’ll grab me a coffee at
the Hospital’s cafeteria…” Sullivan thought, dropping
pants and briefs to the floor as he entered the bathroom.
He turned the taps for a hot shower, grabbed the bottle of hair and body
wash from his toiletries bag and stepped in.
“Videotape…I’ll need all the evidence I can get; I think there’s
a camcorder in the evidence collection kit Baxter left in the trunk of the
car…there’s been so much hoopla in Court cases about statements taken under
duress, videotaping the statement should clear any doubts, though I’ll have to
be extra careful with my questions…” Sullivan thought, lathering
up from head to toes.
He rinsed off the suds and turned off the taps. He reached for a towel
and began toweling off.
“What the…damn, the bath oil from last night! Thank God I didn’t pick
the towel Carla used to spit out my cum…at least this one’s sort of
dry…” He mumbled, trying to towel dry his hair and skin the best he could with
the slightly damp towel.
He returned the bottle of hair and body wash to his toiletries bag and
pulled out a small can of shaving cream, a razor and a bottle of after-shave.
He distractedly massaged his facial hair with shaving cream.
“After discussing the ‘official police report’ over dinner, and based on
what Guy Thibodeau told me yesterday, Sheriff Humpty Dumpty is committing major
perjury to cover up Miss Boudreau’s rape. I hope those Deputies have fun with
the inmates…” He ruminated, as he absent-mindedly shaved.
He wiped off the excess shaving cream with a face cloth and splashed on
some lotion. He returned the razor, shaving cream and after-shave lotion to the
toiletries bag and zipped it shut.
“Get dressed, then…ShowTime.” He mumbled to himself.
Ten minutes later, he was out the door and on his way to Saint Marc
General Hospital. He absent-mindedly turned on the radio as he drove, settling
on a news station.
“…’the Navajo Nation Council has voted unanimously to enlist the
services of renowned archeologist Sara Kraft to investigate the artefacts
recently found near our burial grounds. None appear to be of Navajo origin and
her expertise will be welcome. As far as the rumors of a chupacabra-like
creature running amok in our villages go, they are unfounded and rather
insulting’. That was Navajo Nation representative Don Peters, speaking on
behalf of the Navajo Nation Council regarding the recent events which were
reported to have occurred on Navajo territory…”
“Chupacabra…I’m surprised no one contacted the Bureau’s X files division
to investigate!” Sullivan chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.
“…in other news, the recently founded Wade foundation has created a Help
Centre for abused women in Delta City, providing legal assistance, counseling,
medical treatment and safe haven for women victims of domestic abuse…”
“Hallelujah, about sweet time private investors would lend a hand to
women in the same situation Lucy was in…” Sullivan exclaimed.
“…Wade foundation CEO Brenda Wade declared in a press conference that
‘the buck stopped there’ for male chauvinistic pigs who treat their
wives and girlfriends like property…”
“OH HELL NO…” Sullivan growled, shutting the radio off; feeling his left
shoulder tightening up.
“Breathe Sully… breathe…she ain’t worth the tension headache or
the shoulder pain…so that’s what your so-called destiny was you
cold-hearted bitch? Leave a man who truly loved you to become a
full-fledged feminist extremist and paint all men as abusive
pigs?” He thought, livid.
In spite of his anger, common sense slowly began to take over.
“Oh sure, I was fine with the idea until I realized it was Brenda behind
it; double-standards much Quentin? Is rescuing abused women my privilege
only? The heroic Quentin Sullivan can’t stand the competition?” he reasoned
silently, calming down.
Then, he giggled uncontrollably.
“Yeah, I’m over her alright! Sounds like Lucy and Ms. Boudreau
are onto something…okay, focus…it’s a few minutes past 8, very little traffic.
I should make it to Saint Marc General pretty soon…” he mumbled to himself.
A few blocks away from the Hospital, he noticed a Wendy’s with
drive-thru service. He pulled in and ordered a sausage and egg burrito and a
coffee.
“That’ll save me time, I still need to figure out what floor those
bastards’ room is at…” He thought, pulling out of
the drive-through and taking a sip of coffee.
“Sweet caffeine come to my rescue…” he mumbled with a smile, carefully
putting the cup down in the cup holder.
At a red light, he opened up his burrito’s wrapper and took a big bite.
“Not bad…likely loaded with saturated fat and sodium I bet, but once
won’t hurt…” he thought, pulling into the Hospital’s visitors parking lot.
He parked, and finished breakfast in the car putting the empty coffee
cup and burrito wrapper in the paper bag it came in. He got out and opened the
trunk, grabbing the evidence collection kit duffle bag. He pulled the zipper
open and took out the camcorder. He shut the trunk and locked up the car. He
made his way to the visitors’ entrance, camcorder in one hand and paper bag in
the other. The glass doors slid open, letting him in.
“Garbage can…oh there…” he thought, spotting a
garbage can in the lobby, and tossing the paper bag that had contained his breakfast
into it.
He walked to the front desk.
“Pardon me ma’am, in what room are Deputies Leroux, Marchand and
Wright?” He asked, presenting his FBI ID to avoid lengthy arguments.
“Why you people are relentless ain’t you? Fi’st da Gaienne yeste’day now
you?” the receptionist said, with an accusatory look on her face.
“Yeah, how dare we ask questions and seek the truth?” he thought,
privately.
“We didn’t ask to come here, you got yo’ own Sheriff to thank fo’ that.
Now we be here and doin’ our job. If them deputies have a praye’ of a
chance of beatin’ dat swamp feve’; they need to talk to me.” Sullivan
said, calmly.
The receptionist rolled her eyes and shrugged in exaggerated
frustration.
“Fahn…fifth floo’ room 24 C…cousin’ Eddie neve’ been none too
bright anyway…” She said, mumbling the last part.
“Thank ya kindly ma’am!” Sullivan said, flashing her a charming smile
that left her feeling confused and mad.
“Uppity powe’-trippin’ city-slicke’…does he have to be so cute?” She
ruminated as he waited for the elevator.
As the elevator made its way to the fifth floor, an idea popped into his
head, making him smile.
“Saint Marc still has a large Roman Catholic community…I bet this
Hospital has a Chaplain!” He thought, his plan
concretizing.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped out, taking a look at his
watch. The Hospital PA crackled.
“Dr. Copeland to room 5-24C, Dr. Copeland to room 5-24C.” The
feminine voice announced.
“9am, on the dot, impressive Ms. Boudreau!” He thought,
unable to repress a chuckle.
He leisurely made his way to room 24C, which was at the very end of the
corridor, to allow the Doctor and nurses to examine the Deputies.
“She said they’d be in talking, condition, not fully cured; which plays
right into my plan…” He thought, as he walked.
He finally made it to the doorway of room 24C, eavesdropping on the
conversation between the Doctor and the Nurse, as Deputies Leroux, Marchand and
Wright mumbled indistinctly in a moaning voice.
“Gentlemen, the fact that you’re out of your coma is a small miracle in
itself; but you’re hardly out of the woods, the fever hasn’t broken and you’re
still not responding to treatment.” Doctor Copeland said, with a concerned
frown.
Sullivan walked in, camcorder in his left hand and FBI ID in his right
hand.
“Yeah, that Swamp Feve’ be a nasty piece o’ business ain’t it? Seems to
me that these men be dyin’ slowly…in fact it’d be a good idea to call
the Chaplain while they’re in talking condition.” Sullivan said, discreetly
showing his ID to the Doctor, breaking in and out of the Cajun jargon.
Doctor Copeland noticed the FBI ID and nodded with a subtle smile.
“Nurse Harris, please fetch Padre DaSilva?” He asked the Nurse.
“Right away Doctor.” She replied, casting Sullivan a curious glance as
she left the room.
“Wha…what d’ya mean we be dyin’?” Deputy Pete Leroux asked in a
whiney voice that conveyed the fear he felt.
“You men have been comatose for several weeks now; with a steady 102
Fahrenheit temperature, which as I already told you, hasn’t yet broken. You
have been and still are unresponsive to treatment need to be on constant IV to
keep hydrated…so yes, Agent Sullivan here is right; you are slowly
dying.” Doctor Copeland said.
“Agent Sullivan…what fo’ you here?” Deputy Dan Marchand mumbled.
“Investigating a nasty cover-up. Oh your boss did
try very hard to cover your asses; but that report of his is so full of holes
that we ain’t buying it. I presume you are all God-fearing men?”
Sullivan said, dropping the Cajun jargon completely.
“Yeah, Church every Sunday; what of it? Deputy Clovis Wright replied,
breathing hard.
“Confession is good for the soul, gentlemen. The way things are
going now, I’d take advantage of the fact that you’re in speaking condition to clear
your consciences while you still can. You never know when you’ll be
comatose again.” Sullivan said, setting up the camcorder on a small table
facing the beds.
“While I agree with you young man, confession should be kept private…you
shouldn’t be present my son, neither should the Doctor or that camera.” Father
DaSilva said, as he walked in.
A gentleman well into his seventies, sporting a long grey beard and
thick horn-rimmed glasses, Father Leon DaSilva was a man who spoke with
authority and commanded respect.
“While I agree with you Padre, those men have already broken the 9th
commandment as well as several others that would take much too long to
enumerate. Right now, an innocent woman is sitting in a prison cell unfit to
keep rats because of what they did. Their confession isn’t only the key to
their own salvation, it’s the key to justice for an innocent woman.”
Sullivan said.
DaSilva looked at Sullivan, Doctor Copeland, Nurse Harris and then at
Leroux, Marchand and Wright, scratching his beard; frowning. He sighed and
nodded.
“Yes, I’ve heard the rumors of what happened to Ms. Boudreau…while I
don’t agree with her lifestyle, if the rumors are true, she did not deserve
her current fate…and while I do not believe in hexes or curses, these men’s
current condition speaks for itself.” Father DaSilva said pensively, repressing
a shiver and doing the sign of the cross.
“In my line of business, you learn to keep an open mind the hard way
Padre.” Sullivan said.
“Indeed…at any rate, I have taken confession from them before, and I
must admit that many a time I have struggled with the Seal of Confession after
dealing with those power-abusing alcoholics…” Father DaSilva
said, casting a disgusted look at the Deputies’ pasty, sweaty faces.
Deputy Clovis Wright cast Father DaSilva an angry stare, trying to look
intimidating but failing miserably.
“What’s this Clovis? Still defiant while facing your impending
demise? That settles it; I’m sure God will gladly make an exception in
this case. Hit that record button my son. Gentlemen…let us have your
confession…if you care about your salvation at all.” Father DaSilva
said, in that familiar authoritative tone of voice that commanded respect.
“Just give me a quick second Padre…” Sullivan said, discretely pulling
his smartphone from his jacket pocket.
“I’d like to see the look on their faces when Ms. Boudreau gets her
release and they’re miraculously cured…all the way to prison!” Sullivan
thought, smirking.
He texted Montoya.
“The Stooges are about to confess; all being recorded on video. Let me
know how Baxter’s doing as soon as you have an update. BTW, what are the names
and numbers of those reporters you mentioned? I want to make sure Sheriff
Beauregard gets his come-uppance along with his Deputies.” He typed,
and then hit the send button.
Leroux, Marchand and Wright exchanged a tired look, wondering who would
speak first. Sullivan walked to the camcorder and hit the record button.
“Ready when you are Padre.” Sullivan said.
“Well then, which one of you wretches wants to clear his conscience
first? I believe in this case we can dispose of the religious platitudes and get
to the point.” Father DaSilva said, with a stern expression on his face
that made him look like an old Owl.
Dan Marchand drew in a deep, labored breath.
“Well, ain’t no big secret that us three enjoy da booze a whole
lot…” Marchand began, his voice trailing off.
48 hours later
“In what has quickly become a media circus, the small town of Saint Marc
has been brought to the forefront as a massive cover-up has been exposed by the
FBI. Deputy Sheriffs Peter Leroux, Dan Marchand and Clovis Wright have
confessed to have physically and sexually assaulted a local woman named
Réjeanne Boudreau; implicating Sheriff Edward Beauregard as the mastermind
behind the cover-up. The States of Mississippi and Louisiana have volunteered
State troopers to keep the peace in Bayou County until a new Sheriff is
elected. Charges will be laid…”
Montoya switched off the radio and cast Sullivan an appreciative glance
as they drove to the Hospital.
“That was some solid work there Sully; Beauregard had to step down to
face charges, while Leroux, Marchand and Wright pretty much walked straight to
prison after confessing to what they did!” She said, smiling charmingly.
“Marchand’s reaction when the hex was lifted actually surprised me, he
behaved like the Good Thief from the Gospel!” Sullivan said.
“We deserve what’s coming to us tenfold; when you live like a
bastard, you end up like one…” Montoya said, paraphrasing former Deputy Dan
Marchand.
“I just wish Baxter had been there to see it.” Sullivan said.
“He’s seen the tape as he recovers; so he knows! The Doctor wants to
make sure he is stable before moving him to a D.C. Hospital; looks like the
jambalaya we had a few nights ago triggered the appendicitis. He’s out of the
woods but he’s still in serious condition.” Montoya said, looking worried.
“Speaking of D.C., are you ready for the big move? I never understood
why they kept the X-Files department in Quantico in the first place.” Sullivan
said, with a frown as he slowed down to a full stop at a red light.
Montoya shrugged.
“No thanks to a certain TV show and its spin-off movies, our department
became the target of many a conspiracy theory and whistle-blower wannabes.
Hell, even within the Bureau we became the butt of many jokes; Mulder and
Scully indeed…the higher-ups believed that keeping our department separate
would avoid a lot of internal grief, but that’s been causing a lot of financial
woes. So they’re moving us back to D.C., spending a lot of cash to save some!”
Montoya said, rolling her eyes.
“Not that I’m complaining, the new one bedroom apartment I have my
sights on will definitely be a welcome improvement! I just need to pack up
though, with the injury and physio treatments, time’s been scarce.” Sullivan
said, smiling.
“Officially, we’ll be known as Special Ops, though I have a feeling the
X-Files, X- department, X-division label is going to follow us for years to
come…”Montoya said, as they neared the Hospital.
They pulled into a parking spot and got out of the car. Sullivan locked
it up and they walked towards the visitors’ entrance. They entered and walked
past reception. Sullivan noticed the receptionist, former Sheriff Beauregard’s
cousin, giving them the evil eye, which made her look rather comical, like a
scrawny cartoonish hen in her white uniform.
They made their way to the elevators, Sullivan clenching his jaws, using
every ounce of self-restraint not to burst out laughing.
Montoya cast him a curious frown as they entered the elevator. She
pressed the button to the top floor.
“Care to share Sully? What’s so funny?” She asked, smiling.
“That receptionist, ex-Sheriff Humpty Dumpty’s cousin…the dirty look she
just gave us made her look like that cartoon hen, Miss Prissy…” He said
chuckling uncontrollably.
“That’s awful!” She said, giving his shoulder a playful swat, laughing
along.
“Hey, you’re laughing too! Say Carla, you don’t have to answer if it’s
too personal, but since you know the sordid details of my love life and since
we’re like real close…what about your love life?” Sullivan asked,
casting her a quizzical glance.
Montoya smiled and nodded.
“Agreed, fair’s fair after all…as you already know, I’m divorced. My ex
and I were just two people with nothing in common other than physical
attraction and decent sex, nothing spectacular, but not awful either. If
relationships were swimming pools, ours was wading pool…shallow, with no
depth or substance. The day I found him in bed with another woman…I should have
been furious, but instead, I felt this odd sense of relief. My
lawyer contacted his, now here we are. To be honest, I kind of enjoy having my
pick of the litter and being able to have sex with whom I please.” She said,
with a wink.
The elevator doors opened.
“I’d call you a cougar, but you’re much too young!” Sullivan said with a
smirk, as they exited the elevator.
“Oh that’s so sweet!” Montoya said, going on her tip-toes to give him a
peck on the cheek.
“I have my moments! Which way to Baxter’s room?” Sullivan asked.
“This way, sixth room on the left. I meant to ask you, how are the neck
and shoulder feeling?” Montoya said, pointing towards the West corridor.
Sullivan tilted his head to the right, then to the left, making his neck
crack as they walked.
“God I hate that sound…” Montoya said, shivering.
“Sorry…but I can honestly say that the Nuru massage did the trick – in
more ways than one – since the pain was triggered by stress, that massage and
the…after massage treatment, made me feel like a new man!” Sullivan
said; smiling.
“Would you say…as good as Lucy?” Montoya asked, with a mischievous
smirk.
Sullivan’s smile widened.
“Definitely on par; different technique but equally mind-blowing
results.” Sullivan said, with a wink.
“Aw shucks! Speaking of which, are you thinking of taking one last ride
with Lucy before our move to Washington? Just for old time’s sake?” Montoya
asked, teasingly.
“It’d be damn awkward, but I certainly wouldn’t complain if we did.”
Sullivan said, smiling subtly at the thought.
They arrived at Baxter’s room. To their surprise, Baxter was sitting up,
immersed into a deep philosophical discussion with Réjeanne Boudreau.
“So we can agree dat, fate brought us all togethe’; I needed you guys to
bring me justice…” Réjeanne Boudreau said, holding Baxter’s hand in a
friendly manner.
“Agreed Réjeanne, and I needed you to heal; that herbal tea
you’ve been bringing me since your release has done more for my health than the
antibiotics and other crap they’ve been pumping into me.” Baxter said, casting
her an admiring look.
“Don’t be too ha’d on the Docs Robert, dey do good wo’k. Sometimes, mode’n
medicine needs a bit a help from Mothe’ Natu’e fo’ best results!” She said,
smiling.
“Robert? You should feel privileged Ms. Boudreau, Special Agent
Baxter doesn’t let a lot of people call him by his first name!” Montoya said,
chuckling.
Baxter smiled and nodded as Réjeanne walked towards Sullivan and Montoya
with open arms.
“Hey, thanks to her potions I feel better than I have in years, let
alone since the surgery; she’s earned the right to call me Robert!” Baxter
said, looking at his teammates with pride.
“Great work…the perfect choices for the Special Ops Carte Blanche
project…perfect!” Baxter thought, privately.
“My Bons Samaritains! A deal’s a deal, Ms. Réjeanne’s officially
givin’ up moonshinin’!” She said, hugging Sullivan and then kissing him on the
cheek, and then doing the same with Montoya.
“All in a day’s work ma’am!” Sullivan said, smiling.
“And the credit goes to Sully, it was his plan!” Montoya said, also
smiling.
“Ah oué, but them journalists, dey be yo’ acquaintances yes? Dat be yo’
idea Carla, I was there when you said it!” Réjeanne Boudreau said, eyebrows
arched.
“So it was, wasn’t it?” Montoya said, looking sheepish.
“A true team effort and I couldn’t be prouder of my teammates…” Baxter
said.
Réjeanne turned her head to look at him, an excited gleam in her eyes.
“You tell ‘em now yes Robert?” She asked.
“Indeed Réjeanne! This mission was a test, you see, Washington has
requested that the Bureau pick a select few candidates who can work without
supervision; have initiative and a good cool head on their shoulders.” Baxter
said, assessing Sullivan and Montoya’s reactions.
“A test you say? Are you saying you got sick on purpose? To see
how we’d react under that type of pressure?” Montoya said, baffled.
“No, that was just shitty luck. I was to let you take the reins of the
investigation and observe…I didn’t even have to ask. You both jumped in without
being prompted.” Baxter said, with a satisfied smile.
“Ah say t’was fate Robert…meant to happen dat way.” Réjeanne
Boudreau said.
“Indeed…at any rate, the selected agents will be granted full carte
blanche on missions. I’ve personally requested you both. My gut tells me
you’d be perfect for the job. The both of you are my picks for the Special
Ops Carte Blanche project.” Baxter said.
Montoya and Sullivan looked at each other gape-mouthed and back at
Baxter, speechless.
“Looks like dey be speechless Robert!” Réjeanne Boudreau said, giggling.
“God…wow…that’s the type of opportunity you can only dream about!”
Sullivan said.
“No kidding! Man, the rumor mill was already pretty busy, bullshitting
that I fucked my way to my current position, I can only imagine what garbage
will be said now…” Montoya said, smiling and rolling her eyes.
“Carte Blanche would give you the right to kick the asses of the bullshitters
Montoya; and you wouldn’t be bothered afterwards.” Baxter said, smirking.
“I think I could learn to like that!” Montoya said, grinning.
“The only drawback is that you may be reassigned to various field
offices; so hold off signing any leases in Washington, month to month
agreements only until you get a permanent field office assignment. You’re the
newly dubbed Special Ops Elite; my personal picks. Give ‘em hell!” Baxter said.
“You made a friend fo’ life with Ms. Réjeanne mah friends. If any of you
eve’ need mah help, come fetch me, you be welcome in mah shack in da swamp.
‘til then, a gift fo’ you…” Réjeanne Boudreau said, picking up her hemp
bag from the floor.
She pulled out three small pouches which smelled of incense and candle
wax. She handed one to Baxter, Sullivan and Montoya.
“Mojo powde’. Don’t worry, no dead rodents or scary stuff in it; juss
somethin’ to keep mah new friends safe. Juss keep da pouch with ya; keep bad
mojo away.” She said.
They looked at the small pouches, smiling.
“You know, not so long ago I would have made a sarcastic comment. But
after what I’ve seen during this mission…thanks Ms. Boudreau.” Sullivan said.
“Réjeanne, please, we be friends now!” Réjeanne Boudreau said.
“Thanks Réjeanne; and you can bet I’ll be looking you up if I ever deal
with the occult in the future!” Sullivan said, opening his arms to hug her.
She smiled, accepting the hug. Montoya and Baxter followed suite, each
hugging her in turn.
Arizona bound airplane, a few
weeks later
“’Chupacabra…I’m surprised no one contacted the Bureau’s X files
division to investigate!’ I had to say! Karma much Quentin?” Sullivan
wondered, sipping on a bourbon on the rocks, turning the pages of the
complimentary newspaper.
“All personal effects packed and sent to storage courtesy of the Bureau,
until I get a permanent Field Office assignment…got to love the perks though:
full Carte Blanche, nice Hotels and First Class treatment…my Assistant DA
sister would approve! And I get to do away with the damn suit and tie…leather
and denim for me!” He thought, with a smirk.
He turned the page of his newspaper to the article he was looking for.
“World-renowned Archeologist Sara Kraft reported missing. Navajo Nation
requesting assistance from the authorities to investigate her disappearance.”
His eyes focused on her photo.
“Very pretty…I’d even venture to say sexy as hell. Yeah, the
authorities have been called indeed; ‘the authorities’ is me! God I hope she’s
okay!” he ruminated.
The End…?