The Procurers

The Setting:
Where: Industrial Park, abandoned paper mill warehouse
When: 1:01 a.m. on the dot.
Who: Procurers, alias ‘J’ and ‘M’

The bike roared and then fell silent as it pulled up close to the lone corvette in the parking lot.
“You’re late.” J said smugly.
“Nah, got here 20 minutes ago. Had to scope out the place,” M said matter-of-fact, pulling off her helmet. M swung her foot over the bike. She tugged up her distressed jeans, but they just fell back low on her hips revealing a bit of tattooed skin below the wife-beater tank top. The long leather jacket swished as she double checked the thigh holster holding her desert eagle. It was concealed as long as the wind didn’t blow.
“Well?”
“Solid.”
J smoothed her pencil skirt, and the thigh high slit flashed some tanned leg. She pulled down her perfectly tailored suit jacket, and patted her revolver in the shoulder holster on her right. The lines of the suit jacket weren’t spoiled by its presence, and she picked up the black brief case with a tense sort of sigh.
J started towards the building, her designer stilettos making a feminine little click with each step. M put down her helmet and fell into place a few steps behind J, her shit-kicker motorcycle boots marring the clicking cadence. The sound put J at ease.
The walk across the parking lot was achingly slow, tensions high, like an old western standoff. One single light pole flickered on and off, making the warehouse seem even more ominous than before.
“We play it calm and collected tonight. Should be an easy trade,” J said more to herself than to M.
M felt a small bit of disappointment at the words, but when they passed under the light just as it flickered on, she caught a glimpse of something shiny in J’s perfectly placed blonde chignon hairstyle. M had to smile, the anticipation suddenly overwhelming.
One of the large bay doors was open, and as soon as they passed into the open room, it shut behind them. They stayed that way, backs against the door. About thirty feet away were three black SUVs parked in a semi-circle, with a folding table in front. Two men exited from each car, and approached the table they all wore black t-shirts and black slacks. One went around to the opposite side of the car and opened the door, chauffer style. A short burly man jumped down from the seat. He was wearing a flashy pin-striped designer suit, and a hideously mismatched tie, that surely cost more than the paychecks of all the bodyguards combined. He approached the table and with a commanding voice asked the men to disarm.
The amount of firepower that was laid out on display would have put a gun show to shame.
“Let’s be friendly about this shall we, J?” He asked in a thick Russian accent. He pulled absently on his pants, the belt and shirt straining under the girth of his pot-belly.
They moved as a group away from the weapons and towards the mid-point of the room.
J and M remained still and silent for the span of a few moments.
J looked over at M, and gave a small nod.
With their backs still against the door, they politely disarmed and laid the weapons softly on the concrete floor. They didn’t come forward.
One of the bigger men grunted in feigned masculinity and eyed the Desert eagle. “Such a big weapon for a little lady.” The rest of the men chuckled and exchanged glances of ridicule. “Can you even hold that sucker up?”
J didn’t have to look over at M to know her jaw was clenched, and although her eyes were hidden behind a dense coif of haphazard brown bangs, they never missed a thing, and J knew they had found their mark.
The difference between tough men and tough women is that the most dangerous man in the lot always thinks he needs to run his mouth to assert his status. They never realize it, but it’s like painting a bulls-eye across their chests. It’s the quiet women you need to watch out for.
“J,” The Burly man said with much humor, “This is my new head of security, Ulrich. Shall we get to business?”
“Yes, thank you Victor.”
J stepped forward only two steps, and M followed.
“May I see the briefcase, please?” J said with a confident air. One of the other goons moved forward and balanced a large suitcase style metal case in his arms as Ulrich opened it for J’s viewing.
Her eyes lit up with approval and J smiled sweetly at Victor.
“It looks like everything is in order then Victor, here is the payment,” J held out her briefcase and Ulrich made the exchange.
“Just a moment, J, if you will,” Victor said openly. “I’d like to count it.”
Ulrich then passed the payment to another anonymous goon to count. And he turned to face J and winked. M made a microscopic movement but J stopped her with a flick of the wrist.
“Victor, I’m hurt,” J said with a frown. She pushed out her lower lip in a comely way. She paced in front of M. “We’ve had numerous transactions and this is the first time you’ve asked to count the money. I thought we had a mutual understanding.”
“You know, I heard something rather funny the other day,“ Victor laughed heartily, his gut jiggling and making a spectacle of itself. “It seems one of my associates had a run in with two women buyers the other day. They lost a lot of men. In fact, only my associate survived, and only because he fled… in a cowardly way. Now, isn’t this interesting?” He looked back and forth between his wall of muscle bodyguards and Ulrich. Ulrich was grinning back at him.
J didn’t pause in her walk, the whole time smiling at him in a polite manner. The only sign of stress was the absent way she fingered her chignon hairstyle. M was on full alert.
“You see, I have two female buyers in front of me right now, but I know that you couldn’t be the same two that my associate was so afraid of. My associate said that they were armed to the hilt, knives, multiple guns, a whole fucking arsenal,” His voice was rising and he was getting flushed now from the exertion. “And here you are, two little women, with two little guns, which you surrendered. You couldn’t possibly take out a whole squad of what twenty trained men, Ulrich?” He was spitting now, and J couldn’t help but cringe at the spittle formations in the corners of his mouth. She stepped back in line with M, the guns still a few feet behind them.
“Just 10 men,” Ulrich corrected. The symbolism was not lost.
“He tried to pull a fast one on them, he wanted the goods and the money, and figured it would be easy, considering the fact that they were stupid enough to come, just the two of them, no more backup. But wasn’t he surprised when he barely escaped with his life. But I don’t run. I plan on watching,” He drawled, an evil look overcoming his jolly one.
There wasn’t time to blink, four more armed men jumped out of the cars, and started to blind fire on them from behind the doors.
J and M were a blur of action. M dove back for the guns.
J crouched and within seconds, the four throwing stars hidden in her perfect hair, were embedded in the throats of the four goons up front. They floundered for a few seconds grasping against the bloodied meat that was their formerly intact voice boxes, then dropped like logs.
M was firing that big ole’ bastard gun before J’s revolver even finished its scoot across the floor from where she passed it over.
She had a two hand grip on it, and was deadly accurate as four windows were blasted out and four headless bodies fell to the floor. Ulrich had just made it back to the weapons table as Victor jumped into a car and threw it in reverse. There was a thup-thup sound as he ran over one of the goons on the ground and peeled out of the warehouse.
10 men, 8 down, one escaping, one left.
Ulrich, had palmed two nine mills and had one pointed in each M and J’s directions.
He had a panicked and surprised look on his face, when he saw two guns focused right back in his direction.
“Mine.” M breathed. And he was surprised again when J and M both put their guns down in mock surrender.
M put her fists in the air in the universal signal for a fair fight.
The smug look on his face actually looked confident after the bloody mess he they just made of his comrades. He dropped the guns and pulled up his sleeves. He was going to enjoy this.
Not as much as M.
J made quick work of the scene as the two of them traded punches. She dislodged her stars and wiped them on the men’s shirts. Then picked up the two brief cases and walked towards the exit. Her blonde hair was hanging loose now, and setting down the cases, she holstered her revolver, smoothed her suit and tucked her hair behind her ears.
The grunting from behind her brought her eyes back to the fight. Ulrich had a busted lip and a swollen eye, and was gasping for breath. M was jumping around shaking out her arms and absolutely gleeful with joy. She looked back at J and beamed with an inner light, just as Ulrich palmed a hidden knife and swiped her across the back. J frowned as M just smiled brighter. Fuck. He was holding the knife like a lifeline and waiting, so M had plenty of time to play it out. She kicked her foot against the concrete floor and did a two spin mid-height kick, catching him in the torso just as he dodged back to avoid the blow. He fell to his knees and she stepped back to enjoy her handiwork, the switch-blade in the heel of her boot dripping with the inky knowledge.
She had disemboweled him.
J gave her a knowing look.
“What? He started it!”
She tapped her foot again on the floor and the blade retracted as she calmly walked towards J. She whistled a little tune as she kneeled to retrieve her gun, and they fell into deadly step with each other as they went for their vehicles.
“You let him get away.” Was all M said when she closed the trunk of J’s Corvette, now holding two cases instead of one.
“He ran. I hate when they run.” J said with condescension.
“Right, and it wouldn’t be sportin’ to chase a coward.” M said as she pulled on her helmet. J noted the slash in the leather jacket on her back, but knew better than to inquire if she was okay.
“He’ll be back.” J said sadly.
“We always have the most fun together.” M said sarcastically.
They were women of few words.
“I don’t trust anyone else.” J said.
The looks that passed between them said everything.