With an already-tired sigh, Dianne finished her plotting for the evening. At this rate she wouldn't make either the museum opening or the Raven re-opening. She considered tacking on an annoyance surcharge to her contract just for that.
Sure, the Rabidly Unaffiliated Listmember had disappeared quite mysteriously amid vague, yet dire rumors, but the job had been paid in advance and completing it was a matter of taking pride in one's work.
That and encouraging repeat business.
*********
"Come on Jamie, we're going on a field trip!"
"At 2 a.m.?" the Web Goddess trusted her Merc Mommy, but late-night excursions in the middle of a vampire-infested War were enough to give anyone pause.
"Yup. You're coming along on a job with me. It's time you remembered what it's like to be a real Merc--the thrill of the sneak, the rush of the lurk...."
"The joys of jail?" Dianne ignored the comment, but Jamie persisted. "Are we going to get Christina out?" She felt bad at the prospect of leaving her other Merc Mommy locked up indefinitely.
Dianne shook her head. "No, no. Later. When she's learned her lesson." She continued before Jamie could object. "We're going to visit the 'Pack!"
The Illustrated Merc Baby smiled... then frowned. "We're not going to attack them, are we?" Her frown was heading towards a something decidedly less pleasant.
"No, no," the GHP assured her, "We're just going to get some pretty-bright-shinies!" Jamie's eyes lit up, and Dianne sighed quietly. <Way too much time spent around the Pack.> "Starting with," she reached into a pocket and dangled them in front of her as she spoke, "the keys to the Merc van."
************
"Now remember: Be quiet," Dianne reminded Jamie as they entered the beachhouse.
Tiptoeing in amongst the sleeping forms, Dianne could see they had their work cut out for them.
"Oooooh! NatPack!" Jamie cooed as she reached out to pet Jennie's hair.
"Sleeping NatPack," Dianne reminded her in a fierce whisper as she batted Jamie's hand away. "Don't wake them up!"
"Ooooh! Pretty-bright-orange!" Jamie responded, pointing at the NatMare under Jennie's head.
"Pretty-bright-orange, indeed!" Dianne agreed, shaking her head, as she started to work the stuffed animal out from under the Pack Leader's head without waking her.
"If this isn't an attack, why are you taking the NatMare?"
Dianne winced, feeling like the Grinch faced with Cindy Lou Who. Not a bad precedent, actually....
"I'm going to clean it...and fix that spot on its nose." A couple of stitches and a wipe-down weren't going to kill her in the grand scheme of things. And she never lied to her Merc Baby.
"Oh. Well, then, you'd better take the other one, too; we don't want them to get lonely," Jamie warned.
Dianne looked at her for a moment. "There are more of them?"
"Only two."
"Thank heaven!" Dianne muttered under her breath. "You go find the other one, OK? And take...uh 'round up' any other stuffed animals you see while you're at it."
"Oh-kay," Jamie agreed happily.
Dianne started gathering every prescription lens and medication-filled purse she could find, doing her best to ignore the sounds of Jamie tripping over things in the dark. Luckily, the Pack was apparently really tired.
"If this isn't an attack, why are you taking their glasses?"
Just managing not to yelp in surprise (how could someone who stumbled that much sneak up on her like that?), Dianne took a very long slow breath, let it out, then turned to face Jamie.
She was standing there, next to a pile of critters, a bright orange NatMare under each arm. "And if you take their inhalers, they can't breathe!" she accused with a frown.
"It will be OK, Jamie," she reassured her calmly. "I know exactly what I'm doing." Jamie looked less than sure. "Why don't you go in the kitchen and make yourself some coffee--some quiet coffee, OK?"
Jamie thought for a minute.
Dianne thought it was a very long minute.
Then she said, "Oh-kay!"
As Jamie retreated to the kitchen, bright orange NatMares at her side [Have you guys seen these things? 'Bright' does not even do them justice--try 'radioactive orange'! <g>], Dianne spotted something.
"Jamie!" she hissed. "Take your jacket with you. We don't want to leave any evidence."
The Web Goddess took a few steps back, looking at the proffered article of clothing. "That's not mine."
"Yes it is!"
"No it isn't. That one says 'NatPacker' on the pocket."
"Fine, whatever! Just take it anyway." Jamie shrugged, accepted it, and headed back to the kitchen. Cursing herself for not having brought more muscle on this job, Dianne started carting luggage, purses, stuffed animals, and all manner of corrective lenses out to the waiting van.
"I only hope it's big enough...."
Looking at her watch, she decided she'd better let Jamie drive.
"That's a Bad High Place."
"No, it's not!" Dianne was trying, unsuccessfully, to get the height-phobic Web Goddess to come closer to the wall she was in the process of scaling awkwardly. "Besides, I'm going up...not you. I just need you to send up the loot!"
Jamie still frowned, but moved slightly closer to the foot of the building, as she tried not to watch Dianne's progress.
At the sound of her name in an urgent whisper, she tied the large bundle to the end of the rope and looked down to terra firma as it was hauled up into the night.
************
BONK!
Perri stirred ever so slightly in her sleep.
BONK! BonkBonkBonk!
Now other Knighties were waking. A mild panic ensued as it became evident that they were being attacked from above...in the dark....
***********
Hefting the last NatMare, Dianne aimed carefully.
BONK!
"Yes!" she exclaimed happily, as she beaned Catheboo with the super-soft plushie. Sadly realizing she had run out of stuffed animals, she quickly vacated the roof and hurried off to make a few phone calls.
Nothing was working.
It seemed so simple. Just deliver a box to the Cousins. Not even a booby-trapped box. A box they might well even want.
But it was Wartime, and nothing was simple anymore.
She'd tried tying it to a hunk of raw meat and luring Fred the Eagle into taking it back with him.
All that had gotten her was a torn, crushed, bloody box left right where it had started.
She'd tried to find Lisa the Perpetually Wasted. Surely she could be tricked into taking back a simple box with her--providing, of course, she could find her way home.
But Lisa was nowhere to be found. They must be keeping her under lock and key.
She'd even tried to deliver it herself, sinking so low in her race against time that she would try outright honesty in achieving her aim.
It had not been a pretty sight.
And, after all that, it hadn't worked either. The Cousins weren't about to take delivery of anything from the Merc GHP in the middle of the night. Especially when she swore up and down it was not a trick.
Jamie--beloved List Mommy and Web Goddess, and former Cousin herself [for about 2 days back in War 5...go look it up! <g>]--had no more luck.
Dianne sighed. Fine. She had promised to deliver it, not force it down their suspicious little throats.
Propping the box containing all the NatPack's various glasses and contact lenses up against the front door, where it would fall into whoever next tried to exit, Dianne made a rude gesture at the nearest security camera and left to complete her assignment.
"Delivery!"
"Yeah, yeah. Get in line," Cynthia muttered. Even after the grand club re-opening, the back door deliveries went on...and on.... She was really starting to wonder where Janette had found suppliers to deliver at such odd hours on a regular basis.
"So what is it this time," she asked, reaching automatically for the proffered clipboard. "Glassware? Liquor? Little black and red drink umbrellas?"
"I'm from Siren's, ma'am," the deliveryperson responded in a rather miffed tone. "These were purchased by a...." he checked the board... " 'Janet Dutcham' earlier today."
"Why am I not surprised?" Cynthia grumbled as she opened the door to the back room. "You can put it here."
"Well, actually, there's more."
"More?"
"Um...yeah. Lots more."
*******
Within a half hour Cynthia had received parcels from La Vie en Rose, Madam Strang's House of Ill Repute, DarkAngel's Dangerous Liaisons, and half-a-dozen other of the finest stores in Toronto.
Finally closing (and locking!) the door behind her, she surveyed the piles. Opening the top box closest to her, she found...a piece of luggage.
Luggage? In concern she started opening more.
When she was done she had entire sets of luggage--from about twenty people, if she guessed right. Twenty good packers. Containing clothes that her fine Raven sense of fashion told her could only have come from one place.
"NatPackers?"
Dianne stumbled out of the van near an old, abandoned church, mumbling to herself.
"Damn those new high-tech security precautions anyway! Being a Merc wasn't like it was in the Good Old Days(tm)! Then you could sneak about as you pleased, trading secrets and smooth-talking your way past the guards."
"Now it's just a mess--retinal scans, infrared. Geese, for heaven's sake! Ridiculous! Soon a Merc won't be able to make a decent living in this reality. Why when I was a newbie...."
She stopped when she noticed a smile on Jamie's face that suggested that her internal monologue had wandered out past her lips when she wasn't looking again. "Hmph!" she concluded, turning from the pile of NatPack purses and reaching into her own bag for a popular novelty item. All these high-tech precautions meant was the increasing need to resort to lower-and lower-tech solutions.
After all--if you can't beat 'em, trick 'em into beating themselves.
**********
Hearing a forlorn, plaintive lowing from the alley behind the church--before it was drowned out by the sounds of many, many pissed-off geese--the Vaqueras emerged. Dragged from their sleep or their preparations, they cautiously slipped out of the church--leaving behind sentries, of course.
"Cherri?" the voices strained to be heard over the honking. "What happened? Cherri?"
Turning the corner, the first Vaqueras stopped. Directly in front of them, in the center of the alley, was a mound of purses and shoulder bags--twenty or thirty at least.
This, in itself, was odd--but not of great import to them. It was, rather, the soft black tress laid atop the foremost bag that so stunned them that no one noticed the lowing had mysteriously stopped.
"It's his!" The cry went up. "Whose are these? They're gonna pay for what they did!"
Quickly, the small mob gathered up the purses--each of which contained some part of a lock of long dark hair--and retreated into the church. Within minutes, peace was restored to the night.
Once inside, some even noticed when Cousin Cherri came stumbling out of the bathroom--cursing at zippers and glue and mumbling to herself 'and they think pantyhose are a pain!'
*******************
Dianne--smiling, now that the Monster Night From Hell job was finally complete--sauntered back to the van.
"Jamie! They went for it! Mission accomplished, purses delivered, and we are out of here!" With a big grin she opened the door and swung herself into the passenger seat, looking across to find Jamie...
...gone.
"Dead bunnies through a straw!" Dianne cursed. "Big ones!" She added, as she looked frantically around for any sign of her errant Merc Baby.