Agent M: Testament (The Agent M Series Book 2) (2 page)

“Excuse me, Ms. Onyx?” One of the representatives called.

That name slapped Meryl back into focus. She turned towards the young man and snarled.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Those words cut the wind right out from under that poor bastard’s sails. His head sunk in an abyss of embarrassment and tried his damnedest to relay some important information without stuttering.

“Mr. Rage’s fight is starting in five minutes. Is he ready to go?”

Normally, Meryl would answer sharply and confidently. Unfortunately, man wasn’t talking to Meryl Lewis, Special Agent of the FBI. He was talking to Ms. Onyx, fashion victim of the decade and proud owner of the hottest temper this side of the border. Her livid outbursts were well documented by the crew. Rumors quickly circulated that the very mist of her breath could turn sand into glass.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Look at him! This beast could eat bricks and shit a house. Get your ass back into the dressing room and stop asking ridiculous fucking questions.”

The poor bastard scurried off with his tail between his legs. Meryl offered a silent apology but it was fleeting at best. This character started to become a little too enjoyable. If she wasn’t careful, Meryl may end up keeping a few of the less refined traits.

Returning her gaze to Michael painted a familiar picture. As always, or at least what she had gotten used to over the last year. He remained calm and emotionless, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Michael gave his flame adorned gloves a quick tug, ensuring their tightness before the fight was about to commence. A sense of worry dipped into Meryl’s heart. She was assured by both Michael and Commander Wells that everything would go according to plan. Meryl took one last look at the monitors. The ravenous crowd had once again grown impatient and was hungry for blood. She tried not to show it, but Meryl faintly started to regret her impulses. After all, there’s a first time for everything.

Thoughts drifted away from the arena and back into the safe confines of the FBI headquarters. One of her memories had an explanation that would calm her down. The first question on Meryl’s mind was the most obvious.

             
How the hell did we wind up in this mess?

March 22nd, 2013 7:57AM

Los Angeles, California

“You’re making a big fucking mistake you pig-headed pricks!”

The sun had risen just a few moments ago and Meryl was immediately assaulted by the charming words of a delightful young purple-haired girl covered in chains, spikes, tattoos and an outfit that redefined today’s sense of decency. Her tight black top encased small, but still noticeable breasts and complimented the low cut black shorts that seem more suited for a 3rd grader than this petite specimen. Knee high boots adorned with chrome colored laces and hooks were dragged painful through the usually quiet interior of the Los Angeles FBI office. The handcuffs gripping her wrists only seemed to add a cherry atop this sundae of fashionably criminal attire. She barely broke five and a half feet in height and less than triple digits in weight and it still took the strength of three sheriffs just to contain her ferocity.

A small waft of hot steam begged at Meryl’s attention. The vulgarity of that girl nearly tainted the freshly brewed cups of tea she carried in both hands. Black for her since the added caffeine boost was helping relieve her coffee addiction and, of course, green for her astute and health conscious partner. Giving up coffee wasn’t something Meryl ever planned on but once she remembered Michael’s vehement detest for the stuff, making the switch became an easy decision. At least in his presence anyways.

Masked behind the crudeness of that woman, which has now evolved from swearing and morphed into snorting like a pig, walked a well kempt but dispirited young man. His deep black hair was illuminated by radiant blonde spikes of color shooting from the tips and dissipating into the abyss near the scalp. The tight confines of a white dress shirt could barely contain his ruggedly muscular frame. Only a single sheriff guided this man across the facility. Apparently his defeated and otherwise sorrow-filled demeanor proved to bring a damper to his resistance even though he looked physically imposing enough to easily wipe the floor with half of the people in this building.

Through the crowd of onlookers and gawkers, Meryl spotted the familiar face of Commander Nicole Wells as she stepped in and guided the sheriffs along their journey. The bright red locks of hair bounced with every movement, as if they were dancing with each step taken. Her stoic frame was easily complimented in the confines of a black power suit and emphasized a commanding presence.

“Thanks for bringing them in here so quickly. Take them to interrogation. It’s just along this path towards the back.”

The sheriffs obliged and continued to push the begrudgingly defiant woman and her more sullen accomplice deeper into the building. Continuous and unnerving amounts of violently descriptive language echoed along the way. Meryl could hear the comparisons between her superior and a female dog emanate from that woman’s lips. It may have stung, but watching the girl walk away in cuffs without the power to resist her captors probably mended that wound fairly quickly.

Meryl thought to pry more details from the Commander but out of the corner of her eyes she caught a glimpse of tall, dark, and impassive. The raven black hair of the notorious Michael Madison shined brightly against the fluorescent glow of the office interior as he took slow, calculating steps through the office. He made his way towards the dissipating swearing bonanza and Meryl moved quickly to meet up with him and discuss this circus show that has livened up their otherwise quiet building in only a few short minutes.

Despite his consistent brooding demeanor, Meryl always looked forward to the brief few moments she got to share with Michael before diving into their duties. It was hard to believe a year had already passed since they were reunited. There constant barrage of assignments made sure time passed quickly. Finding a moment to breathe easy sometimes proved to be more difficult than dodging a bullet. Unfortunately for them, it was something they both got accustomed to over the last twelve months. After everything they’ve been through, Meryl knew seeing her energetic presence each and every morning chipped away at her partner’s guarded exterior and convinced him their efforts were not in vain.

“Morning Michael.”

A gentle waft of bitter steam crossed Michael’s path. As he took the beverage from Meryl’s hands, his eyes couldn’t help but focus on those gentle yet refreshingly charming features of her youthful expression. Glowing auburn hair that hung just below the shoulders coupled with a smile that easily melted iron and soft brown eyes that could pierce a man’s heart with a single glance. For those on her good side, it was a welcomed treat. However, anyone who’s dared to stir her ire have conflicting, and otherwise painful, memories of the department’s most decorated agent, second to Michael that is.

“Thank you.”

Michael took the cup and allowed the familiar aroma to tickle his nostrils before diving right in. Meryl knew just how he liked it; piping hot and without any added sweeteners. Every cup she brought was perfect. Michael always appreciated her attention to detail.

Their eyes turned from one another and stared down the pathway of rebelliousness. It almost seemed like that girl finally shut up but further insight proved she was just moved into the sound-proof confines of the interrogation room.

“Quite a little mouth on that one.”

Michael nodded and tipped another sip of tea against his waiting lips. He hadn’t experience such vulgarity since taking down one of the fugitives on the Most Wanted List. That was almost three years ago, yet Michael could still hear his disgustingly pathetic pleas. Memories of that time almost swept him away. He almost missed Meryl asking the obvious question.

“Why do you think brought them here instead of county?”

“No idea,” Michael replied with a brief shake of his head.

“I can answer that,” Nicole stated as she approached the tea-drinking couple. “Good morning Agent Lewis. Agent Madison.”

“Morning.” They replied in unison.

Their partnership over the last year has kept them on the same wavelength most of the time. Just as it was back in the L.A.P.D. and exactly what Nicole was hoping for.

Commander Wells handed them each a manila folder containing a thin stack of papers and documents.

“This should tell you anything and everything you want to know about that boisterous pair. Follow me and I’ll even fill you in on some of the juicer details.”

Obliging to their superior’s offer, Meryl and Michael walked along the path of previous disruption where vulgarities still lingered in the morning air.

“We picked these two up early this morning at LAX in the security line. Surprisingly, a TSA agent recognized one of them for an outstanding warrant and instead of confronting them directly, she did the smart thing and called the Sheriff’s office. A fairly uncommon trait with that department given its history,” she coyly quipped.

“From there, the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department took over, tricking them into believing they made a security violation. The girl wouldn’t even remove the several pounds of metal hanging off her body so as you could guess, it took some convincing to get her to comply to a private search. It was important for them not to make a scene like that girl proved she’s capable of. Then, they were brought to the back, handcuffed and quietly escorted off the premises.”

Nicole pondered her words for a moment and then reiterated.

“Well, quiet enough.”

Michael peered through some of the photographs outlining the two individuals in question. Before he could begin a string of initial questions, they reached the interrogation room. Staring back at them between a large plate of mirrored glass sat the smugly insolent woman and her dismayed partner. Nicole thought it best to give them a proper introduction to her agents and save the important questions after the fact. Just as long as the feisty one's bits of rage remain in check.

“The lively one on the left is Cassandra Benet but goes by the street name is ‘Onyx’. She’s been trouble since the day she was born. Can’t blame her for everything though. Her mom hung herself after sodomizing her pedophilic father to death when she was ten. Since then, Cassandra’s had a string of bad luck with law enforcement.”

Nicole calmly went through the list of vile offenses without breaking a sweat.

“Breaking and entering, assault with a deadly weapon, and ten counts of prostitution all before the age of eighteen. The judge took mercy on her, given the situation of her family, and gave her two years in juvenile hall plus another year on parole.”

“So she's got a criminal record that would trump 99% of our current inmates and she's not even old enough to buy alcohol?” Meryl chimed in, half-rhetorically anyways.

Nicole nodded in surprising agreement and continued.

“That's where this sight for sore eyes comes in,” she responded, flashing a quick thumb at the muscular brute. “His real name is Jonathan Reginald Kalinowski but the underground street fighting circuits know him as Johnny Rage. He's the 4th of eight brothers, scattered all across the country. Each of them having picked a unique profession to call their own. One's a firefighter up in New Jersey. Another a professor of Liberal Arts in Seattle. The oldest brother of the bunch is a detective in the N.Y.P.D. And the youngest, well, he's a resident of Hollywood with a knack for cheesy performances.”

Meryl pondered deep into that one. He did look oddly familiar in a nostalgic sort of way. Glancing over his alias provided the answer she sought.

“This guy is Michael Rage's brother?”

“Indeed he is.”

Known for his bad acting and even worse attitude, Michael Rage has graced the silver screen one too many times. Meryl had the pleasure of witnessing one or two of the diatribes they tried to pass off as films. Luckily, Officer Madison's sense of humor saved the evening from turning into a total disaster. Still, looking at this guy now, it was hard to link his calm and seemingly sensitive stature to that of his loudmouth brother.

“How did these two end up meeting?” Asked Meryl.

Their divergent pasts begged for more information.

“Jonathan is a professional and currently undefeated mixed martial arts competitor for the last five years. It just so happens that Cassandra was the mistress of his former promoter. She has an eye for talent it would seem and decided to dump the old geezer for a newer model. They found more lucrative offers away from the pay per view scene and into the underground circuit. The kind where millionaire playboys take ten thousand dollar escorts to gamble their fortunes away while watching men kill each other. Literally.”

Disturbing images aside, Meryl had to ask the obvious question.

“Where were they heading?”

The transition couldn't have come better since Michael's patience for the trip down memory lane started to wear thin.

“They were on their way to Las Vegas to participate in a particularly brutal fighting competition called
Sacrifice
held tomorrow night by an illustrious casino big shot named Charles Logan. He booked Mr. Rage to battle his undefeated champion. Our colleagues in the Vegas field office have been trying to gather evidence on these events for months and couldn’t turn a blind eye to this unique opportunity. Although, gaining front row access to this competition has become more of a challenge than we anticipated. Especially since tickets start at a million a head.”