This is My Fight Song

This is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

 

Trixie looked around the second floor of the museum, studying the sign above the entrance she faced. It clearly displayed the name of the reading room, and that was exactly where Ben had texted her to meet him. She was running late, so where was he? That particular question had been asked more times than she wanted to think about in the last 24-hours. The fundraiser was over and it was time to head to the after-party with the Bobwhites. Why does Ben want to talk now?

She sniffed. It was faint, but she was able to identify the expensive fragrance. Before she heard the familiar click of the gun, she knew who was holding it. She wasted no time in turning around, but dove behind an ornate bookcase as the swoosh of the retort told her the assailant was using a suppressor to muffle the sound of her weapon. Two shots, she calculated while rolling. She moved quietly. It was imperative she find a place where she could defend herself and neutralize her assailant. Satisfied she had accomplished her mission, she counted to five slowly, retrieved her weapon from her leg holster, and hoped she was far enough away from the shooter not to be seen. Daring to look around the end of a decorative cabinet, she breathed a sigh of relief to see that Kitty Buchanan was looking in the opposite direction. She took a defensive stance and called out sharply. “Drop it! Federal Agent!”

Kitty whirled in her direction. It was obvious Trixie had the advantage, but only for a moment.

“Hi Kitty! What are you doing in here? Have you seen —” Diana stopped abruptly as she stared at the firearm in Kitty's hand. “What is going on —?”

Kitty moved quickly. Her arm circled Diana and she held the gun to her neck. “Drop it, Belden, or your sister-in-law is toast.” The icy tone told them both that she wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. But before anyone could do anything the situation worsened.

“Diana, my fair princess, what — Holy torpedoes, Batman!” Mart stopped and involuntarily raised his hands to indicate that he was on a mission of peace. His eyes searched the room, locking in on his sister and taking in the entire situation. His mouth opened and then shut. For once in his life Martin Andrew Belden was speechless.

“It's you or them, Belden.” The cold, harsh voice brooked no argument and Trixie stepped out from behind the shelf and held her gun up with one hand, still gripping it with her finger around the trigger.

“Let them go,” she said. “You have me and they know nothing. Let them go.”

“It doesn't work like that,” Kitty informed her. She waved her gun at Mart. “Move over there,” she instructed. “Don't do anything stupid.”

“Trixie?” he uttered, his eyes never leaving his wife.

“Do what she says, Mart,” Trixie said walking slowly toward Kitty and Diana.

“Stop right there, Trixie.” Her voice oozed sarcasm and contempt. “Really? They actually do call you Trixie? I swear that I thought it was some kind of joke. Now put your gun down and kick it over here.”

Realizing there was nothing else she could do, Trixie obeyed. “Let her go,” she said once the gun was on the floor. “Let them both go. This is between me and you.”

Kitty shoved Diana and sent her flying into Mart with a force that knocked both of them to the ground. “If you know what's good for you, you'll stay there,” she snarled. She waved the gun at Trixie. “You. Give me the damn flash drive with the code on it or they're both dead.”

“I don't have it,” Trixie said.

Kitty fired a shot at Mart, striking him in the arm. Diana let out an involuntary shriek as she realized what was happening. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and moaned as she crawled toward Mart.

“That's your only warning, Trixie...” Again the name drawn out in derision. “Give me the code.”

“Give it to her,” Diana screamed.

At the same time, Mart uttered through gritted teeth, “Whatever you do, Trix, don't give her a damn thing.”

“I suggest you listen to your sister-in-law,” Kitty informed her. “You have three seconds. One. Two.”

“She doesn't have it.”

Trixie's heart sank. Standing in the door were Jim and David Steward, clearly on a mission to seek her out. The situation was getting bleaker by the minute.

 

 

Brian looked at his watch for the fourth time in less than a minute. “What do you suppose is keeping everyone? They did say to meet them at cloakroom, didn't they?”

Honey shrugged. “That's what they said. I guess they were stopped by a donor, or perhaps museum security had a question for them. Do you smell that?”

Brian sniffed the air. “I don't smell anything unusual, if that's what you mean. It’s certainly not like Jim to keep us waiting. Do you think he has his cell phone turned on?”

“I hope not.” Honey frowned. “If he does, it should be on vibrate. You know how rude it is for one of those to go off while you're entertaining.” She turned to give him a look. “Are you saying you have yours?”

“Of course,” Brian answered. “You know it goes with the job. But don't worry, I'm not the one soliciting donations and I promise that it’s on vibrate.”

Honey nodded. She would never be able to embrace the informality that so many of her colleagues embraced when it came to mobile technology. The last law clerk to stop in mid-conversation to type out a text message had left her office with his ears blistered. She was used to judges, who maintained a strict no cell phone policy in their courtrooms. She sniffed the air again. Something familiar, but not common, was lingering in the air. She started to scan the area systematically.

“If we’re going to meet for breakfast, then Jim and Trixie need to come on. Mart and Diana are probably at the restaurant by now. They won’t hold our reservation indefinitely.”

Honey shrugged. “As long as they’re waiting for us at the restaurant, Mart won’t be complaining. Let's get their coats. That will speed things up.”

“Good idea.” Brian rubbed his stomach. “Now that I think of it, it would be much easier to wait if I knew I what to order once we get there. How do blueberry waffles sound?”

Honey was ignoring him. She turned the knob to the coat room door and found it locked. Frowning, she knocked on the door. “This isn't right,” she muttered pushing again on the door while rattling the knob. “We don't have our coats and we know Trixie and Jim don't have theirs. Why would they lock the door while guests are still here?” Hearing a noise, she stopped and put her ear to the door. “Something's wrong!” she declared.

“What do you mean?” Brian asked stepping up to check out the door.

“Someone's trapped in there,” Honey declared. “I heard them. We need to get this door open, now!”

Brian rattled the knob and pushed against the door just as Honey had done. He stopped and heard a similar sound. It was clearly a cry for help.

“Move over,” he said. “This door is coming down.”

 

 

Dan was perplexed. It wasn't like his friends to stand him up and he'd never been the first one to arrive anywhere for a group gathering. Admittedly, he wasn't usually the last either ... but he'd never been the first. He glanced at his watch and then at the waitress. “This is the Stardust Diner, right?”

“Yes it is. You're in the right place,” she smiled at him.

“Do you have a reservation for Frayne or Wheeler?” he asked.

The lady consulted her book and nodded her head. “Party of ten,” she confirmed. “For twelve-thirty. It's the latest reservation we'll accept. I take it the performance ran over— or was there traffic?”

“Neither,” he muttered. “In fact, I'm late and they're even later.”

“Would you like to be seated?” She was clearly much more interested in establishing a rapport with Dan than anything else.

“Can you just give me a minute?” he asked. “I need to check on the rest of the party.” Without waiting for her assent he stepped away and surveyed his text messages, missed calls, and emails. Nothing. He started dialing. Nothing but voicemail from Honey, Trixie, Jim, Mart or Diana. Brian was his last hope and he realized he should have started with the doctor in the group. He'd be the one who'd always carry a cell phone and keep it charged. It took a few rings, but Brian finally gave a breathless answer. “Dan? Is that you?”

“Yeah. What's going on? Where is everyone?”

“We're all still at the museum,” he replied. “Where are you?”

“At the diner,” he said. “Just like I was told. What's the hold-up?”

“Dan, you need to get back over here right away,” Brian said. “We've got a huge problem.”

“Problem? What kind of problem?”

“The kind where we need a cop. And an ambulance. Get over here.”

Brian disconnected and Dan stared at the phone in his hand. He glanced over his shoulder as he bolted from the restaurant, catching the waitress’s eye. Grimly, he told her, “I think you can cancel that reservation.”

 

 

“Dan's on his way,” Brian said. “There must be some scissors or something. We need to get this tape off them now.”

The scene in the cloakroom had shocked them both. Trixie's colleagues, Sean Barnes and Amy Freeman, along with the photographer, Walt Tyllman, were bound and gagged on the floor, just inside the door. Sean had clearly taken the brunt of the assault as his face was bloody and bruised, although none of them had escaped unscathed. Amy’s busted lip and Walt’s broken camera told Brian and Honey they’d gone down fighting. Fortunately, the trio were conscious, but shaken. Plastic ties secured their hands behind them while layers of duct tape covered their mouths. Whoever had secured them had taken the time to ensure there would be no quick escape.

Honey tried to remove the tape from Amy's mouth but it was wrapped completely around her head, meaning that her hair was tangled into the sticky adhesive. “This isn't working,” she said. “It's like the tape has some kind of super glue securing it.”

Sean tried to talk, pleading with his eyes and jerking his head toward the back of the cloakroom.

“What?” Honey said.

Again, he looked and jerked his head towards the back of the cloakroom. “Is someone back there?” she whispered.

He nodded.

“Are they armed?” she asked in a hushed voice. “Is it dangerous?”

He shook his head and motioned urgently at Brian.

“Someone else is back there, Brian,” Honey said. She stood to check it out. While she moved towards the back, Sean thumped his feet at Brian and gestured with his head while continuing his inchoate attempts at speech. Brian understood. Sean wanted him back there, not Honey.

“Hey, Honey ... let me check it out —”

It was too late. The small cloakroom rang with an ear-piercing scream.

 

 

“How do you know she doesn't have it?” Kitty snarled, shifting her pistol away from Mart and Diana. “Get over there, out of the way. Exactly how many people are still here, anyway?”

“This is all of us,” Jim replied immediately.

“Swear to God, if you're lying to me, you'll be the first one I shoot,” she said. “One last chance — Is there anyone else here?”

“Maybe museum security,” Jim replied, his tone even. “But I have no idea where they are right now. Security is supposed to meet us downstairs in ten minutes. The rest of our friends have already gone to the cafe for breakfast. We’re meeting them there.”

Trixie knew he was deliberately covering for Brian and Honey, and perhaps Dan and Ben as well. She didn't bother to correct him. That lie would be the least of their problems; it was the right thing to do.

“So how do you know she doesn't have it?” Kitty asked again.

“Because I have it,” Jim answered. “I wrote it.”

“You're lying,” she said stepping toward him pointing the gun right in his face.

“I. Don't. Lie.” Jim answered coolly. “Ask them, they'll tell you. I wrote it. I've been working on it since grad school. ORCHID. Online Resources and Capabilities Helping Infrastructure Data. It employs random-key security that's unbreakable. It's mine. Well, technically I guess it’s Mike’s as well; we wrote it together.”

Trixie didn't say a word.

Kitty stepped closer to him. “Where is it?”

“I don't have it on me.”

“No shit,” she snarled. “Where is it right now?”

He glanced over at Trixie, sensing she wanted him to tell the truth. “I'm pretty sure it's in her purse.”

Kitty glanced over at Trixie. “I thought you said you didn't have it, Belden.”

“She doesn't have her purse.”

Realizing she needed to say something, Trixie spoke up. “I thought you had my purse?”

Jim shook his head.

Kitty took a hard look at Trixie, canning her from head to toe. Jim had spoken the truth. Kitty fired another shot toward her, managing to just graze her arm.

With adrenalin-fueled focus, Trixie realized that either Kitty Buchanan was a crack shot, or damn lucky. She needed to count the number of shots already fired from the 9mm firearm. The other woman was significantly outnumbered now, and would have to use the weapon to keep the group under control. Its clip could hold as many as nine shots, and if Trixie had counted correctly, four had been fired. Going forward, every shot would have to count, because there was no way Kitty would have time to reload. As she pondered the odds of Kitty having a second weapon, David Steward lost control.

“Omigod, omigod, omigod,” he moaned over and over again. “She's bleeding. Beatrix is bleeding.

Jim moved towards her, but Kitty stopped him in his tracks.

“Don't even think about it Frayne,” she hissed.

The hysterical florist crossed to Trixie instead. “Beatrix! Your dress! You have blood on your dress. Omigod, do you know how hard it is to get blood out of this fabric? This is vintage Lavin. This dress,” his hands fluttered and he moaned again as he gripped her arms.

“I'm okay,” Trixie tried to explain. “That's mostly from where I took a dive earlier. Seriously, David, you need to get a grip.”

David appeared oblivious to her words, although Jim seemed to relax slightly. He could tell from Trixie’s voice she was in control. It dawned on him as he glanced toward Mart and Diana that the person in need of medical attention was sitting on the floor next to him. Not taking his eyes off the unfolding situation he kneeled and handed Di a snowy white handkerchief. “Tie this around his arm,” he directed. “As tight as you can get it. Understand?”

Diana nodded. Although her hands shook, she did as instructed.

“Where the hell is your purse, Belden?” Kitty demanded, taking a step closer.

David leaned in and whispered. “It's in my jacket pocket. My left, your right. You'll only have one chance.”

Trixie reached up and slapped David as hard as she could.

“David!” she yelled. “Get a grip!”

“Get out of the way you flaming fruitcake of a florist!” Kitty snarled, shifting her pistol away from Jim, Mart and Diana just long enough to wave it at David and Trixie. “Who cares about a stupid dress?”

“Well! Really!” Hands on his hips, David stared her down. “You clearly don’t understand. This is a vintage Lavin.” His hands waved artfully towards Trixie. “Vintage! Do you not get that? And it’s white. Do you have any idea how hard it would be to get blood out of that dress?”

Jim and Diana exchanged puzzled looks. David Steward was looking down the wrong side of a deadly pistol and seemed more concerned about Trixie’s dress than the fact there was a gun pointed at both of them.

“Get out of the way, David,” Trixie managed. “It’s just a dress.”

“If someone doesn't tell me in three seconds where the damn code is the gay goon is history.”

“But Kitty!” David wailed, his arms once again flailing. “That's what I'm trying to tell you. It's not just about the dress, it's her purse. It's gorgeous, covered in Swarovski crystals, completely beaded.”

“Where is it?” Kitty screamed.

“It's right here!” David reached in his jacket pocket and held up the beaded bag. “Beatrix asked me to hold it for her earlier.”

Kitty’s fuse was lit. Her focus made a one-eighty to David. “Listen up, sweet pea. Give. Me. The. Damn. Bag. Now!”

There was no need for Katherine Buchanan to say ‘or else.’ Her message was loud and clear.

“Kitty Cat, darling, I don’t understand.” David wailed in a plaintive tone as he held out the bag. “You used to care about fashion and designers. Vintage designer clothing is at risk here and all you care about is some software. Have you people never heard of Best Buy?” His hands moved to rest on his hips as he continued. “You can purchase all the software you want there and take it with you. We won’t tell.” He stopped and frowned, looking at her up and down. “My goodness, where did you get that dress? I don't recognize the designer? Is it Posen? It's Posen, isn't it?” David’s hands fluttered toward the socialite who was holding a weapon on Trixie. “Remember the January ball? You wore a gold vintage Armani. When we talked that night, I thought you had an appreciation for vintage designer clothing. Just look at this, Kitty!” He thrust the handbag at her. “I’m sure that’s blood! She'll never be able to carry this bag again.”

“Stop right there!” Once again the gun waved and Kitty fired towards David's feet, causing him to jump back in dismay. “That’s all the designer crap I’m going to listen to tonight, you idiot. If you don't pull the software out of that bag and slide it over here you're going to be the next victim here right now.” She waved her gun menacingly. “I'm out of patience.”

Jim stepped forward but was stopped by a snarling Kitty. “Don’t make a move, Frayne. Otherwise the next bullet has your fiancée’s name on it.”

“But …” he pushed a hand through his hair. “He doesn't know which one, he only knows he has the purse. At least I can get it for you.”

“What do you mean, which one?” Kitty demanded.

“There’s more than one,” Jim explained. “Mine’s on a keychain,” he started. “Trixie took the drive earlier, after the presentation was over, because I didn’t want to forget it.”

“Hand it over!” Kitty snapped.

“Wait!” Trixie cried. “It’s not there,” she stammered. “They were three different flash drives, so before the dancing, I put Jim’s in my coat pocket. It’s in the coat check.”

“No you didn’t, Trixie,” Jim reminded her. “That wasn’t mine. That was the pictures Diana brought you that she had taken, the ones she promised you copies of.”

Something in Jim’s tone gave her pause. He knew something.

He nodded toward the evening bag David clutched tightly in his hand. “Trixie, don’t mess around with this! My drive is in your bag. Give it to her.”

Trixie nodded slowly. She knew that Jim’s flash drive was in her purse, she’d made sure people saw her put it there, but the only thing in her evening bag was ….

“Okay, maybe you’re right,” she stammered. “It’s so hard to remember,” she deliberately made her voice shaky.

“Just look, you stupid bitch!” Kitty demanded. “I knew you were a ding-dong from the get-go.”

Trixie stepped forward. “I'm just saying, if it isn’t in the bag, then I put it back in my coat pocket. There’s just been so much to keep up with tonight. I’ll make sure you have the right drive, no matter what. In fact, you can have all the drives, there should be three of them. You can take me with you if they’re not all here. Just please don't shoot anyone!” She managed to insert just the right quaver in her voice to sound upset.

“Stay back!” Kitty snarled. “All of you stay back. Steward, you sit the bag down and get over there with rest of them.”

Realizing he'd bought all the time he could, David complied.

“Now you!” She waved the gun at Trixie. “Pick up the bag slowly, you bubble-butted bimbo, and I’ll let your fiancée and friends live.”

Trixie knelt and reached into the bag. Her face betrayed no emotion as she felt the item she needed as well as the flash drive. Moving slowly, she palmed the lipstick tube in her left hand and then pulled out the flash drive with her right, holding it up for all to see.

“Here it is!”

Somehow, she had to believe that her next move was part of a plan. Kitty reached to snatch the flash drive from her hand, lowering her gun for a split second.

It was the opening Trixie needed. She lifted her foot and then drove her spiky heel went down, stomping as hard as she could on the top of Kitty’s foot. The responding howl was all she needed. With only one shot available in her tiny gun and she couldn’t afford a mistake. Unfortunately, the time she need gave Kitty a potential advantage. As she’d expected, Jim and David charged toward her and Kitty, while she concentrated on making sure the other woman’s gun didn’t fire. As the two women struggled, Diana leapt into action. She grabbed a large piece of pottery from a nearby shelf and used the art object as a weapon. Just as the vase connected with Kitty’s head, the gun fired.

Both women crumpled to the ground.