Crime Brulee In: Djinn, Smoke, and Lies

Chapter 1.1

“What’s funny?”

It was Frank in the driver’s seat of what would have been a rental, if it hadn’t been hot-wired and stolen out of the lot. Connie taught Frank how to jack cars, and his powers took care of everything else. That was about how things rolled in the Villains Association.

The white pickup truck was nondescript, other than the spraypainted-over plates. That, and how big it was.

Like truck, like driver, thought Connie, riding shotgun. Upon their reunion upon her return from her last big business trip, he’d slimmed a little, but since she’d been back, his sensuously soft figure had crept wider, inch by inch, over her shoulder as she worked the stove and in her bed as she rewarded his every indulgence with kisses from her lips, squeezes around the hips and waist by the tips of her fingers, and between her…well, you know.

Glancing up from her phone, she appraised him across the bench seat. Tossed her lit cigarette out the open window. Slipped a hand sideling under his seat belt to give his love-handle a lustful little pinch. She was a lefty, so it was easy.

“Uh-hmm, I’m sorry, honey, what was the question?”

He chuckled in the back of his throat, low and deep and, FUCK, sexy.

She thought, give it to me, give it to me give it to me giVE IT TO ME GIVEITTO ME!

But out loud, she had asked so nice, like always.

“You were looking at your phone, Sweets. You were laughing.”

She was. She was. At some point her phone had fallen between her feet, and she bent down to get it, right? And then she let her elbows fall between her knees, and with the heat blowing in her face from the vents, it was so goddamn hot that she needed to take her coat off, and while she was wrestling with that, Frank started playing with her hair. He said he liked it, but he always told her the first thing he noticed about her was actually her demeanor.

Back when they worked at Antonio’s. She was always super nice, but only up in the front of the house, and then in the back, she spoke her mind, and he said he liked a piece of it now and again.

“Haha, oh, so I guess Violet’s out of jail, Tweety and Petey just–”

“Always Violet, huh?”

“ALWAYS! Why’s it always–?”

Why was there so much room in the truck? And why was Connie feeling so, feeling so…?

“Anyway…”

“Yup, I completely know what you mean.”

And with that, she dug her nails into his right shoulder. She sighed, and then he did. Her hand, she supposed, fell off, only for her to fall again with her head in his lap and slap his pudgy under-belly roll, and then, just as she rolled over to look out of the window, there was a terrible honk from behind.

He patted her shoulder and she sat up, immediately.

“...Fuck,” muttered Frank, consulting the rear-view mirror between them with urgency in his eyes, in his haste to swerve out of the way of some aggressive jackhole in an even bigger truck.

The roads up here ran in both directions, but only one lane each way, and nothing could ever stop the locals from having their run of the place. “Maddy did warn us about all these nut-jobs up here in Bum Fuck, Nebraska.”

“It’s Montana, honey, it’s Montana.”

“I’m sure it is, Sweets. Anyway, you were trying to say about Violet?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to distract you.”

“Your mouth always says one thing, Sweets.”

“And my hand says another?” asked Connie, flirtatiously.

Then she pushed herself up against him, back into her seat.

Then he said that her bouncy hair was super nice and her pretty eyes were like, fine, or whatever, and she said his compliments had always been wonderful.

“Well, you tell me again,” he said, and then, “Tell me about Blackwater,” and then, “Damn, it gets dark fast up here.”

If Connie could say one thing, it was that ‘Bum Fuck’ Montana wasn’t all that great or terrible, but here was the–

WHOA!

***

See the thing was, back in Blackwater, Oregon, Connie was known as THE notorious Crime Brulee, She was the queen of the criminal underworld! But up here, on the I-59? She was just another passenger getting thrown around on a sharp turn.

She collided with the side of his arm around the next one, and as she righted herself, breathing hard, he reminded her: “Violet. What kind of crazy lesson did she learn this time around?”

“Not to fix your manicure in the middle of a heist, then accidentally superglue your thumb to the inside of your ear.”

Frank laughed over the staticky radio. So did Connie, but just a little, she forced it. She wanted to be polite, but it had been a minute since she truly felt like laughing.

Her phone had fallen into the map box by her right foot. Her twist in her seat was what finally roused General George from his nap in her lap, the black French bulldog shivering as he came to with a gruff bark and a disoriented shake of his head that sent his pointy, corn-chip shaped ears flapping in each direction.

Him and those great big snowglobe eyes, thought Connie. Him and the way the insistent press of his body against her stomach both begged for protection and offered it.

“Was wondering when you’d come back to us, boy!” she said, scratching behind his adorably ridiculous ears. He’d been Special Agent Daniels’ dog, back when Connie worked for the Heroics Division, but as it turned out, heroes weren’t that nice, and neither was her conniving direct supervisor. That was why she’d put him down, faked her death, and formed the Villains Association. And taken in his dog, she supposed.

It was all white here, in every direction. White, and wild, and strange, until it all gave way to dark blue. Connie was trying to enjoy it. General George was markedly less interested in the scenery, forgoing his opportunity for a window view in favor of burrowing his snub-nosed face deeper into the front of Connie’s sweater with a whine. She stroked his lower back and checked her phone again, which left her, unfortunately, without a free hand for her husband’s belly, but there would be plenty of time for her to tease and squeeze him on the long drive yet to go.

“Oh, so Dirty Dane wants to talk about heading up the Villains Association in Madhatter. Can you talk to him tomorrow morning? It’s just that it’s your hometown, and all.”

“Dirty Dane, huh?”

“We call him that because we caught him cheating at poker. Me, Pete, and Tweety, when he came to see us in B-Dubs,” Connie explained. “Oh, and Kurt says to watch out for demons. He says these little towns are apparently infamous for them.”

“What’s he worried about demons for? He’s got all that Mass, doesn’t he?”

Connie shrugged. “I guess. Last I heard, he was still sitting at around 460, which I guess is a lot, but I don’t see what that has to–oh, you meant at church, gotcha. And I mean, he’s probably just worried about you. You do have a bad track record with demons.”

“Tell him I’m a big boy and I can take care of myself.”

“Okay, but remember when I had to rescue you from that creepy fiery dog thing?” she reminded him.

“Well, by that logic, I should be fine, since you’re right here with me.”

“And Maddy wants to know if we have enough coats.”

“She knows it gets cold in Oregon, too, right?”

“Again, she’s probably just worried.”

Frank grumbled something under his breath.

“Yeah, it’s not a nice feeling, is it? Being treated like you’re gonna break like fancy china?”

Connie was no Ivy League graduate, but she wasn’t stupid, either. She knew Frank insisted on coming out here with her, and bringing Georgie, who’d recently stepped into the role of her self-appointed therapy dog, because he was afraid she wouldn’t make it on her own. And of course, she’d rather take him with than leave him in Blackwater, and she supposed her constitution had never really recovered from the repeated poisoning, to within inches of her life, at the hands of an uncharted island full of billionaires she’d been trying to rob blind, but she honestly felt super great right now, and would have appreciate her husband’s vote of conf–

There was another eardrum-shattering honk, this time from up ahead.

“Hold tight, Sweets.” Frank placed an arm across Connie’s torso, gripping down against her right thigh. A not unpleasant chill overcame her as his power of discorporation activated. Like magic, the two of them, the rental, all its cargo, and the dog all passed unscathed through the oncoming 18-wheeler speeding down the wrong side of the road.

“Crap on a cracker!” Catching her breath, Connie gazed into the orange warning light in front of her seat, overhead. “Of all the trucks we could have jacked, of course we got the one with the broken passenger airbag.”

***

This wasn’t a mission; more of a meeting. If not for all the logistical bullshit to figure out, it could have been an email. There was nobody to fight or steal from in Sainte-Clodine, Nebr–Montana, that’s right, it was Montana.

Rather, it was just Maddy Longhall, heiress to the Longhall Lifestyle fortune and Frank’s longtime friend, from back when the two of them lived in New York.

“I’m surprised you even want to do business with her, said Frank as they made their way up Maddy’s driveway in the snow. “What she does, and whatnot.”

Maddy’s mother had made her name as the founder of a ‘health and wellness’ company, and had left her farm and mansion under Maddy’s care while on a business trip. That had been a decade and change ago, and while managing the house, Maddy had found herself overrun by the bullying of her overbearing stepfather and stepbrother. When news reached her that her mother had died in a freak mugging, it was all the excuse she needed to make the men in her life…well, to make them be quiet, and she’d been a little nuts ever since.

“Like I give a shit,” said Connie.

“You give a shit about what happened to Kurt in the Division. What happened to Heidi on the island.”

“Right right right, so many shits it practically makes me need the bathroom while we have this conversation, but speaking of shitting around, let’s not with Maddy, okay? It’s gonna be good for business.”

Ever since the heist on the retreat hosted by CorpQuest, International–the same one that had left Connie poisoned and chronically incontinent–the wealth of loot that the Association had managed to procure had secured their ability to expand their organization to the national level, growing from a motley crew of crooks based in Blackwater, Oregon, into a formidable army with bases in several states. And with the furthering of its reach came the expansion of its pool of enemies. Connie was sure Maddy’s dungeon in the catacombs of her Prohibition-era ancestral mansion would be a great storage place for them, despite some of her medieval methods.

When they at last reached the Longhall estate, the driveway was salted, but the front yard beyond the open gate was buried under a foot-thick blanket of snow. Maddy was sitting out on the vast porch in her rocking chair with a floppy-eared spaniel in her lap. She was a short, rosy-cheeked woman about Frank’s age, with ash-brown hair and a curvaceous, sturdy build, the strength of her limbs and core apparent even through coats over coats. She hadn’t changed since Connie had seen her last, at her and Frank’s wedding, though that didn’t surprise her. It hadn’t even been a year yet. That year ago, though, Frank had been shocked to see her again. Apparently, she’d been much, much heftier back when they both lived in Madhatter.

“Why don’t you go on ahead and start the talks with Maddy?” suggested Frank. “I’ll get the bags.”

“What, you don’t think I can carry bags?” snapped Connie. Georgie gave a soft bark, as if to say, ‘Yeah, you don’t think she can carry bags?’ “I can levitate stuff, you know.” Thermal forcefields were among her specialties. That, along with setting fires, picking pockets, planning in a crisis, adoring fat men, and drinking whiskey.

“No, I just meant, you’re the mother of the brand and the woman with the plan. When it comes to VA business, the last thing I want to do is step on your toes.”

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times,” said Connie as she opened the passenger door, “you and I, along with everyone in the VA Blackwater, are equal-shares–”

But then, Georgie ran out ahead of her to bark uncontrollably at their hostess and her own canine charge. He was crazy, and he just kept yapping, until Connie gave chase, nearly slipping in the icy gravel before finally managing to catch up to him, picking him up and quieting him with a stern glare and a disciplinary tap to his nose with two fingertips. “Georgie, STOP IT! We DON’T bark at other dogs! That’s not polite!” Shifting to hold him under one arm, she sighed and addressed Maddy: “Sorry about that. When you said my dog was welcome here, I didn’t realize it was because you had your own. It’s nice to see you again, by the way.”

“Oh, no worries!” Maddy pulled a treat from her coat pocket and offered it to her own furry companion. “This is Charlamagne, but he answers to Charlie. He’s a good dog, maybe too good,” she explained. “I found him in the road on my way up to town one day. His back leg was broke, and his lil tail too. I think some asshole threw him out a truck window. But I took him back here and did the best I could with him, and now he’s grateful for every scrap. Ain’t that right, Charlie?”

“Good for him,” said Connie, bouncing Georgie against her hip in a futile attempt to still his continued trembling. “This is General George. He’s a naughty boy who chews on shoes, yaps at people, and eats toilet paper right off the roll. But he’s my boy, and I love him.”

Frank joined them, then, panting a bit with exertion as he hauled what bags they’d brought and deposited them on Maddy’s steps. He swore under his breath, and as Connie rubbed his upper arm through his coat sleeve, he asked, “Damn, Sweets, do you feel like the air is thinner here?”

“That could be it,” said Connie. “It’s probably it.” Another woman might have been worried about him, seeing that in addition to the luggage, he had all of his own extra bulk to haul. But she still remembered how frail and thin he used to be. She remembered risking scorching the lacquer on the bar-room floor with her force-field powers, at the restaurant where they’d met as staff, to haul kegs of beer so he wouldn’t have to. It was an act of charity, until everything that had happened between them happened. He was so much sturdier now, so much steadier with a healthy dose of heft in his step. Still, she had volunteered to get the bags.

“Here, y’all, let me help you with all of that!” Hefting a heavy duffel over one shoulder, Maddy added, “And once we get you settled, I can show you downstairs?”