The Asshole App

9. URBAN BREACH

Vince stepped out of the shelter's rear door and onto the littered sidewalk. He frowned at the Tesla parked across the street. It was quiet again. No sign of the obnoxious CEO, save the presence of the man's expensive SUV, hogging two parking spaces. "Fuck me, something's wrong." His eyesight might be going, but his senses tingled from years of elite Special Forces training.

Deedee appeared in the doorway. "Hey, big guy. Wanna give me a hand?" Smiling triumphantly, she hefted a box onto her hip. "We're in business. I found the mother lode of toppings." Vince saw the contents through the crate's wooden slats. A dozen bright red and white canisters of whipped cream.

"Here, let me take that, Lady Dee." He walked over to relieve her of the heavy, wooden box, cradling it on his hip.

"This his car?" Deedee walked over to ogle Sinclair's maroon Tesla. "It looks as out of place on the street as Cinderella's pumpkin carriage."

"I know," Vince muttered. "Damned thing sticks out like a sore thumb." He rubbed his chin, scanning the street for any sign of the obnoxious CEO. The presence of the white van parked a few spaces behind the Tesla bothered him, but he couldn't put his finger on why. His focus shifted to the long-haired hippie, searching the trash bins lined up behind the bar. Glasses clinked as the vagrant pulled assorted bottles from the trash, then carefully placed them in a metal shopping cart.

Deedee continued lusting after Sinclair's vehicle, simultaneously jealous and disgusted. "This is a Tesla X SUV," she panted, "the most expensive model currently available. It's known for its falcon wing doors."

"Mm-hmm." Half listening, Vince walked over to inspect the van.

"Where's that asshole?" Wistfully, the Drag Queen stroked the SUV's smooth carbon exterior. "I don't want him coming back here and harassing Evie."

A muffled thump, coming from inside the truck drew their attention. "Hey," Vince yelled at the spectacled hippie, loitering near the van. The long haired man didn't answer. "Yo," Vince shouted, louder. The ex-navy seal's authoritative tone forced the hippie to look up and acknowledge him. "Did you see who owns this van?" Vince pointed to the white catering truck.

~~~~~~

Inside the van, Karl was growing alarmed. "Damn! I injected him with the wrong serum." Instead of lying still under sedation, Sinclair grimaced, writhing in agony. Karl leaned back on his haunches, as their captive spasmed, clenching his fists, scrambling to find an antidote in his drug stash.

"What the hell did you give him, Karl?" Neil shook his head, disapprovingly. "We can't operate on him if he's flopping around like a fish. This is sloppy work on your part. He looks like he's having a heart attack."

"He's having a coronary." Karl hissed. "I accidentally gave him a heart accelerant."

~~~~~~

Outside, Deedee and Vince glanced at each other as the suspicious van started rocking. Narrowing his eyes, Vince read the name of the catering business lettered on the truck's side. "That company's been out of business five years." Walking closer, he noted smears of whipped cream on the rubber bumper.

The hippie decided it was time to leave. Pushing his carriage of clinking bottles in front of him, he shouted over his shoulder. "It's a covert op, jackass."The Spooks have that rich ass bastard. Don't get involved, man."

Running up to the van, Deedee pounded her fists on the back door. "Open up," she yelled. "You're late with my delivery. I've been waiting over an hour for my fois gras. The mayor and his guests are gonna be here any minute. If you don't want your catering license revoked, you'd better open this door the hell up."

The van's back door flew open. Neil stuck out his huge head and glared at Deedee. "Shut up, lady. You've got the wrong delivery van." He held up his gun, pointing it in her face.

"Look out! "Vince yelled. Deedee stepped aside as the beefy chef spun like a decathlete, hoisting the crate of whipping cream into the surprised spook's chest. The clandestine agent flew backwards like a rag doll. Jumping into the van, Deedee grabbed Karl by the throat and started throttling him, while Vince pulled Evie's boss from the back of the van.

"Come on." Vince yelled. "He's going into cardiac arrest. We need to stabilize him." Deedee jumped out of the van. She grabbed the agent's gun in one hand, then helped Vince carry Sinclair towards the shelter. A bullet grazed her shoulder, causing her to drop Sinclair's legs.

"Mother fucker!" Using the Isosceles stance, she put a bullet into Karl's chest.

"Nice shot," Vince said, impressed. 

The other agent dragged his injured companion into the van, then sped off. Boxes of pastries flew into the street as the truck's back doors swung open.

"Get the plate," Deedee yelled. Ripping off a strip from her dress's hem, she applied a quick tourniquet to her shoulder wound, tightening it with her teeth.

"Already did." Together, they hoisted Sinclair and carried him into the shelter. The shelter's cook shot a curious glance at Deedee. "How'd you learn to shoot like that? Marines?"

She grinned, proudly. "Former Ranger. Retired with honors after ripping my crotch open on razor wire, clearing a breach."

Vince grunted, "That explains a lot, Lady Dee."