I was just going to use the snippet I wrote last week for this week’s entry. But I have way too much fun picturing these characters and their antics. Also, I get 500 extra words to play with? How could I resist?
So here’s the continuation of the tale of Agent Dare (pronounced dah-rey in Japanese, meaning “who?”).
(1,494 words, Genre: Adventure)
From the Adventures of Grant McSwain, Explorer of the Unknown, Finder of the Undiscovered, and Protector of the Undefended
…accompanied as always by his hapless assistant Teagan O’Daire, the Ginger of Galway
There was no avoiding the unpleasant fact, Teagan realized. Her partner, Grant McSwain, was a colossal fool.
He and the Empire of Japan’s agent Dare dove into Teagan’s hiding spot behind the battered delivery truck riddled with bullet holes. Slugs from Yakuza tommy guns thudded into the vehicle’s steel body, and the rat-a-tat of multiple machine guns resounded in the narrow Little Tokyo alleyway.
The lithe Asian woman held a pair of revolvers like a misplaced cowboy from the cover of a pulp Western. Grant knelt beside her and reloaded his own six-shooter.
The gunfire died down to sporadic thunder, and Dare gave Grant a rather forward look, her lips parted as if for a kiss, her husky breath promising more. “Mister McSwain,” she said in that frustratingly exotic and enticing accent, “do we have a deal?”
Teagan’s face twisted in confusion. What?
“We’ll get you out of here with your wealth so you can start a new life,” Grant said. “You’ll give us back the classified notes about the German submarine base. Yeah, we got a deal.”
The air stank of sulfur and gunpowder, a combination of fireworks set off in celebrations and the ongoing shoot-out between the Tong and Yakuza. Both sides had been double-crossed by this woman known as Dare.
And us caught in the middle, Teagan thought. No thanks to Grant.
The tommy guns hammered the truck again. In between bursts of gunfire, the Tong’s Colt revolvers let out deafening booms. Most aimed at their Japanese rivals, whose turf the Tong invaded by coming after Dare. But some of the rounds thunked into the truck. Neither side would let her go without a fight.
“This lorry is going to be scrap metal if they keep this up,” Teagan said, unconcerned whether Grant or Dare heard. Never one for modesty, Teagan hiked up her skirt to draw a pair of two-shot Deringers from a garter holster. She smirked when Grant’s eyes bulged at the sight of her exposed thigh. Even Dare raised an eyebrow and nodded approval.
Teagan leaned low and aimed around the front of the truck. As one of the Yakuza spotted her, his head blossomed in a spray of crimson. She rotated the barrels—the double-shot pistol’s imitation of reloading—and popped a round into one of the Tong creeping toward their position.
Dare dropped prone beside Teagan and fired under the truck.
Men screamed and heavy bodies thudded to the ground. Dare picked them off with ease. “Two more down,” she declared, and flashed Teagan a smug look.
Grant took out another Tong gunman, then hit the dirt as slugs tore holes in the side of the truck’s cargo bed.
Dare popped off a couple shots over the truck’s hood, then crouched beside Teagan. “Your weapons are poorly chosen,” Dare said. “Foolish Westerners, with your ‘Saturday night specials.’ You already expended half your ammunition.”
Teagan slipped the empty Deringer into her handbag and drew another from the garter on her opposite leg. “Who says I only brought two?”
Grant shook his head, his cheeks flushed. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Teag! What sort of Saturday nights are you having?” Then he feigned irritation. “And why haven’t you invited me?”
“No blasphemy,” Teagan scolded. “And trust me, you couldn’t keep up.”
Dare laughed and dropped another Yakuza. “I am beginning to appreciate you, Miss O’Daire. The accounts I heard are surely the fiction of men put to shame by the weaker sex.”
If the praise was a clever ruse to disarm Teagan’s suspicions, it worked. She found herself grinning, and replied, “You must have quite a collection of similar stories, Agent Dare.”
“I never stick around to find out how they end,” she said with a light-hearted tone. “Presumably with torture and death. Neither the Tong nor the Yakuza are very forgiving.”
“Good thing we’ve earned both their ire,” Teagan said as she took aim.
A Yakuza rose to spray the truck with his tommy gun, but fell with a bloody hole in his forehead. Teagan rotated the Deringer barrels and scanned for another target.
“I’ve got an idea,” Grant said.
“Oh swait Jaysis,” Teagan muttered, her Irish coming out under stress.
“Hey,” Grant objected. “No blasphemy, right?”
“Wasn’t blasphemy, ye dunce. ‘Twas a prayer for protection,” she said. “From stupidity.”
Grant huffed but made no objection. “You two are going to cover me,” he explained, “and I’ll grab a couple of tommy guns off the dead Yakuza.”
“Ye trust this one that well, Grant? Ye’ll put her sights at yer backside?”
Dare stiffened. “We have an agreement. I am honor-bound.”
“You an’ the Tong had an agreement,” Teagan said. “Same with the Yakuza. Sure an’ both of those went arseways, yea? Now ye expect we’ll be trustin’ in your great sense of honor?”
Dare glanced at the two-shot pistol remaining in Teagan’s hand. “I do not see that you have any choice.”
Teagan sniffed with as much derision as she could muster, then drew her last Deringer. “I got four shots, not two.”
Dare rolled her eyes and took aim at the Tong.
Teagan stuck out her tongue when Dare turned away. It wasn’t so much Dare being right that irritated her. And Grant’s willingness to charge heedless into danger didn’t bother Teagan at all. Quite the opposite, in fact—although his last few expressions of bravado had been ill-conceived and poorly timed.
Maybe her source of frustration lay elsewhere. The intensity on his face when his eyes met Dare’s… the eagerness with which he formed an alliance with her… the obvious interest when he regarded this vivacious—and deceitful!—woman.
Grant dashed around the truck, ducking and dodging. Gunfire erupted from both ends of the alley, and Teagan snapped out of her thoughts.
She shot a Yakuza struggling with a jammed weapon, then took out a wounded man aiming at Grant.
Behind her, smoking revolvers in each hand belching fire, Dare fought back the Tong. She fired a couple shots, then spun low to the ground and popped up in a new position, keeping the distant Tong guessing.
Teagan put down another Yakuza, then dipped behind the truck. “I’m empty.”
Dare crouched but kept her eyes and guns trained on the Tong. “My assessment proves accurate,” she said. “You should have brought something more powerful.”
Grant slipped around the front of the truck and tossed Teagan a tommy gun. “This should suffice.”
Teagan hefted the weapon and aimed toward the Tong.
“Now, that fires over a dozen rounds a second, Teag,” Grant said. “You’re gonna want to—“
The spray-and-pray method did little to incapacitate the Tong gunmen. But fear of that rapid fire drumbeat drove them to hiding each time Teagan squeezed off a burst.
Grant moved to get a better angle and strafed the Tong position. “Now’s our chance, Dare,” he shouted. “The Yakuza are down and we’ve got the Tong at bay. Tell me where to find the classified files.”
Dare checked the alley behind the truck. “It’s with the satchel of safe money, stashed in the cabin of Fortune’s Favor on pier six. Shall we withdraw?”
They dashed down the alley, Teagan and Grant taking turns spraying bullets to deter pursuers. Then they heard the sirens of police paddy-wagons approaching.
“Ditch the weapons,” Grant said as he tossed his tommy gun in the back of a parked car. “We need to split up.”
Dare scanned the streets, a look of trepidation forming on her all-too-perfect face.
Grant put a hand on Dare’s shoulder. “Take that alley down two streets then turn right, heading west. You’ll avoid main roads the police will use. Teag and I blend in a little easier. We’ll head up another block and meet you at the pier.”
Dare nodded. Then she took Grant’s face in her hands and kissed him full on the mouth.
Teagan felt her fists clench, and the rage within flared when Dare gave her another triumphant look.
The woman took off in the direction Grant indicated.
“Come on, Teag,” Grant said, “let’s get to the boat.” His long-legged stride covered ground swiftly, and Teagan had to nearly jog to keep up.
“Aren’t you worried she might beat us there?” Teagan asked, breathless.
“Not really,” Grant said. “My directions lead to a dead end next to the police station. I know better than to trust a pretty face.”
Teagan stopped, her heart full of surprise and unexpected joy. And yet that last statement stung.
Grant noticed her and drew near, placing his hand on her cheek. “All the pretty faces except one, that is.”
They recovered the files and money eventually. But for Teagan, the details blurred together with the sensation of floating on air all the way to the pier.