Page 2 of Stone Blind

She was a lovely woman with the look of a middle-income woman who belonged to a man who watched the Saturday college ball of his favorite team from a university he never attended. Helen looked as if she had the perfect casserole recipe for any occasion and made wonderful sweet and sour meatballs. The look was perfect for an undercover agent, but her job, if she were approved, would be determined by the man himself.

It was time to have a little talk with Jesús.

THE ROOM HELD A CONFERENCEtable capable of seating twelve. Food lined the center of the table as if it were the last supper. At the head of the table, sat a man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a dark spirit. Cherry shuddered just looking at him. Helen had no reaction. Her eyes were on the food.

Around the table sat four others, along with Azrael, who commented that they were late. A black man with a look of boredom on his face was introduced as Bad Apple. Cherry had mentioned him once. He was an assassin assigned to Wisconsin.

A woman with ebony skin, hazel eyes, and a natural ponytail sat across from . In front of her, rested two vials of a liquid, viscous in appearance and cloudy. These were packaged and passed over to Bad Apple. She was Lemon, the poisons specialist covering Ohio.

Passion Fruit, an accident specialist, resided in Illinois. She sat with her fingers in her mouth as she nibbled on her nail beds. Helen passed her a carrot stick from the crudité tray as shewould have for Naomi, she tapped at the woman’s hands, like a mother, shaking her finger at the nasty habit. Passion Fruit scowled at Helen, looking her up and down as if the woman asked to make out later in the bathroom. Helen took a seat in between Passion Fruit and a woman with a plateful of grapes in front of her.

“I’m Sour Grapes,” the woman said. “I am a tracker.”

“I’m just here for the food,” Helen said, looking down at the table at Jesús, she nodded. “Sir.”

Jesús got to his feet, quickly, and everyone at the table jumped, including Helen. His voice was deep and rumbled in his chest when he spoke. His words were aimed at the newcomer.

“Azrael, you expect me to believe this wisp of a woman with no confidence is to join your team, as what, the mellow mushroom?” Jesús bellowed.

Helen was expecting this and responded, as she reached for two grapes, “A mushroom is a fungus, not a fruit.”

“You dare correct me; you shit stain on my time!” he bellowed coming at Helen with fury in his eyes.

Helen pushed back from the table, trying to get away. Cherry didn’t make a move to protect her cousin; although their entire lives had been built as symbiotic beings, this one time she couldn’t help. She sat still as her cousin recoiled into a ball. Jesús barreled down on her, hovering over Helen in the chair. His eyes were filled with rage. His breathing was ragged. His fists were balled into knots.

Then he froze.

He leaned over her, but his entire posture changed as he up righted himself. There was the glint of the knife against his throat. Bad Apple, Lemon, and Passion Fruit moved to aid him as three small knives flew through the air, landing at the feet of each courtesy of Helen’s side pocket cache.

“One nick and you will bleed out, if, and this is a big if, the venom from the copperhead I found and laced this with don’t get you first,” she said, pressing the blade to his throat.

“You would cut me?”

“Bitch, I will end you,” Helen said to Jesús. “The problem with men is that you think every woman you see is going to be intimidated by you, bend to your whims, and then service you like an out-of-work hooker on her last hump. Should I show you how wrong you are?”

Jesús said, “No need.”

He backed away, taking a wet cloth handed to him by Azrael. “You’re an angry little thing, aren’t you?”

“I have no home for my anger. Are you offering a position to house it?”

“Maybe,” Jesús said, looking down the table. “You aiming to be the next Cherry on Top?”

“No, she earned that name. I have no rights to it,” Helen said, pointing at the chicken fingers. “Mind if we get a bite of this food?”

Azrael said she could help herself. She sat watching the woman make a plate of food for a linebacker and one for her cousin. The cousin was the real reason they were here. Azrael focused her attention on Cherry as Jesús returned to his seat at the head of the table. He looked back at Helen several times. His gaze fixed. His interest piqued.

“The Cherry on Top, we are here for you,” Azrael said. “Your foot is broken and you are unable to work for two months.”

“I’m also pregnant again, three months along,” Cherry said. “By the time the cast is off, my belly is going to be too large for me to shimmy up and down rooftops.”

Everyone at the table looked at her, everyone but Helen, who had moved on to the watermelon slices. Azrael kept halfan eye on Helen while being angry at Cherry, although she was expecting the outcome.

Jesús asked, “Are you asking to be retired?”

“I am,” Cherry said. “I lost my taste for this years ago. I don’t know what’s next, but it's not this, not anymore.”

Jesús’ eyes were on Helen, who now nibbled on squares of cheddar. She finished the cheddar and moved on to a chicken finger, plunging it into a small container of barbeque sauce. Helen nibbled on it, grabbed a dinner roll, shoving a shaving of ham into it with a bit of cheese. She bit that as well.

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