As the dust cleared, a million possibilities poured through Meg's mind about what could have happened. An ambush? Did Jester run into a booby trap? There was no way to tell so without going in so she rolled over and tried to stand. Fire lanced through her right ankle and she fell onto the overturned ladder with a yelp. Looking down, she saw that the side of her shoe was pushed out and the side of the ankle looked like a cue ball. There was no way she was going anywhere like this and the anger swelled to match her pain.
"Frick! Just what I need!" she yelled and pushed the hair out of her eyes. The day had started on a downward spiral and it looked like it was picking up speed. Someone cursed in the smoke and she remembered that Getter had been standing nearby.
"Getter, are you okay?" she asked as she tried to get at a shot of kickstart. He shambled over but seemed to be no worse for wear, beyond having his formerly pristine gray suit powdered with soot and plaster.
"It looks like Jest-" she started, but stopped when he leaned over and picked up her pistol. Cradling it in his hand briefly, he snapped the safety off and smiled.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, repositioning slightly and freeing her other leg.
He weighed the weapon briefly and then calmly pointed it at her. From the way he held it, it looked like he had spent a lot more time watching "gangsta" action movies than on a shooting range.
"You're sure you want to go this way?" she asked but he seemed to have made up his mind. He had to be both immoral and stupid to shoot a Cloak agent with her own gun.
"Give me the kickstart," he said, but she didn't move. "NOW!"
"Not changing your mind then?"
"GIVE ME THE FRICKING DRUG, BITCH!" he yelled.
Meg calmly held out the vial a short way in front of her, keeping her arm bent and exaggerating the pain. Getter must have been convinced because he casually leaned into her range to take it. As his hand touched hers, she wrenched his arm to the side and kicked his knees out from under him. He went down with a thud and the pistol went off, blasting a hole in the wall and showering her with plaster. A half a dozen solid body shots later, he was a cuffed and whimpering mess. Apparently he actually was as stupid as the dossier had suggested.
Meg kneeled on his back to look for the fallen vial and found what was left of it under him. The stupid bastard had fallen right on it and crushed it into pulp. Now she'd have to deal with the pain and she let out a curse before hitting him twice more out of frustration. The ankle was pounding so hard that she was lightheaded, but she found her balance once she used the overturned ladder to get to her feet. Getter was watching her the entire time and flinched as the red dot from her laser painter crawled onto to his forehead.
"You stupid bastard," she growled. "I'd kill you right here if it wouldn't cost me my bonus."
"Look, I'm really sorry about your friend," he mumbled through a busted lip as she forced him to his feet. "I didn't have anything to do with it."
"He wasn't my friend. If you try anything else, screw the bonus you're a dead man. Understand me?"
Getter had decided to cooperate for the moment, but the pistol pressed to his ear probably went a long way towards keeping him in line. It was only a matter of time before he'd try something again soon, so she and kept him in front of her all the way back to the office. The first priority was finding something that would blot out the pain without making her sluggish, but she didn't have a lot of hope. Instead, she hopped onto the corner of the desk and used her utility knife to convert one of his expensive embroidered towels into a wrap for her ankle. If she couldn't kill the pain, at least she could brace it.
"Do you expect that you're in any shape to catch Owen now?" he asked. "I mean, you've got a broken ankle and your partner is dead."
"The 711 wasn't my partner," she answered. It was difficult to work the wrap around her ankle with the shoe on, but it was so badly swollen that she'd never get it back on if she did this properly. "And the ankle isn't broken. And yes I'm going to neutralize him. Shut the hell up."
"Neutralize?" Getter asked, leaning forward slightly. Meg casually held the wrap in place with one hand and picked up the handgun to aim it at his chest. He flinched when the little red dot appeared over his heart.
"Yeah, want a demonstration?"
He shook his head silently and kept watching without further comments.
"Didn't think so."
Once the wrap was tight, Meg hopped over to him and pulled her second pair of cuffs. With the FEN pressed into his crotch, she carefully kneeled and cuffed his left ankle to the corner leg of the desk.
"What thuh? What the hell are you-" he started but a thrust with the pistol shut him up.
Carefully, Meg got upright again and hopped over to the intercom system near the one wall. Turning it on, she keyed the mike and heard the speakers in the hall crackle to life. It sounded like they would reach the entire facility and she smiled over at Getter before speaking.
"Owen. If you want Getter, he's in his office cuffed to his desk. Come and get him."
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