Vivi Anna - Alluring Tales

As the communicator buzzed in her ear, Sangria Silver pulled her Hummer off Ventura Boulevard and onto the shoulder, knowing the significance of the call. Only important, influential clients had her private number.

After adjusting the miniature microphone attached to her ear down toward her mouth, she pushed the red connect button on the dashboard. “Yes.”

“I have a package for delivery.” The feminine voice was commanding and cold. Sangria noted that the caller was certainly no underling but most likely the main contact herself. This was indeed an important call.

She was used to dealing with intermediaries when it came to pickup and delivery. Usually the cargo that she transported around the country was illegal in some manner. She didn’t know that for sure, and she didn’t ask. Her discretion was the reason she was the number one Conveyor in the New States of America.

“Size?” she asked.

“A metal case. Six feet by three feet by four.”

Sangria sketched out the measurements on a pad of paper she had lying on the passenger seat. She had to make sure it would fit into the false bottom in the back of her Hummer. “Weight?”

“About two hundred and fifty pounds.”

She scribbled that down. “Explosive or toxic?”

“Neither.”

Sangria breathed a sigh of relief. She hated those jobs and was planning to avoid taking on any more. About a year ago, she transported a toxic case that was supposedly airtight and safe. When she arrived at the designated address, she was whisked inside a large warehouse by two men in white suits and facemasks and put into a detox station.

There she spent the next two hours naked, under scalding hot water, while two other men scrubbed her body with hard bristled brushes. She had been sore and raw for weeks afterward. However, she had a sneaking suspicion that whatever they were trying to get off her skin made its way inside anyway. She’d been feeling weird lately.

“Pickup and delivery addresses?”

“Pick up at the corner of Rochester and Selby; deliver to 1020 East Bonanza Road, Las Vegas.”

Sangria punched the addresses into her GPS system mounted on the dashboard. Instantly she had the distance calculated and the time estimation of how long it would take her to go from one place to the other if the traffic was flowing and she drove the posted speed limit.

“An approximate driving time of four hours and ten minutes. I can pick up the package early in the a.m.”

“Now,” the woman demanded. “I need you to pick it up now.”

Sangria didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Something about the woman’s voice bothered her. Too icy, too controlled. A woman without emotions was a very dangerous person.

“That will cost you-”

“Two million.”

Fingers poised over the GPS system, Sangria froze. That was more money than she hoped to make in the next two years. Her usual transporting fee was twenty thousand. She made a comfortable living on that, with a job or two a month. With two million from one delivery, she could actually retire from the job and settle down in a Caribbean country like the one she always dreamed of. But there had to be a catch.

“Excuse me?” Sangria choked.

“I will pay you two million dollars to come now, tonight, to pick up my package and deliver it to Vegas.”

“My usual fee is twen-”

“I know what you usually get paid, Ms. Silver,” the woman interrupted.

Sangria swallowed hard. The woman knew her name. She went to great pains to be anonymous. Her vehicle was registered to a company with three bogus owners who didn’t exist. Her modest house was leased under a false identity that Sangria had created online, complete with birth certificate and social security number. Being an orphan and having run away from every foster home she’d been sent to, she had no family to speak of. And she had no friends and no regular lover. Sure, she had a couple of acquaintances who owed her favors, but it was strictly business not personal.

How did this woman know who she was?

Before she could speak, the woman continued as if reading Sangria’s thoughts. “Yes, I know who you are. I wouldn’t be in my position if I allowed people I come in contact with to remain anonymous.” She chuckled. “But I have to admit it did take longer than usual to uncover who you really are. You’re very good at hiding.” There was a long pause and then, “I’ll have to remember that.”

“What do you want?” A sense of dread started to wash over Sangria. She was never any good at dealing with glitches in her system. Her attention to detail and organization made her feel safe, secure. Now, she felt anything but.

“Your silence.”

“If you’ve called me then you must be aware of my reputation for discretion.”

“I am quite aware,” she stated icily. “But I am not some drug dealer moving H across state lines, or an arms dealer moving guns from New Mexico to Texas. I am so much more dangerous than that, Sangria.”

All the air left her lungs, and she had to close her eyes to stop from panicking. The woman knew about Sangria’s other conveying jobs. How was that possible? Unless she had been watched for the past year? But why?

Sangria’s hands were trembling, and she had to squeeze them together to stop from shaking. She couldn’t take this job. She had a frightening feeling that it would be her last. And not in a good, retirement type of way. Somehow, though, Sangria knew refusal wasn’t an option.

“I figured that out the moment I heard your voice,” Sangria answered trying to keep her voice from trembling.

“Good girl. I knew you were smart.” The woman chuckled, but it brought no warmth to Sangria. “Take the turnpike off Ventura and make your way to Rochester. Someone will meet you there.”

Sangria turned in her seat, scanning the boulevard, looking for parked cars, or buildings from which someone could be watching. She saw nothing but passing vehicles and large flashy billboards. Maybe her vehicle was tagged with a tracker.

“This will be the last communication we have.” The woman paused, and then stated acidly, “Unless there is a problem. And Sangria, you better hope that never happens.”

The woman clicked off, leaving Sangria close to hyperventilating. Ripping the communicator off her head, she shuffled across the seat, opened the passenger door, and jumped out onto the shoulder. Instantly the oppressive heat suffocated her. Although it was nearing dusk, there was no relief to the stifling summer weather.

As she took in some cleansing breaths, sweat started to dribble down Sangria’s face and neck, soaking the collar of her white cotton t-shirt. But she knew it wasn’t just because of the temperature.

She knew there would come a time when she wriggled into something way over her head. A person didn’t do the job she did and not know that they teetered on the edge of immorality and danger. She just didn’t realize how instantly it could sweep over her, pulling her down into a terror-filled void.

Leaning against her vehicle for support to try to ease her strangled breathing, Sangria quickly went over her options. And realized she pretty much didn’t have any. If she didn’t show up at the pickup address, she knew that no matter where she went, the ice woman on the phone would track her down and eliminate her. The fact that Sangria didn’t know the woman’s identity and hadn’t taken any money seemed to her inconsequential.

The only thing she could do was to pick up the package and safely deliver it to the Vegas destination. She had executed thousands of deliveries without issue. There was no reason that this one wouldn’t be the same.

Pushing away from the vehicle somewhat relieved, Sangria almost believed that. If it wasn’t for the cold creeping along her spine that ended on her skull, causing her short bone-white hair to stand on end, she could almost believe anything.

The pickup had gone smoothly.

She met with two burly men dressed casually in shorts and tank tops at the corner of Rochester and Selby just as she was instructed. When she pulled up to the curb, they hefted the shiny metal case into her Hummer and handed her a black duffel bag. Without a word, they walked around the corner, jumped into a nondescript four-door sedan, and drove away.

After they had driven away, Sangria had jumped out of her vehicle again and slid under it on her back to check the under-carriage for any tracking devices. She had found two.

Swearing that she’d been so reckless and stupid for not inspecting her Hummer every day, Sangria had smashed the metal devices off with her tire iron. Although she knew it wouldn’t matter. Certainly, the case had been installed with a tracer.

She had jumped back into the vehicle and checked the bag. It was full of money, but not nearly enough for two million. There was a typed noted inside stuck to one of the money stacks. Fifty thousand now…the rest on delivery. Zipping up the bag, she sighed angrily. Figures. She wondered what other surprises were waiting for her. Sangria had the distinct feeling that this trip was going to be anything but a regular everyday delivery.

The sun was down by the time Sangria turned onto the I-15 heading toward Las Vegas. So far, everything was going as planned, and she managed to relax a little and enjoy the ride. Pushing a button on the dash, classical music blasted from her four built-in speakers. The Hummer’s controls were programmed to respond to her moods. And right now, she needed the soothing sounds of Mozart.

Humming to the music, Sangria didn’t see the semi that jumped the meridian and came barreling toward her with its headlights off.

The next few moments were mostly a blur. She didn’t remember jerking on the steering wheel and ramming into the side of the semitrailer. Or the flipping of the vehicle, as it turned over and over, landing-remarkably-back onto its wheels in the ditch. All she could remember were the grunts and groans she heard resounding in her ears. Surprisingly, it had sounded like more than one voice echoing around her.

Sangria didn’t know how long she sat still strapped into the driver’s seat, blood dripping down her forehead, until reason and awareness slapped her in the face. Putting a hand to her aching head, she surmised that she had a large cut on the crown. Looking at the red-splattered spider-webbed wind-shield, it wasn’t hard for her to guess from what.

Turning in her seat, she took inventory of the damage to her vehicle. The black bag was still there, jammed under the passenger seat. Her personal effects were strewn on the floor and seat from the glove compartment that had flown open. Seeing that triggered a horrible thought, and she spun in her seat.

The trunk door of the Hummer was open, and so was the hidden door in the floor. Damn it, she’d forgotten to padlock it!

Unhooking her seat belt, Sangria tried to open her door. It wouldn’t budge. The frame was bent inward, and she was very lucky that it hadn’t rammed into her side. Shuffling across the passenger seat, she tried that door, and discovered the same damage. She slid between the front seats, crawled into the back, and peered down into the false bottom of her vehicle. The compartment was empty. The case was missing.

With a cry of alarm, she jumped out of the back. Pain-immediate and sharp-ripped up her side, making her head spin. Looking down, she noticed blood blossoming on her t-shirt from under her arm. She lifted her shirt and noticed a long cut on her left side. Guess the car door didn’t miss.

Letting her shirt fall, she scanned the surroundings near the accident. The semi was nowhere to be seen. He obviously fled the scene. The driver was probably driving drunk, or had fallen asleep at the wheel. But when her eyes settled on something only three feet away, her injuries and everything else was immediately forgotten.

The case lay on its side all banged up, with the lid wide open.

She stumbled toward it, realizing that the cut on her head was making her a tiny bit woozy. As she neared, all the breath left her lungs, and she doubled over almost throwing up. She was in deep shit, and she didn’t have a shovel.

Lying on the ground a few inches from the case was a man. Bound and gagged but alive, he looked straight at her with wide vivid blue eyes.

“Fuck,” she whispered as she collapsed to her knees beside him. Her legs were quivering too violently to support her any longer.

Rolling over, he shuffled to her on his side, his eyes beseeching her to end his misery. Blood streaked his chiseled face and dampened the cloth gagging him.