Michele Bravo: Chase Me Faster, Part 1

Michele peered through the little peephole in the door and saw two men standing yjrtr. Although her peephole view gave them bulbous heads and tiny bodies, she could tell that they were men in their 40s, with short hair, dressed in business suits.

Company men.

The question was...what company?

Michele glanced at Gus Keller and smiled. Then, she pulled open the door. "Hello," she greeted the men on the doorstep. "Can I help you?"

"We're looking for Gus Keller," said one of the two men.

"He's here, but he's not feeling very well at the moment," Michele said with a charming smile. "Does he know you?"

"We work with him," said the man, "and he's rather late coming back from h is vacation. We've been a bit concerned."

"Well, what are your names?" asked Michele. "I'll have him call you."

The two men looked at each other, then one of them extended an arm to shove the door open, and they walked inside.

Normally Michele would have reacted to such rudeness quickly and efficiently - and violently - but she knew she was not in a position to do so now. She merely said, "Well, really!" in an annoyed tone, and let them in.

"Hello, Gus," said the spokesman of the two.

"Uh, hello," said Gus, looking at him intently. Michele could tell that he didn't recognize him.

"You okay, Gus?" said the spokesman.

"I..."

"No, he's not okay. I told you," said Michele. "Look."

She fished in her pocket and brought out Dr. Robert Nielsen's card.

"As you know," she said, "Gus has been on vacation for a few weeks. And, well, he had an accident, a couple of weeks ago. He has amnesia - can't remember a thing."

The man took the card and glanced at it.

"He's got an appointment with Dr. Nielsen tomorrow. Nielsen is the best doctor in the field."

"If he's lost his memory," said the other man, "How did he find his way back home?"

Michele raised her eyebrows at him. "He's got a driver's license, doesn't he? His address was on his license. Geez."

"Oh, yes, of course," said that worthy, subsiding back into silence.

"Anyway," said Michele, "I met him while he was on vacation, and we kind of hit it off, you know. So, I told him I'd bring him home and get him to this doctor. As a matter of fact, we've been looking around this place" - she indicated the apartment with a gesture - "to see where he worked. I figured his employers would be worried about him."

"We were, yes," said the first man. "And how about you, Miss. What's your name?"

"Marguerite Zelle," said Michele calmly, even as she mentally waved goodbye to yet another of her alter egos. She'd liked the Zelle persona, and would be sorry to have to abandon it...

"Can I see your ID?"

Michele gave him a quizzical look, as if to say, "What business is it of yours," but then she shrugged elaborately, fished in her purse and brought out the appropriate driver's license.

He took it, looked it over, gave it back to her.

"Well, Miss Zelle, thanks very much."

The man turned to Gus Keller. "Well, Gus, I take it you don't remember me."

Gus shook his head.

"Well, not to worry, we're going to take care of you. I don't think you should wait until tomorrow for your appointment with Dr. Nielsen. We've got some pretty good doctors of our own. Come on."

Gus looked at Michele, then sighed. "Sure," he said.

Gus was looking at her again, intently. He jerked his head, ever so slightly, at the second man.

Michele realized with horror what he intended to do, but she was too late to stop it. Suddenly, quick as lightning, he lifted up his hand, flattened it into a karate knife-hand, and dealt a blow to the spokesman, right across the throat, that sent him crumpling to the ground.

Michele had no option but to take out the second man, which she did in equally efficient fashion. He didn't have a chance - neither of the two men had been expecting such brutal action.

"Why the hell did you do that?" Michele demanded of Gus.

Gus Keller's face was grim. "I told you. I don't want to be an assassin. I'm out of that business."

Michele flung up her hands. "Gus, you never were an assassin. I'm the assasssin. Jee-zus!"

He stared at her, his face white.

"What are you talking about?"

Michele took a deep breath. "Gus, my name is Taran Tula. Killer for hire. You work for ...well, I don't know who you work for. The FBI, the CIA, some special crimes division. In any event, you work for the good guys. You were chasing me, you had an accident, and lost your memory. I've spent the last two weeks playing with you, because I didn't realize you had lost your memory. Get it?"

Gus licked his dry lips.

"You were...you were playing with me?"

Michele strode over to him, grasped his shoulders.

"Look, Gus, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Like I said, I didn't realize you had amnesia. You're...you're an amateur, see? Whoever you work for, you're an amateur, a rookie. You had no business coming after me, and I was going to teach you a lesson. But when I realized you had amnesia...well, there was no longer any point in playing the game."

"Just...playing...with me? And...the rest of it...the ....our...?"

"The sex?" Michele said bluntly. Hell.

She kissed his unresponsive lips. "I don't regret that, Gus. Believe it or not I've grown fond of you. Very fond. But you're not a killer and I am. So..."

She stepped back.

"I'm going to have to leave it to you to explain to your mates what happened. I don't think you'll have a problem. It should be pretty easy for you to prove amnesia. And you haven't done anything you need to be ashamed of."

"Except...except knock this guy unconscious," said Gus, looking down at the two men sprawled at their feet.

"Ye-es, I have to admit you surprised me there. Well...just tell them I had a gun on you, and had threatened to kill you and them unless you helped me escape from them. They'll believe it after you prove you've got amnesia. Anyway, Gus...I'm leaving now."

He stared at her.

"You're a killer..." he said dully.

"And you're not. So don't try to stop me. I am sorry, Gus. I wish it wasn't ending this way...I hadn't intended it to end this way... but...well...it has."

She backed up toward the door - not being sure that he wouldn't try to knock her unconscious, too - shrugged her shoulders, gave him a sweet smile, and then walked out the door.

Once in the hallway, she sprinted for the exit, bounded across the sidewalk and into her car, and peeled rubber out of there, swearing the while.

Damn, damn, damn, damn!

She had hoped...yes...she had hoped that she and Gus could still have a future together. But it had been a forlorn hope, a lost cause, right from the start. She should have known.

And now...it was all over. Time to step into her final alter ego, the one she'd been saving for her retirement, and bid her old lives goodbye.

Damn, damn, damn!

PhotoDay: Nick and Nora Charles

New chapter coming tomorrow!

Michele Bravo, Playing With Fire: Chapter 43

Michele had talked to Dr. Robert Nielsen, the doctor whom she intended to handle Gus Keller's case.

He had suggested that, before they do anything else, she take him to his own home and see if those familiar surroundings would trigger a return of his memory.

Michele had agreed, but thought it prudent to dress in her fat suit, just in case any of Keller's colleagues were hanging around the place, awaiting his return.

Keller didn't remember where he lived, but of course his address was on all of his identification papers. She drove him to the address - a modest apartment in a nice neighborhood, and they walked in together.

Gus looked around, hopefully, but nothing he saw triggered any memories. The living room featured a large-screen TV and entertainment system, as well as a couple of large bookcases jam packed with books - most of them on art and in German, he noted. There were a couple of photos on a desk in the corner - but they were of elderly people and probably his parents. He must have no brothers or sisters, he thought.

The bedroom was comfortably furnished - another large-screen TV, several more book cases, a king-sized bed neatly made up with midnight blue bed coverings.

While Gus wandered from room to room, Michele went through the desk drawers, looking for pay stubs, photos, and any notes that might be of interest...both to him and to her.

Finally, Keller returned to the living room, looking extremely depressed.

"It hasn't worked," he said. "I don't recognize any of this. Nothing is ringing a bell. I guess..."

At that exact moment, there was a knock on the door.

Keller jumped. Michele swore, inwardly. Just what she did not need.

The knock came again.