Monkey's Uncle

  Yankee gathered her back against him. “You are fucking gorgeous, you know that?” He captured her mouth in a bruising kiss that melted away the assorted aches and pains from the loving they’d given her the night before that tried to make their presence known now that her orgasm was fading.

  He pushed her down onto Oscar and lifted her hips so her ass was in the air. Oscar’s wilting cock pulled free of her, but Yankee quickly filled her hole with his cock, pausing after he slammed home inside her.

  Stroking up and down her spine and along the curves of her ass with his fingers, he took a deep breath. “Oh, fuck, you feel so good.”

  Oscar grabbed the back of her head with one hand and started kissing her. The other he snaked between their bodies and found her clit. She whimpered as he started playing with it, teasing it, skillfully working her up again.

  Then Yankee started moving. Slowly at first, he seemed to be holding back, waiting. All the while he stroked her back, tracing the contours of her spine.

  She did her best not to track his progress in proper medical terminology by mentally naming the vertebrae as he touched them.

  Dammit, I really was way overdue to be laid if I can think that right now.

  Before long, she was rocking back and forth between Oscar’s hand and Yankee’s cock, Oscar fucking her mouth with his tongue the way Yankee was fucking her with his cock.

  Okay, not exactly a spit roast but still damn good…

  The way her nipples rubbed against the light dusting of curly blond hair along Oscar’s chest added a delicious bit of friction to the mix. Then, finally, she felt a second orgasm wash over her.

  Yankee didn’t miss his cue. “There you go.” His hands slid to her waist and he started fucking her, harder, faster, trying to catch up until he, too, finally came inside her.

  Exhausted, she nestled herself between the men on the bed. “I think I’m done,” she said. “I need sleep.”

  The men chuckled. “We wear you out?” Oscar asked.

  She nodded, too wrung out to do anything else.

  He kissed her, and Yankee nuzzled his chin against the nape of her neck. “Then let’s go to sleep,” Yankee said. “We can always have fun in the morning in the shower again.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next evening came the planning session. After grabbing a shower, the men drove India and Mac back to the safe house. They ate dinner before gathering around the table and the maps Papa had laid out there.

  “It’s about 450 miles to Mexico City,” India told them as she traced the route with her finger. “These roads are usually kept passable, but sometimes there are washouts and detours. When I went a couple of weeks ago, it was in pretty good condition. Normally, I can make it in less than ten hours.”

  “How’d you keep the clinic open when you go?”

  “I don’t,” she said. “Well, Mama stays behind and handles the minor stuff that she can. I’ve lucked out that there haven’t been any emergencies while I’ve been gone. When I’ve had a doctor to cover the clinic, I usually went, spent the night, and came back the next day. Lately I’ve been driving over with the padre, getting my stuff, and coming right back.”

  “Any chance of us going by air?” Papa asked.

  She laughed. “Are you serious?” Her smile faded as he simply stared at her, awaiting her answer. “Oh, you are serious. Look, there’s no functional airport around here. I just drive.”

  “Alone?” Yankee and Oscar echoed their disbelief.

  She glared at them. “I’ve done it alone before, yeah. But not usually. Like I said, the padre goes with me sometimes, or one of the policemen. Even when I do go alone, I never have any problems, thank you very much. I go armed. I’m not an idiot. Besides, the military is pretty good about patrolling the main roads. They have to keep them open between the larger cities for trucks to use, or stuff can’t get shipped. The cartels stay far away from them as a result. It’s the side roads and little pissant backwater donkey corrals you have to worry about. Places where the cartels can hide and operate without worrying about the military coming after them because it’s a pain in the ass for them.”

  Doc Karsonnes had insisted on teaching India how to shoot when he found out that she’d never even held a gun before. Fortunately for her, the local padre was also an excellent shot and helped her with her skills as well.

  CMI, it turned out, paid for their ammunition and weapons as part of the security expenses of running the clinic.

  India wasn’t sure if it was cute or annoying how the twunks arched their eyebrows at her. “You can shoot?” Oscar asked.

  “Duh. Why would you naturally assume that because I’m a girl that I can’t shoot? I thought we still had chicks in the US military, do we not?”

  Too late, she saw the men trying not to glance at Pandora.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” the redhead said, waggling a finger at them. “Look, I was born raised in Chicago by parents who were born and raised in Chicago. I am a city girl. I was a network researcher and trying to break into being a reporter, I wasn’t a cop or something. I was never in the military. To me, hunting meant trying to find sale items at a store when you had a coupon for them. So don’t go looking at me like that. And frankly, I’m insulted. You all said I’m getting really good with guns. And I’m kicking serious ass with my fighting skills.”

  “She is,” Doc said. “I have the bruises to prove it. So does Tango.”

  India smiled. She suspected she would end up being friends with the other woman. “How’s your Spanish?” India asked her.

  “Not as good as yours, but I’ve been able to understand the majority of what I’ve heard and read.”

  “Perfect,” India said. “Maybe you should go with us, too.”

  Apparently this was news to Doc and Tango. The men straightened. “Now hold on,” Doc said. “Just a minute.”

  Papa frowned, ignoring the men’s apparent preparation to argue against Pandora going on the journey. “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”

  Pandora planted her hands on her hips. “You never asked me.”

  India snorted. “Seriously? You guys are the best of the best?”

  “They have their good points,” Pandora said, poking a finger into Tango’s chest. “When they’re not busy pissing me off.”

  “Well, I don’t speak Spanish,” Doc said. “If I’m supposed to stay behind and help Mac run the clinic while India’s gone, then we’re going to need her here with us.”

  Tango looked happy over that logic bomb. He and Doc were actually supposed to stay there more to protect Mac than to help run the clinic, but the fact that Doc was a doctor, and Tango was a medic, were bonuses and had relaxed India.

  Papa arched an eyebrow at the men, but eventually nodded. “That is a valid point, I’ll have to admit.”

  “Ha,” Tango crowed.

  “I’ll warn Mama about it,” India said. “I don’t want her aggravated at us for all these strangers invading her clinic and she goes grousing to others about it in town.”

  Their plans for Mexico City were still stalled because, on his end, Bubba was trying to figure out a way to identify the mole ahead of time without alerting anyone else to the monitoring. India gave them suggestions for several potential public meeting places in Mexico City that she was familiar with, locations that would give the Drunk Monkeys optimum tactical and strategic advantage over the mole and anyone he might have with him.

  Still, India could tell that dragging their feet was taking its toll on the men.

  When India, Yankee, and Oscar returned to the clinic a little before midnight, she felt the previous two nights of extracurricular activity taking their toll on her. “Would you guys mind if we just cuddle tonight? I really need the sleep.”

  Oscar kissed her, followed by Yankee. “Of course we can. I could use a solid myself,” Oscar said.

  “Me, too,” Yankee agreed.

  It was as good as sex, being able to peacefully drift to sleep sandwiched be
tween the twunks.

  These kinds of moments, more than anything, she knew, would linger long in her thoughts and hopefully get her through any bad days ahead.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next day, India felt nervous tension ratcheting tighter inside her gut as the day went on and plans to travel to Mexico City were being made. She suspected Mac, Doc, Tango, and Pandora would have no trouble keeping the clinic running in her absence.

  But they were her people. Despite India’s reassurances, Mama still warily eyed the gringos who had invaded their clinic and their lives.

  Just before siesta, the Drunk Monkeys, accompanied by Mac, had returned to their hideout to hopefully finalize their plans. They would return soon. Meanwhile, India was in the storeroom, doing a quick inventory of supplies in preparation for the trip, when she heard Mama call out to her.

  “¿Si, Mama?” she responded without turning.

  India heard a man’s familiar, warm, throaty voice. “Well, I hope you’re still properly hazing the newbies like I taught you.”

  She stood so fast she whacked her head on the shelf, letting out a string of epithets in Spanish as she rubbed at her skull.

  Turning, it felt like the answer to her prayers stood there in the doorway with a playful smile on his face.

  “Paul, you sonofabitch! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  Dr. Paul Karsonnes walked in and made her pull her hands away from her scalp so he could look at the bump there.

  “Eh, you didn’t break the skin. Lucky for you, you have a hard head.” He grinned.

  Then she hugged him. “Oh my god, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Yeah, well, I decided I missed this damn place and wanted another visit. And I have someone I want you to meet.” He turned and held his hand out toward the door. A petite woman with short blonde hair smiled at her and stepped inside, taking his hand. “India, this is my wife, Ellen.”

  “Wife? Congratulations!” India hugged her. “Do me a favor and beat him for not sending me a note about it, huh? Last I heard, you two had just moved in together a few months back.”

  The woman gave her a friendly smile. “Sorry, no offense, we sort of eloped last week. It wasn’t just you we left out.”

  “Last week?” Her hopes faded. “So you’re only here on your honeymoon, huh?”

  “Nope,” he said. “Permanent basis.”

  Now she was confused. “What?”

  “Let’s go sit and talk.”

  They sequestered themselves behind a closed door in the storeroom where the kitchenette and refrigerators were located. India didn’t miss that Ellen politely refused a belt of the infamous tequila and opted for a bottle of soda. Paul sipped his mug of cold liquor.

  “Believe it or not, I missed this shit, too.” He held up his mug. “It’s actually pretty damn good. Other tequila tastes like bathwater to me now.”

  India smirked. “Wow. It really did burn out your taste buds, didn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “So, you want the short version, or the long one?”

  From the serious expression that settled over his features, she already knew. “Might as well hit me with the long version.”

  He’d been working at a hospital in New York State, not far outside of New York City, since his return to the States. That was where he met Ellen, who was a nurse.

  “I never dropped off the CMI site,” he said. “I think they forgot I still had access to the clinic’s account because I’ve done other volunteer work for them stateside. I’ve been monitoring your status and keeping it in the back of my mind.”

  “Are you the replacement they e-mailed me about then?”

  “Yeah. I have a friend in regional who snagged me and Ellen the placement. It’s only been in the works for a couple of weeks. So who is the guy who showed up here?”

  “You read that, huh?”

  “Yeah. Caused a little confusion in headquarters until you posted the ‘oops’ message. What happened, really?”

  She wasn’t sure how much to tell him yet. “Crossed wires. He’s a doctor, but obviously not the doctor. I just found out the other day, and have been too busy to update anyone at CMI about it in detail.”

  “Ah.”

  “So why are you here, really?”

  He took another sip of his rotgut. “Because it’s starting to get bad out there. Worse than even what the news is reporting. It’s going to get worse yet. Much worse. Soon. We’d rather not be anywhere near a large metropolitan area when everything finally goes to hell.”

  Despite the heat of the day, India’s blood chilled again. “Bad how?”

  He looked downright grim. “I’ve got a friend in Manhattan. Works at Mercy Metro ER. The news is way behind the facts. They’re seeing two to three new cases a day there.”

  “Kite?”

  He nodded. “Domestic cases, not incoming from overseas via Port Authority entries, sea or air.”

  “But the CDC hasn’t been reporting that.”

  “I know. And they won’t until they’re forced to by the media. Right now, they’re…liquidating all victims as soon as they’re positively diagnosed.”

  Her eyes widened. “Liquidating?”

  “That’s their sanitized government-speak term for giving patients who’ve tested blue a lethal injection of po-clo, and then telling the distraught family they died of a heart attack or stroke or aneurism or whatever plausible explanation they can pass off on them. They monitor the rest of the family for a day, using some sort of bureaucratic bullshit like it’s a new health regulation or something, so sorry, and then if any of them test blue…” He didn’t finish.

  He didn’t have to.

  “Shit,” she whispered.

  “Yeah. It’s only a matter of time before that gets out in the press, then all hell will break loose. Well, worse than the problems they’ve already been having.”

  “How did Kite get there?”

  “They think a couple of people maybe got smuggled in on a ship. Maybe someone let them off onto a smaller boat just offshore or something. The first tracked cases were people who worked in a shipyard a little over three weeks ago who had contact with three different cargo freighters arriving from Africa. The freighters had already left by then. Cases have branched out from there. They’re aggressively following up on it, but they can’t keep a lid on it forever. It’s only a matter of time before they miss someone who sparks a mass infection on the island of Manhattan, or in one of the boroughs, and then all bets are off.”

  “Wow.”

  “It gets worse.”

  She stared. “Worse? How could it get worse?”

  He grimly nodded. “It looks like the recipe for Kite the drug has made it to someone. When we left, we were starting to see overdoses of it. No one knew what it was, at first. Until some military brainiac hooked up with the CDC and the WHO and realized it was the same shit China reported about early on, from the Group Zero batch of patients from North Korea.”

  He let out a heavy-sounding sigh. “Someone’s cooking it and selling it. And that’s only going to lead to more Kite virus infections, because it’s injected. You know damn well junkies aren’t going to be worried about whether they’ve got a clean needle or not if it means they can get their fix.”

  “I haven’t seen anything about that in the news, either.”

  “Because you won’t. Not yet. They’re saying it’s a heroin derivative. There’s a standing order from the military in all hospitals in the New York area to report them as heroin-beta ODs, not Kite the drug. They don’t want the public to know about it. They’re afraid people will panic and start killing needle junkies all over the place if they call it Kite.”

  India had to swallow back her bile. She had led a pleasant and sheltered existence here in Colima when compared to the things she was now learning, and the videos she’d seen on her laptop from other parts of the world. “And that’s why the fast wedding?”

  He nodded. “Ellen and I have been dati
ng for over a year now. But we found out four weeks ago that she’s pregnant.”

  Ellen picked up the story. “I’ve always been fascinated by his stories about his time here. I asked him if there was any way we could get stationed here together. Apparently I didn’t renew my five-year soon enough. I thought I’d be safe for a couple of months yet and we hadn’t had the money to get a new one implanted.” She rested her hand on her stomach. “I don’t want to try to raise a baby in a city. Not right now. Not with Kite. I’ll take my chances here.”

  “I think they’re better here,” India added.

  Paul lifted his mug in a toast. “Amen. We decided to get married to make things a little easier in terms of emigration, sold everything and cashed out, applied for emergency work visas in Mexico—which were granted since we’re medical professionals—and here we are.”

  “But you don’t need work visas. You’re part of the charity. There’s an exemption.”

  “We’re applying for Mexican citizenship so we can stay here permanently.”

  “So you’re my official replacements?”

  “Eh, actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. CMI said that, under the circumstances, if you wanted to stay on here they wouldn’t have any objections. I asked them to let me handle that. They’re starting to get overwhelmed at corporate with everything going on with Kite. I know how you feel about St. Louis. I don’t know if you’ve stayed up to date about Reverend Silo and his church, but he’s actually even bigger than ever in the States now. You can’t hardly turn on the TV or radio without seeing paid advertisements for his network. I pulled a couple of strings to get CMI to add a second nursing position here at the clinic based on the population and increasing caseload. Plus, you’re an LNP. Ellen’s a damn good RN, but she doesn’t have all your skills.”

  It warmed India’s heart that her friend had thought about her like that. “How’d you manage that?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve made some contacts in the past couple of years. I stayed active with CMI in other ways, doing domestic clinics for them here and there, inner-city stuff.” He swirled the contents of his mug. “Now your turn. What’s really going on, and who was the other doctor?”