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Sister Nancy had always had her doubt, harbored deep in the armor of her faith. It hid her uncertainty as well, hid it from everyone, but she knew it was there, and she tried to contain it so it did not grow large enough to crack the carapace of her belief.
She had always suspected that evil was not just in the hearts of men, but a tangible thing, commanded by Satan. Minions invisible to mortal men were sent to torment and tempt, until they brought them to a fall.
Sister Nancy, though, never saw those minions. She only saw the parade of man’s inhumanity to man, no matter where she went or who she helped or how. And with each misdeed she witnessed, her doubt grew greater.
Later, when she finally met Lucifer, she asked, “Where were you all this time?”
“Oh, dear sister,” he replied with a mercy so profound she could see the angel he had once been. “I don’t do personal appearances. The wise too often take them as what they are – confirmation of God.”
Mitnick shuffled away again and I used the space to gulp down air. “Before I corrected the situation, Nika would go into town and spend time with Lanzo at this club, this Factory.”
“Is that what he wanted to talk to you about at the casino?”
Mitnick rocketed a three fist combo that brought him closer. “You were at the uncle’s shop. You were at the Factory. You have been many places Nika has been. Many places this Lanzo has been.”
“I’ve been a lot of places you’ve been.”
“Exactly. You are the common denominator.” As if rewarding me for this, Mitnick landed another pattern of blows. “You know Sartre, you know Lanzo, Nika, the police and myself. In all of this, where would Nika have gone?”
I had been playing defense this entire time and it wasn’t working. I stepped forward and launched a few heavy hands at his smiling face. In between his swift dodges, I said, “I’ve met your Nika one time.” I found myself quickly out of breath, my voice and my brain failing to produce more words beyond those.
“And yet you are at the center of all this.” Mitnick took my dispirited moment to step away, letting me get a good look at him before he stepped forward with another gloved bombardment. “If not this police man, this Rotella, who would help her? This Lanzo, his friends, these Idiots? Where would they hide her? This town is too small for any secrets to remain so for long.”
“Maybe she left town?” This possibility provoked Mitnick and he gave me two outside shots that I only managed to keep from bouncing off my head by keeping my gloves up. In retaliation, I added, “Maybe she’s dead.”
That was the wrong answer. The storm it unleashed from Mitnick pushed me back until I bounced off the ropes and into his fists and he just ping-ponged me there until he stepped away to let me fall onto my hands and knees. Somewhere far away, I could hear the audience’s sadistic laughter. I’m sure Pyotr was having a grand old time.
With the conviction of necessity Mitnick said, “No. She is alive.”
I tried to raise my head, but only managed to nod, acquiescing to Mitnick’s will. “Sure, OK, she’s alive.”
Mitnick’s trainers stepped into the area of the mat my increasingly narrow field of vision encompassed. “Where is Nika, American? In all of this, where would she hide?”
I couldn’t think, barely could breath, and the only thing popping into my head was the darkness of the hutch, and that I very much wanted to be there in its cool dark belly. I almost gave her up, right there. After all, what did I owe her? What did it matter if one over-privileged princess of the Russian kleptocracy had to stay in her gilded cage?
Instead, I bought some time by moving to my feet. Seeing that I had time to breathe, Mitnick started to move in again. I set my jaw and raised my fists, getting ready for his next assault. But then there was a buzzing sound that some deluded part of my brain decided was a boxing bell marking the end of the round.
It wasn’t until Brick waved a mobile phone at Mitnick that I realized it wasn’t. For a terrified moment I thought he was holding the phone Mitnick had given me and I tried to think who might be calling – was it Sartre? Rotella? I couldn’t know.
Whatever it was, Brick’s Slavic speech caused Mitnick to rip off a glove with his teeth and take the phone. After a terse greeting, Mitnick lapsed into an uncustomary silence that suffocated any chatter between the spectators.
When Mitnick did speak, it was in a brief, cold manner. With my head ringing it took me several moments to realize he was speaking in English, but even then I couldn’t understand him.
Mitnick made noises that could have been him ordering Chinese or making death threats. Then he stopped. He took the mobile away from his ear. I couldn’t see his face, but I could see his hand tremble with an effort to crush the phone.
When this failed he said, “Nika has been kidnapped.”
Unable to hold myself up any longer, I fell back against the ropes. “What?”
Mitnick repeated himself, loud enough that some of the men around the ring heard. Those that heard whispered it to others and the mood changed from gleeful sadism to worried wolf pack. Brick and Whip moved closer to the ring, inserting themselves between the Russians and Mitnick.
I watched this through my slightly blurry vision. “Who would be stupid enough to do that?”
Mitnick gave a bitter chuckle. “Someone who is at least intelligent enough to keep that hidden.” From that, I gathered that the Idiots hadn’t made the call.
Mitnick gestured Brick over and whispered something to him. Then, to my great relief, began unwrapping his hands.
I bought myself some time with, “What do they want?”
“They are demanding a ransom, of course. But have not said how much.” His tone suggested this was standard practice. One of the Russians, another pasty, stocky figure who’s vodka washed face began to redden said something irate, which Brick immediately quieted with a command. Mitnick gestured to Brick, though, giving everyone permission to be angry. He tossed the phone to him and began speaking in quick, guttural Slavic. I leaned against the ropes and was glad no one in the vicinity was under immediate suspicion.
I’m not sure how long they were in the huddle for, but when I lifted my head Mitnick was there. He held out the black burner from Simon’s, pushing it at me. “Go back into town. Keep this with you now. Wait for me to call. There is much to be done in a short time. We will need proof she lives, negotiate for her return. I will need eyes and ears in the city. You will do this.”
I nodded dumbly, grateful to be handed an assignment rather than more beatings. I doubted Mitnick suddenly trusted me, but I didn’t care. “What are you going to do?”
“I will find Nika and kill anyone involved in taking her.” It was the only time I had heard Mitnick speak plainly of violence and it boiled with anger under his calm. “Nika’s father is visiting soon. She must be here when this happens.” Mitnick pointed a finger under my noise. “Understand?”
I nodded. “When is soon?”
“Soon. He is Oleg Churbinov, an important man. If his daughter is not here when he arrives, this town will burn.”
“That’s the plan,” I mumbled, but no one heard me passed the mash Mitnick had made of my mouth. He stared hard at me, I nodded again. Mitnick dismissed me with a gesture to a corner. I stumbled to it, slumping against the pole. I stared dumbly at my hands, my brain trying to process how to get the gloves off while holding onto the mobile.
I did that until Brick arrived at my corner. Demonstrating a surprisingly gentle manner, the lummox took the phone and set it down, then unlaced my gloves. Unsurprisingly, my knuckles were the one part that remained unbruised.
Brick helped me off the platform and to my stuff where I fumbled back into my shirt and shoes. Somehow the mobile had made its way back into my hand, which I managed to get into a trench coat pocket before Brick guided me back to the SUV. He drove us to town, having the decency not to speak.
We were in front of Simon’s again before I knew what was happening. I stared at the tall doors without recognition for awhile before stupidly thanking Brick. As I stepped out, he said in a quiet and high voice, “Find Nika. Bring her back. She has nothing to do with this life. She deserves no harm.”
That’s exactly why I’m trying to get her out of town, I thought, but said nothing.
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Teth walked into the Senate, carrying the head of the man who had order her execution. Covered in blood, teeth bared, she threw the severed head onto the floor and dared any man take it, promising her own if they could wrest it from her.
None dared. The Senators ordered their nomistic soldiers to kill her but, tired of murdering innocents to fill their masters’ coffers, silence was the only reply.
This permeated the chamber until a hysterical aristocrat screamed at the closest guard to, “Do something!” The soldier’s only response was to draw his sword and throw it at the Senator’s feet. The message was clear.
There wasn’t any getting out of this. I stripped off the trench coat and down to my undershirt, kicked off my shoes. A few of the Russians watched me, narrowed eyes traveling up and down my bulk, my size making them reconsider whether their boss boxing with me was a good idea.
Brick surprised me by stepping forward to help me with the gloves, lacing them up in a competent and speedy manner. In a delaying action I said to him, “You’ve done this before.” He nodded and I asked, “You a boxer too?”
He smiled savagely and nodded again, adding, “But not like Mitnick.” He slapped my shoulder like we were pals. “You are doomed.” I climbed into the ring anyway.
In the ring, Mitnick moved his feet in a quick dance that shuffled him around me, producing more anticipatory chuckling from the crowd. I tried to keep to a corner, but Mitnick circled me, throwing a few jabs that were easy to avoid, but pushed me into the center of the ring before I realized what he was doing. I had to rotate to face him, keeping me off-balance.
In between a few glancing jabs he said, “You have made my houseguests angry.” I opened my mouth to reply, but Mitnick interrupted with the first solid blow. It rang my bell.
He continued, “I ask them to send Mikhail to help you, Mikhail disappears.”
I kept my hands up to ward off his fists. “Pyotr goes to ask you about this and you assault and rob him.”
Mitnick stepped closer and landed a series of body blows that that I mostly kept at bay with my elbows. “You bring police here, insist to meet Nika and now –” Mitnick punctuated his next sentence with fiercer jabs. “Nika is gone and the police have begun raids against me.”
With the pattering of blows, I felt my anger begin to rise. I focused on Mitnick’s comment about the most important thing.
I poked my head out from between my gloves. “The police?” Mitnick rewarded me for dropping my guard with a quick tap that glanced off my forehead.
“Yes! The very same night the police you brought to my house – what was his name?”
It took me a moment to find it. “Rotella.”
“Yes, the very same night you brought him here, his comrades in the police began.”
“You told me to bring him here.”
“Indeed. This Rotella, he must have hidden his intent.”
“From both of us. Let me go find him and you can play with him in here.”
Mitnick laughed as if nothing would please him more. “Did you not hear me? Nika is gone.”
“Nika’s gone?” The constant barrage from Mitnick made it hard to think of anything smarter to say.
“Yes! She stole one my automobiles and drove down the mountain.” Mitnick spoke like a parent cheerfully discussing a child’s mischievous behavior. “She is so clever! Not one of us is able to find her.” Mitnick hit me like crushing disappointment. “How could she, a stranger to this place, manage to stay hidden?”
“We’re all strangers here,” I replied. Mitnick’s smile floated above his own guard, wistful and bright. I took the opportunity to try and land my own jab and nearly got him, but he swerved away. Thinking of Sergei’s bruised corpse, I wondered if he had to endure this before his death. “Maybe you should have had someone watching her.”
The series of jabs this provoked were more forceful, but I had anticipated them, retreating out of reach. His cheer diminished, Mitnick replied, “We have all been watching her. Escape is always possible. But how has she stayed hidden? She has no passport, no money.”
Artfully answering Mitnick’s questions was made imposible by his fists. However, the busy hours he’d had since midnight, didn’t escape me. Dodging a glove, I tried to use that as a distraction, “You think the police raiding your operations has something to do with it?”
“The world is filled with things I do not know.” Mitnick emphasized his point with a solid gut punch that nearly knocked me over. “It is odd to me, though, that after such a good demonstration of faith the inspector should do this.”
With pain radiating from his last blow, I dropped my guard and Mitnick pummeled me. I hobbled on my feet as he shuffled away and said, “I think he is a liar. I think I am surrounded by liars.”
I tried to keep my hands up, elbows close to my body. “If she said she was a prisoner, why wouldn’t Rotella just arrest you for kidnapping?”
“Indeed. Do you know the Corsican boy?” The change of subject confused me as much as the fists. “His name is Lanzo? You met him him after he pestered me in the casino.”
“I remember his friends, the ones you sent to kick my ass.” Two jabs distracted me from a right cross that caused the edges of my vision to blur. I wobbled back adding, “You could have just saved everyone a lot of time and done it yourself.”
Mitnick laughed again and I tried to catch my breath, ribs aching. “Dur and Zakhar found you at his uncle’s shop the first time they brought you here.”
“Yeah. I was told to make sure he got the message not to come around the casino anymore. Your boys interrupted me.”
“So you have not seen this Lanzo since?”
Through my rising heartbeat and the pain crowding my brain, I tried to think. Had one of Mitnick’s men seen me with Lanzo? Had he made a connection?
Instead of answering I channeled my anger into moving closer to Mitnick, taking him by surprise with a series of fast, wild counter-attacks. After landing a few punches, I asked, “Who cares about that idiot?”
Mitnic dodged away. “He has caused much trouble outside of the casino.”
“That’s probably why Atwell wanted me to talk to him. I dropped by his uncle’s a second time, but he didn’t see me.” His uncle couldn’t see me. He was dead.
“I don’t know if she’s going to be OK,” Doctor Imogen told Aggie. The detective had brought in the young tribeswoman to the clinic, and Imogen was almost certainly breaking a number of HIPPA regulations by giving the private detective medical information with Nola unconscious and unable to consent. Chief Veregge, though…well he hadn’t ordered personnel to work with Aggie, but he had made a strongly worded suggestion. Imogen didn’t know how federal laws applied to her clinic, anyway, and she really didn’t care. The people who made those laws were the same as those who had herded her ancestors onto a small patch of land, so she considered the clinic her own sovereign nation. Fuck ’em.
The clinic’s newest resident was one Nola Strong, a young woman who had disappeared from tribal lands more than a few months ago. Most of the young people seemed to do that these days, and despite Nola’s reddish, fuzzy hair and light skin, the doctor suspected she had as much luck as the rest of them did. Now she was here, back home and poisoned.
With the same protectiveness she felt towards all dying breeds, Imogen said, “I don’t think she’ll be able to answer any questions, Ms. McPherson.”
The diminutive detective shrugged in her charcoal suit. With her black hair and somber expression, she could have passed for a child pallbearer. “It’s just Aggie. Or McPherson.
“Anyway, she answered my questions on the way here. I wanted to know if I was right about the diagnosis.” Imogen questioned if Aggie’s story about having just met Nolaa few hours ago was true. Most people didn’t appear this sad over a stranger.
Imogen thought about Nola under the oxygen tent and decided that, either way, the detective deserved answers for having brought her this far. “It looks that way. Heavy metal poisoning, damage to respiratory and capillary systems. It’s hard to tell the extent of the damage just yet.”
Aggie turned to the doctor. The detective didn’t so much sweep her gaze as lock her eyes on one thing, then another, taking each into account before moving onto the next. Imogen found this to be uncomfortable as the full attention of her visitor landed on her. Under the focused gazed, she pushed a loose lock of her own dark hair behind an ear, suddenly and irrationally concerned that she hadn’t had time to wash this morning.
To cover up her sudden discomfort, she wondered aloud, “She seems like the type who would have better options than dangerous work. I wonder why she did it.”
Without hesitation Aggie answered, “He made her feel special.”
“Who made her feel special?”
“I’m gonna find out real soon,” Aggie said with a certainty that Imogen wasn’t sure she liked. While it might be a too frequent an occurrence, she didn’t like violence around the clinic.
Aggie’s tone shifted back into its softer dynamic as she continued, “She should be safe to move to another facility soon. If you need to do that.”
Imogen wasn’t sure why Nola needed the sanctuary of her peoples’ reservation, but she thought of Chief Veregge and decided not to ask. Instead she said, “That’s good. We don’t have the equipment or expertise to treat her here.”
Aggie nodded and spun her diminutive carriage towards the exit, blazer flapping as if she were executing an about-face. At a slow gait, she headed towards the exit, throwing back a “See you around doc.”
The SUV that drove into the clinic parking lot was designed to look like trouble. Big and black, even the bumper and trim were matted into a mute darkness that absorbed light. Watching it from his taxi, Rafi pulled his cap low, slid down into his seat like he was taking a nap, and waited to see if it was enough trouble to warn his boss. Without realizing it, he smiled. This is what he loved about working for McPherson. You never knew what was going to happen.
Three white dudes got out of the SUV. They were all dressed in the same style, clothes as black as the car they arrived in, bulging jackets and dark turtlenecks protecting them from the cold that blew off the river.
Rafi had to hand it to them – they looked so serious that they went all the way around and came out the other side of silly. With their uniform dress, they almost appeared like a military unit, but one was so fat and the other so tall and thin that they could have been Laurel and Hardy. Rafi decided he could wait on warning his boss.
The man in front though, though, Rafi kept an eye on. He was fit and chewing on gum like he was practicing for the biting Olympics. When his gaze settled on Rafi’s taxi, its intensity felt like he was trying to melt it with heat vision.
Aggie’s knock on the window startled him enough that his hat fell back on his head. What he hated about working with McPherson was her penchant for sneaking up on him. He didn’t care for it.
He straightened up in his seat and rolled down the window, its perfect electric purr reminding him of where he got the money from to keep his car well-maintained. Aggie already had her eyes on the three men, but asked Rafi anyway, “Anything interesting happening out here?”
Rafi pulled his hat back on, tipping it towards the trio. “Well, that fine group of gora just arrived.”
“They hassle you yet?”
“They’re thinking about it a lot.” Rafi paused as the trio formed into the world’s smallest phalanx and began heading towards the taxi. “And here they come now.”
Aggie watched the approach before saying, “I guess I’d better go say hello.”
Rafi smiled to himself and, despite the stiff wind coming off the river, rolled his window all the way down. He wanted to be able to hear everything.
Rafi had wrestled for a long time, first for fun with his family in Pakistan, then in the labor camps for money. Since coming to the States he had fallen out of practice. He still knew enough to admire the way his boss managed to look casual walking over to the three men, but with her small feet balanced carefully along the ice of the parking lot, leveraged against any possible attack.
Aggie launched the first salvo. “Hello, brave Legionnaires!”
Rafi noticed this made no one happy. All three men stopped, Laurel and Hardy looking around as if they’d been spotted by a sniper. The one in front, if it were possible, intensified his glare. Rather than just stand there and look like an idiot, though, he at least had the good sense to close the remaining distance to Aggie. “You’re that stupid Jew who got Cordell in trouble,” was his charming introduction.
Aggie actually laugh, which wasn’t something Rafi heard often. “I’m a lot of things,” she replied, “but I’m not Abrahamic. In anyway.”
“Fine, mongrel-lover. Have it your way. What are you doing here?”
There was a pause, as if Aggie were actually considering the question. Then, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“You’re here on Legion business, which makes it my business.”
Aggie responded with a slowness that suggested she had forgotten something. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”
The man in front of Laurel and Hardy raised himself up, putting his full height against the diminutive detective. “You know who I am.”
Aggie took time with her response, leaving the honesty of it an open question. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
The man crossed his arms as he reevaluated Aggie. “I’m Randal Wayne. And I’m here to collect the rod Haddo hired you to find.”
“Well, Mr. Wayne, I’m not working for Haddo.” Rafi wished he could see Aggie’s face. He didn’t know from direct experience, but he bet she was a hell of a poker player.
“Don’t bullshit me,” was Randal’s reply. “He told me that he hired you.”
Rafi didn’t have to strain to hear Aggie’s reply, even over the wind. “No he didn’t. You’re lying.”
The man stepped closer, towering over Aggie. “What did you just say?”
Behind his sunglasses, Randal’s surprise showed when the detective took a step closer to him. “I said you’re lying. Haddo didn’t tell you that. In fact, he didn’t tell you the rod was missing.” Aggie shifted her gaze from Randal, round to the other two, then back to the lead gora. “I’m not working for Haddo. So I know you’re lying about that. Which brings up all sorts of interesting questions, doesn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, use your imagination Randal. Why would you think Haddo hired me? Why would you think I have the rod you’re talking about?” Aggie clucked in a manner that was unmistakeable in its condescension. “Would Haddo be interested in you being here, looking for said rod?”
The last question actually made Randal angrier, shoulders bunching, arms uncrossing so his hands had the freedom to curl into fists. Aggie might be able to handle herself, but Rafi found himself reaching for the door handle. If things were about to get violent, three against one odds weren’t anyones’ friend.
Randal raised a fist, finger pointed towards Aggie, when she cut off any impending threat with, “You really want to do that, Randal? Start a fight, get arrested on tribal land? You think three white supremacists are going to do well in the custody of local law enforcement?” Rafi could practically see the glow of Aggie’s smile reflect off the man’s sunglasses. “I’m sure Chief Veregge would order all three of you to get special attention.”
Randal may not look too bright, but Rafi figured he must have a few brain cells firing in his skull. At Aggie’s words his pointed finger slowly curled back into his fist and his mouth closed. Aggie continued, “If you don’t want to be arrested on tribal land, do you want to know what happens next?”
Rafi could see the Wayne clench his jaw, but couldn’t hear whatever response he muttered through clenched teeth. Aggie responded, “If you don’t want Haddo to find out about our little encounter here and start asking questions, you’re going to leave Nola Strong alone. And you’re going to stay out of my way.”
“In fact, I think the Slakterquay PD may start turning up clues on who committed those unexplained robberies for the last few months. Call it a hunch.
“Seems like there’s all sorts of trouble headed your way.” The smile reflected in Randal’s sunglasses increased a few candelas. “I’d disappear if I were you.”
Randal stepped forward, nearly bumping his chest into Aggie who was unmoved by the impotent act. His mouth worked around whatever threats he wanted to spit at the detective. Then Laurel stepped forward and a hand zipped out of Aggie’s pocket to touch him on his chest and the thin man collapsed. Randal cursed at him as Hardy went to pick him up, then stepped back from Aggie, muttering a threat so watered down it couldn’t reach Rafi. The trio headed back to the SUV, Hardy helping a wheezing and limping Laurel, Randal stomping across the ice. As they went, Aggie waved at them as if she were giving a bon voyage to a departing vessel. “Enjoy Idaho boys!”
Rafi had his window rolled up by the time Aggie got back into the car. “Idaho?”
“Inside joke. But don’t ever go to Idaho.”
“OK,” Rafi started the car, not sure if he cared to know what that meant. “Where to?”
“Hill District. The only person I trust with the rod is Rodriguez. After that, back to the office. Even with Randal and his little hit squad out of the way, I don’t think this is over yet.”
Rafi sighed as he watched the trio get back into the black SUV. The trip to the Bundhaus, now this run in with Wayne, who was, in addition to being a raging asshole, a white supremacist and a dangerous, potentially violent criminal. Getting mixed up with the Legionnaires wasn’t something he was sure he wanted.
Rafi was so deep in these thoughts that he nearly swatted at his shoulder when he felt a light touch, prepared to assassinate whatever spider or bug had alighted there. Instead, he found himself staring at his boss’s pale hand, a sizable fold of bills between the carefully manicured fingers. He chuckled to himself and took it.
Aggie patted him on the shoulder then indicated the seatbelt. “Safety first.”
Rafi smiled, put on his seatbelt, and pointed the car back towards Slakterquay.
