There’s something about knowing an ambush is waiting that changes a familiar landscape. Like a routine patrol where you see the same spots in the same city everyday, Simon’s had become familiar, but now it was as welcoming as a haunted house.
Expensive European cars crowding the narrow street outside of Simon’s cafe. Among them was a Mercedes SUV, black and built like a tank. They must have brought a lot of boys, which I took as a compliment. Two of them, wearing black leather jackets and smoking cigarettes, were on alert. The first one to spot me nodded to the other and they formed up, radiating a menace that was low wattage compared to Brick’s expert menace. I walked past without acknowledging them and the pair closed ranks behind me as I went inside.
There were half-a-dozen crowding the tables of the cafe, all moving to a slovenly attention as I entered. I looked for Simon. To my relief, he was sitting on one of his stools, elbow on the counter, its rows of espresso cups knocked out of order, some broken on the floor. He smiled at me from behind a raw steak he was holding against his left eye. Other than the piece of butchery he didn’t look any worse off. My chest expanded with relief even as I saw Brick stood next to him exuding his usual level of charm.
Whip rose to his full height in a burgundy suit. He was holding an espresso, saucer in one hand, cup in the other, pinky finger up, smiling as if he was glad to see me. I guess he was, just not in any friendly way.
His smile disappeared, though, when Pyotr, pointing at me with a tattooed hand, demanded, “Where’s my passport?”
I blinked, having forgotten about the document. “Is that what this is all about?”
Pyotr threw a punch into my gut. I didn’t dare defend myself, curling to take the blow. Before he could continue, though, Whip gave Pyotr a corrective order. I raised a plaintive hand. “Jesus Christ, I’ll find your fucking passport.”
Pyotr raised his fist again, causing Whip to practically bump his chest into Pyotr’s to reestablish dominance. The two glared at each other until Brick stepped closer. Whatever simian signals passed between them allowed Whip to dismiss Pyotr with a wave.
Setting his cup aside, Whip leaned forward to speak at me. “Mr. Mitnick wishes to see you.” He sounded very formal, like an engraved invitation from a Bond villain.
“I got that,” I exhaled, exaggerating the pain of the gut punch. Figuring it might be the last chance, I ignored everyone else and spoke to Simon. “I’m sorry about this.”
Between the steak and a brave face, Simon’s fear showed through the crack. “I am sorry as well.”
I was about to ask him what he had to be sorry for, but decided it was best to get the goon squad out of there. I prodded Whip with, “I guess you figured you needed more guys this time?”
Whip sneered and held the leash of his anger, gesturing to the vory. Two of them picked me up and hustled me into the Mercedes outside.
The drive out of town was beautiful, as always. I watched the scenery go by and kept my mouth shut. The road between the blue sea and into the green spring of the mountains might, after all, be the last pleasant thing I saw. I took it all in and breathed carefully and slowly, keeping anger at bay.
In the full light of day, the house’s white marble steps and fluted columns reminded me of a place of worship. Or sacrifice. I laid eyes on the statue of Athena and prayed that Sophie wouldn’t try a rescue.
Whip led us around the house, down a white stone walkway to a clearing with a square, raised platform, poles at its four corners, each connected by ropes. As I recognized what it was, dread sank in.
Mitnick was inside the boxing ring, tying the laces on a pair of sneakers. Seeing me, he stood tall, his teeth shining out from behind his beard. For the first time he wasn’t in a suit, but wearing red shorts and green top. For a man in his middle age, he cut an athletic figure, wide shoulders and long, muscular legs. He brought his bright white smile to me and said, “It is good to see you.”
“You could have just told me to come.”
“These are interesting times, my friend, and there is little time to waste. For instance, I feel like I barely know you. I hardly know your name.”
“You know I work for Atwell. And you know you’ve got Atwell on the dangle. What else do you need to know?”
“Ah, yes. Atwell. Has disappeared of late.” At least Atwell was smart enough to do that.
“I don’t typically see him face-to-face.”
“Quite right. Spycraft, like the KGB agents of old, with their hidden cameras and chases and disappearances.” Mitnick became misty as he dwelled on the Cold War. “But do you know what the most important thing is in espionage?”
“I wouldn’t know. I was a Marine.”
Mitnick ignored this and raised a taped fist with his index finger extended, indicating the one important thing. “To hide one’s intent.”
Mitnick finished taping up his hands and each twist ratcheting up my dread. “For instance, Sartre knows I wish to make friends in Old Town, that I have setup independent operations. If I had kept this hidden from him longer, perhaps we would not be here now.”
Whip pushed a pair of boxing gloves at me. I stared as if they were alien objects.
Mitnick continued. “I barely know you, therefore I do not know your intent.” I began to mutter some lie about money, getting paid, the usual American stereotypes, which Mitnick dismissed without really listening. “The best way to get to know a man is to fight him.”
“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. People don’t get to know each other through violence.”
Mitnick laughed. “You see? You surprise me. I did not know you were funny.” He gestured to Whip who handed me the gear. “Now put on your gloves.”
An Aggie McPherson Mystery.Read the previous chapter here.
Strong was stuffing the last of her clothing into a duffle bag when a knock at the door stopped her. No one knew she was here and, as far as she could tell, housekeeping at the Hotel Voyage didn’t existent.
The hotel did, as a sane precaution against outsiders and its own tenants, have peepholes in all of its doors. Even through the fish-eye of the lens, Strong couldn’t see who was on the other side, only a carefully coiffed head of dark hair that blocked out the trash of empty takeout and beer cans that lined the hotel’s hallways.
None of Wayne’s crew was that short, or had hair that black, so at least she knew it wasn’t them. That didn’t mean she wanted to speak to anyone. However, a small fist raised itself to the door and knocked again. The brightly lacquered nails flashed like a warning sign against the dingy hallway, telling her that whoever it was wasn’t going away.
“What do you want?” She yelled through the door.
“Nola Strong?” The voice with its question was hoarse, lower than the head that stood beyond the peephole, but Nola didn’t think it was a man. At least, she thought, there’s that. Nola repeated her question.
“My name is Aggie McPherson. I’d like to speak with you.”
“Go away.” The words formed themselves around an uncontrollable cough, allowing Nola to add, “I don’t feel well.” She immediately regretted it, like a child hiding in her room.
“Ms. Strong, there are men coming to speak to you and I don’t think they’ll accept that excuse. If you open the door and talk to me, maybe we can get you out of here in time.” Nola looked at the half-stuffed duffle bag and cursed being on the second floor. She had been traveling light, a prisoner to the necessity of moving fast at night in the dark streets of Slakterquay. She could have busted out the bathroom window and escaped to the back alley if it weren’t for the thirty foot drop. In this part of town, if she broke anything in the fall there was no way telling what the smell of blood and pain might bring out.
A heavier knock on the door caused Nola to jump. She gulped air and then took several calming breaths. With the chain on the door she cracked it open. Through the sliver into the florescent lit hallway she confirmed that the short person on the other side was a woman, with oddly colored eyes beneath dark hair. Her suit was nice enough that it would have attracted the attention of anyone who noticed her walk into the hotel.
“Ms. Strong, we don’t have a lot of time.”
“What do you want?”
The crack in the door seemed to widen as Aggie stared back at Nola. “I don’t think you want to discuss it standing in the hall.” Nola unchained the door to look up and down the hallway’s desolate length, verifying they were alone. With no one else in sight, she allowed the stranger in.
The other woman stepped in gingerly, floating around Nola while stepping around the worst stains on the hotel carpet. Her eyes flicked around the room before coming back to Nola as she finished securing the door. “I’m not the police,” she began, “and I want you to know that because I know that you’ve been involved in a number of robberies over the last 11 weeks. I don’t care about that.” Nola resisted the urge to grab something in the room as a makeshift weapon. It died entirely when the stranger continued, “You should care that, during those robberies, you’ve been exposed to hazardous chemicals. You should seek immediate medical attention.”
The last statement struck at every chest pain and headache Nola had been experiencing the last several days. Rather than let it become fear, she began to deny with, “I don’t know what you’re – “
Aggie held up a hand, palm forward. “Ms. Strong, can we just skip this part? Like I said, men are on their way here to find you.”
That was more concerning to Nola than the cops. “How do you know that?”
Aggie cocked an eyebrow. It wasn’t a dissimilar expression than one Nola used to get from her mother before she took off, but lacked the ridicule. There was only a dispassionate evaluation there. “I’ve tracked the device in your possession to several recent robberies. Banks, armored cars, underground vaults, seemingly impossible targets have been broken into using an unknown explosive. While you were doing this, the device melted industrial surfaces that put out some rather nasty pollutants. You weren’t warned about this so didn’t have proper protection.
“Now you’re dying. Any chance of that not happening is going to disappear when those men arrive.”
Nola felt her cheeks burn as her anger smoldered down to all of its old resentment. “Why do you care?”
There was an absence in the woman’s violet eyes (Violet eyes? Who has violet eyes?) that made Nola believe what she said next. “I don’t. However, I’ve arranged that, if you come with me, I can get you into the clinic at Port Gamble. It’s on the X’Komish reservation so the police won’t be able to touch you and neither will your erstwhile accomplices.”
Nola stared at the short stranger and thought about all of the lies she had been told and told in the last seasons. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you have information I need. It’s a straight exchange. I keep you alive, you give me answers.” Even at these words of an even deal, Nola hesitated. The other woman stepped forward, an odor like lilacs stored in a humidor wafting between them. “The man you were working for told you you were special. That the rod would only work for you. Because of your ancestry or blood or hair color. Whatever.” The accuracy of this statement bit into Nola. Her cheeks burned brighter as she felt all the more foolish at having this woman reveal what easy prey she’d been: Handsome stranger, beautiful lies, the greed of gold.
The other woman broke the spell of Nola’s self-recrimination by reaching out and taking her hands in her own. “He lied to you. He wanted you to be the one to you use it because he didn’t care if you were exposed to danger. He didn’t care if you died.” Aggie dropped her hands and reached for the duffel bag. “And somewhere along the line you figured out you were never going to get your cut, that he was sending it somewhere else. So you did the smart thing and grabbed the most valuable thing you could and ran.”
“You tried to sell the rod to a number of fences, one of whom has connections to the X’Komish nation. You may not have, but he knew the men you were working with are white supremacists, so he didn’t have any reservations about giving you up.
“And it’s good thing he did. Because now I can get you to a clinic and you can tell me who the ringleader is.”
Aggie’s eyes pointedly flicked towards the door. “Or I can figure out who he is by waiting for the men that are coming for you and ask them. But I’d prefer not to do that as it would require a level of violence that I don’t care for.”
Aggie held the duffel bag out to Nola. “What do you say?
Nola took the duffel bag.
Moments later Nola was impressed with the speed and strength this Aggie person was ushering her down the back stairs of the hotel. Out the rear exit, into a yellow and blue taxi driven by a man who was slunk so far down into the driver’s seat she could barely see cap on his head.
Inside, Nola saw the cabbie was dark-skinned with sharp nose and ears, barely old enough to drive. Aggie said quickly, “Nola, this is Rafi. Rafi, Nola.” Rafi nodded with a tip of his cap into the rearview mirror before Aggie asked him, “See anything?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. Let’s get out of here.”
As they pulled onto Olympia Street, Nola slid down, suppressing a cough as she noticed several men moving quickly into the Hotel Voyage lobby.
“You’ve turned the tables.” Lanzo’s eyes softened with hope. “Keep her safe for a few days. Then the two of you will be gone and none of it will matter.”
I think Lanzo may have fingered the roll of Euros he had in his pocket. He nodded and I said, “Good.” I gestured to Sophie. “We’ll be back.”
I clapped him on the shoulder before facing Sophie to bow at the waist and sweep my hands towards the path up the embankment. She smiled and laughed a bit at my antics, gesturing for me to lead the way.
I did, only stopping a few yards up the path as I heard another siren. I tried to remember if they had been this common the entire time and I have never noticed, or if this was new. I suspected it was new.
With the busy night behind us, the sun was beginning to paint the terracotta roofs of Old Town. It would still be awhile before the trams were operating, so we walked in a pleasant quiet for a time until I decided to lengthen the walk with Sophie by swinging by the cathedral to check the drop point. Atwell would probably be trying to lie low, but if he had anything to communicate it would be there. There wasn’t anything. I decided use the payphone to check the mobile’s voicemail.
I can’t tell you if I’m happy I did that or not. After the chirping of the system, I dialed in the code and a gravelly Russian voice came on. “Mitnick wishes to meet with you.” I was happy to ignore that until a more convenient time, but it concluded, “Do not worry. We will meet you at your cafe, say hello to Simon for you.”
The line went dead in my hand and I stood there, my neanderthal brain trying to process the new information. When it did, I hung up the receiver. “I have to go meet Mitnick.”
Sophie fluttered her eyes in the way that she did when I was being particularly stupid. “No. He may suspect.”
“He does. He’s waiting for me at the cafe.”
Sophie slipped an arm through mine and pulled gently. “Then let us not be there. To go home, to rest.”
I had told Sophie about Simon a few times, but I hadn’t mentioned that the old man had become important to me. Or maybe it was the fact that I wasn’t willing to let Simon get caught up in all of this. Either way, I answered, “They’ve got Simon. They’re waiting at the cafe.”
Unless upset by one of her bouts of obsession, there was always a harmony in Sophie, a happy poise. I realized how much I had come to rely on this as it disappeared. She produced a, “Oui.” The declaration sounded like the end of the world. Whatever was happening in Sophie internally didn’t bubble out as a refusal, but her green eyes flooded with a kind of resolute gloom, as if we were discussing something as immutable as bad weather. “I will go with you.”
“If you come with me they’ll know we’re together. It’ll only confirm Mitnick’s suspicions. He’ll kill us both.”
The truth of those words caused Sophie to stutter, which gave me a moment to take both of her hands in my own. I tried to reflect an ounce of the calm that she lent to me in our daily lives, and I found in her face a similar reel of my own feelings of impotence and anger.
In the shadow of the cathedral, she paused, only to to continue in a deathly quiet, “If they kill you, I will build a mountain of their corpses.”
It might have been the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. I squeezed her hands. “It won’t come to that.”
I hugged her tight until the sky began to lighten, the sun painting the tips of the cathedral’s onion domes. When I let her go I could tell she had shed some tears, but those were gone by the time she lifted her head. “How will I know?”
There were a lot of different dimensions to that question and I tried to consider all of them. When a lone birdsong started in the background I answered, “If things go well, I’ll be home as soon as I can.” I left the other alternatives unsaid.
She kissed me before she started walking us towards a tram station. We held hands the entire way, not something I’m sure we’ve ever done before. We arrived at a station, still with only the barest of early morning crowds. After another lingering hug, we each found the tramcar point to Les Moulins. Realizing how much I wanted Sophie to come with me, I said, “It would be stupid for both of us to go.”
She nodded, in the soft, sad way of a funeral director.
We kissed and I stepped onto the tram, the pneumatic doors softly closing behind me.
The Hill District was as far as you could get from the river and the ocean it flowed to and still be in Slakterquay. Which is the way Layla Rodriguez liked it. The closer you got to the river and, particularly the ocean, the richer and whiter the City got, and Layla had enough tourists wander through her shop. She could always tell newcomers because they pronounced Slakterquay wrong. They almost always made it sound like Slaughter Quaye, which was probably more right than anyone cared to admit. The clay under the city, and all it contained, was proof of that.
The rolling streets that gave the district its name assured the ignorant arrived panting and out of breath, stepping into her front parlor a little more likely to believe whatever half-truths the credulous wanted. Fortunes told, dead relatives spoken to, the lost found, all of the usual things. Then there were clients like the spritely Aggie McPherson.
A small brass bell, an heirloom from her grandmother and only God knows how many mothers before her, hung above the shop’s entrance. It made the usual tinny sounds when a customer entered but, as her grandmother had told her, the volume of the bell always matched the trouble the person brought with them.
That morning, the bell sounded like a gong. Layla looked up from the book she was reading and caught herself in the mirror she had behind the counter. It was positioned so customers had to look themselves in the eye while making a purchase. She could read volumes in how a person examined themselves in the mirror and had, more than once, ceased a transaction or made an alternative suggestion based on what she had seen there.
Whoever had brought trouble to her shop, though, wasn’t in the mirror yet and Layla wondered, not for the first time, what her grandmother would think of her now. She shared the same dark skin as all the women in her family, but her graying hair was put up in a scarf fit for a gypsy, sprouting from its multi-colored silk in the way of the mad and untended homeless. It contrasted strongly with the dark gown she wore, a brown ragged thing with bones knitted into it. They were a flair suggested by a colleague, their clatter able to punctuate important proclamations or frighten the annoying.
Out of boredom this morning, she had put a streak of purple down her right cheek to see what reaction this might elicit from any rubes that walked in. In her shop far from home, in her motley assemblage of carnival wear, she found it felt like the one thing that truly belonged to her. So she led with that side of her face, the eye above it squinting as she slowly turned to examine who had entered her shop.
It didn’t exactly frighten her to see Aggie already standing on the other side of the counter, but it almost caused her to start. For Aggie to move quickly and subtly wasn’t unusual in Layla’s experience, but to be accompanied by the bell was. To verify this was her long-time customer and not some phantasm, she said the other woman’s name as a question.
Aggie smirked in a way that, as far as Layla was able to tell, was her one indication of actual fondness. “Hi Layla. You’re surprised to see me.”
Layla Rodriguez, bruja of Slakterquay, descendant of women who had burned at the stake rather than be enslaved, found the pride of her ancestors and stood tall. This allowed her to admit the truth. “Not you. But ja usually don’t trip the bell.”
Aggie glanced over her shoulder, eyes arcing towards the ceiling as she looked from the entrance and back to Layla. The proprietor took some small pride in still being in control of her space when her friend and customer asked, “What bell?”
To cover this, Layla pursed her lips and shook her head, letting her dangling gold earrings dispel the question. “It don’t matter. It’s been too quiet today.”
Aggie’s smile broadened, which usually indicated that she was about to amuse herself, Aggie’s main occupation next to dressing in expensive suits and working to pay for them. “You know, it might help if you named this place and put a sign outside.”
Layla dismissed this notion with a pshaw and a waggling of her fingers as if scooting naughty schoolchildren out. “I get enough business from the rubes. Anymore would test my patience.”
“Well, I like the purple. It’s a nice touch. Should freak out the tourists.” Layla smiled as Aggie reminded her of what she liked about the detective. She tended to notice anything out of the ordinary as well as its source.
With that in mind, Layla leaned forward, putting her elbows on the counter. “Would you like some tea?”
“That sounds delightful.” This brought out another smile from Layla. While the detective might be a bit too concerned with the material world, at least she was always polite.
With a drawing back of the curtain behind the counter, the two of them moved into Layla’s parlor, its old wooden floorboards making it feel as if they were stepping into the belly of the ship they might have been salvaged from. As Layla prepared the tea, Aggie asked, “No little street urchin to help you out today?”
“Luisa,” Layla corrected, “is old enough to start school and the sisters of the Parish have been kind enough to let her attend St. John’s.”
“You’re gonna let those old crows get their claws into that little girl? After all you’ve taught her?”
“Hush now. The sisters mean well and teach good. And Luisa needs to learn how to blend in.” Layla set down the tray at the table Aggie had arranged chairs at, the teapot and cups delicately placed as any Japanese ceremony.
“As long as some priest doesn’t get her alone in the rectory.”
Layla held the pot gingerly, pouring the steaming liquid into the cups one at a time. “If anyone tries to have their way with that child they’ll burn in the fires of Hell. Priest or no, I’ll see to that.”
Aggie quirked an eyebrow at Layla and her grin returned. “I really do enjoy your accent. Where is it you’re from again?”
Reconsidering her opinion on Aggie’s politeness, Layla sat down across from her. Rather than touch her tea, she steepled her fingers below her chin and gazed at her guest. Dropping the thicker edges of her accent, she asked, “What brings you around today?”
Aggie picked up her tea and blew on it, stirring the steam into the air. “I have a client that’s got a revenant on his trail.”
“Then you need to let that client go,” Layla answered, grasping her cup in both hands. “If it gains enough force it’ll chew through anything to get at what it wants.”
“I just need to figure out why it’s after my client. Technically, I’m not working for him yet, but I’d like to get a jump on it.”
“Not like you to start work for a client before an arrangement has been made. Who is this person?”
“Oh, then,” Layla took a deliberately long sip from her cup before saying, “Best of luck.”
Aggie leaned back in her chair, staring with a long appraisal that Layla ignored by pretending to be very selective about a sugar cube. The silence went on long enough that Layla was about to offer Aggie one when she finally responded. “Well, I’m not really working for him yet.”
“Technically,” Layla offered.
“Technically. In the future, if everything goes through, I’d be working for Haddo Skull.”
Layla stood so fast that the tray and pot rattled on the table, her earrings jangled and her bones rattled. “Get out.” She helpfully pointed to the door.
Aggie didn’t move. “So you know him?”
“I know he’s an evil sinvergüenza.”
“I’m impressed. I had to do a lot of digging to even find his last name. Or, rather, the stupid alias that he’s going by. I suspect he’s had a number of names over the years.”
Layla lowered her pointed hand as Aggie’s calm salved her quick temper. She smoothed the idiot bones on her gown as she reseated herself, eyes on her guest in a steadying reevaluation. “And for good reason. Why would you get mixed up with that?”
“It’s a long story, but it involved the good Reverend I introduced you too.”
At the mention of Reverend Taggart, Layla’s sympathy overrode her animosity. “Oof, is that puppy having more bad luck?”
“Probably. He seems the type, but I don’t think it involves this.”
“Then why? And be quick, or take my instructions to go.”
“Haddo has given me his word that if I find out about his Revenant he’ll leave Taggart and his congregation alone.”
Layla held her gaze on Aggie in the same way she might with a client who said they didn’t believe in Greenland. “If you stay out of it, it seems to me that the Revenant will solve that problem for you.”
Aggie shrugged, sipped her tea. “Maybe. Or the Legion might take him being targeted by a powerful supernatural entity as proof their cause is righteous and do something stupid.” She set her tea down. “It wouldn’t surprise me if a couple of them are just waiting for a reason to go postal.”
“What?”
“The Legion has amassed quite an arsenal. I’m sure there’s a few of them that are itching to start using it.”
Layla contemplated the kraken on her teapot. “Lots of targets for that lot in Slakterquay.”
“Yep. And the weapons are all legal so the cops can’t do anything about it. Of course.”
“Of course.” Layla thought she might have spotted the odd figure hanging around her shop, but it hadn’t concerned her much until Aggie’s news. Now she spent a moment trying to remember any detail she could, trying to make any connection. None surfaced, but she did remember the strange young woman who had come into the shop the other day.
“So you can see how keeping Haddo in play might keep the peace until a more permanent solution can be arrived at?” Layla picked up her cup again and tried not to grin, imagining what a permanent solution for Haddo Skull might look like.
“Fair point. But I couldn’t help you if I wanted. Revenants are necromancy and all of my arts in that sphere are just tricks and trades for the rubes.”
“You don’t have anything that might be protective?”
“Not for Haddo Skull I don’t. Legion or no, I’m not helping that bastardo.”
“OK,” Aggie conceded the point. “But Haddo claims he doesn’t know who sicced it on him. Or murdered anyone. Lately,” she added after a pause. “You have any ideas on how I might track it down?”
Layla let out a laugh, strong enough that it caused her head to go back and it drew a chuckle from Aggie. When she leveled her eyes back to Aggie, her grin had taken on a feral cruelty that would have set Taggart back. “What are you going to do if you find it? Talk to it? Bargain with it?” As if it were the funniest idea of all, she added, “Beg?”
“No. But I’d have a place to start.”
Layla shook her head. “I can provide a gris-gris for you in case you’re unlucky enough to find it. Nothing more.” She returned to her tea, but when Aggie’s grin remained unchanged, Layla added, “But you knew that.”
“I thought that might be the case,” Aggie said, perhaps a bit too proudly for Layla’s liking. “But it couldn’t hurt to ask.”
“So what’s the real reason you came around then?”
“An old associate can’t drop by for cuppa?” Aggie said, sounding like a cereal box leprechaun. Layla only stared in return, immobile until Aggie continued in her normal voice. “I thought you might have noticed something out of ordinary lately. Clouds on the horizon, so to speak.”
Layla set down her cup, about to say that she hadn’t noticed anything that was strange for Slakterquay. This was her guarded side, though, the front she kept for rubes and would-be hucksters and white people in general. This was Aggie, though. They had always dealt with her squarely and never dragged trouble to her door, even when they could have. So she took a longer consideration. Then, “Nothing on the horizon, but a woman came in the other day. Little more than a waif. She had something strange she wanted to sell.”
“What’s that?”
“A blasting rod.”
That inquisitive eyebrow of Aggie’s arched. She set down her cup and raised her hands, holding them about a foot apart. “Was it about this long?” Layla nodded, causing Aggie to quickly bring her hands closer so they were a thumb’s width from each other. “About this wide?”
Layla nodded again adding, “Made of yew with a brass tip inset with a pointed ruby.”
Aggie leaned back in her chair, forgetting her tea. “She must have known what she had. Any normal thief would pry out the ruby and sell it.”
“True,” Layla agreed. “Nonetheless, I told her not to break the rod. If it still had charm, it could go badly for her.” Layla sipped her tea while she observed an uncustomary consternation on her friend’s face. “You surprised?”
“I am,” Aggie admitted in a way that suggested she didn’t care for the experience. “I thought it would be a man.”
“You’re looking for a thief now?”
“No. I’m just looking for leverage.”
It was Layla’s turn to look perplexed. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s not important. Did you get a name?”
The woman who came in had been cagey, hadn’t introduced herself, which wasn’t unusual for first-timers into Layla’s shop. She had been tall, red-haired, and too thin for the cool, damp climate of Slakterquay. They parted ways when they couldn’t agree on price. The woman wanted more, but Layla didn’t have much use for it. Layla told Aggie all of this. At the end she added, “I don’t know where she was headed next, but there are only so many places she could sell such a thing.”
“Yeah,” Aggie nodded. “I was really hoping you bought it.”
Feeling the broken revolver bump against my bruises as I ran, I cursed not picking up the vory’s weapon. I slapped my feet against the ground and hurried, changing directions only to turn back on course, hoping to shake off any pursuers.
Between the cloister of warehouses and the river’s edge was the long, empty road that separated the two. Moonlit and desolate, it held nothing but the promise of being seen. I hid with my back against a brick wall and tried to listen, my own ragged breathing filling my ears.
The best I could hope for was the absence of headlights. When the dark went on without interruption, I sprinted across the road, coming to a skidding halt at the chains, nearly taking me over and down the embankment.
While I had cursed the moonlight in the alleys and streets, it may have been the only thing that kept me from tumbling off the narrow path down. I shuffled as quick as I could, small landslides kicking off from my feet.
I was relieved to see the door of the hutch slightly ajar, a warm light spilling out into the night’s cool air. As I got closer I could hear voices within, words being exchanged in tones high and animated.
I pushed into the room quickly, bringing it to silence. In the small space was everyone; all three of the voyous, Nika and Lanzo, Sophie’s head nearly bumping into the ceiling. She strode forward to cover my face with a flutter of soft kisses and I think I could have been happy to die right there.
As distracting as that was, I couldn’t help but notice Nika staring around the dirty and subterranean room with a barely controlled horror. Even emptied of garbage the place was still a hole.
Thevoyouswere too busy backslapping to notice. Lanzo held Nika as her mouth began to move sporadically. I slipped out of Sophie’s hug and moved to Lanzo. I placed a firm hand on his shoulder and indicated Nika with my eyes. “We should get her inside.”
Cradling her in their uncertainty and fear, he nodded back at me, and I let him lead the way. A quick glance at Sophie told her to keep the two groups separate.
Once through the door, Nika let out a gasp. The glow of the fairy lights created an unreal, bright island under the city. She involuntarily stopped, unsure of the mirage Lanzo had conjured. When the vision of this subterranean boudoir persisted, Nika squeaked slightly, letting go of Lanzo’s hand to touch the bed.
Confirming its solidity, Nika laughed quietly, the sound echoing across the arched ceiling like it might in Old Town’s cathedral. She hopped backwards onto the bed, landing on her butt, laughing, causing Lanzo to join.
This spread from Nika to Lanzo to Sophie, the latter floating a hand to softly land on my back. As Nika pulled Lanzo close to the bed for a kiss, I couldn’t help but ruin things by whispering, “We’re going to need to change those sheets later.”
Sophie playfully slapped my arm, mock punishing my crudeness. I just let out a long breath into the illusion Nika could be safe here for awhile.
Lanzo surprised everyone by bending down to retrieve something hidden under the mattress’ comforters. Looking every bit like Simon’s old-school waiter, Lanzo came up with something piled high under a cloth, holding it as if it were on a platter. As Nika stared at it in confusion, he whipped off the cloth to reveal a motley stack of books.
It took me a moment to realize that Lanzo was presenting her with something to pass the time and, judging by the widening of her smile, one of her favorites. I let out a surprised grunt. I had assumed that Nika and Lanzo didn’t know each other well, a cynical part of me thinking their reuniting would end in disaster, that we’d be lucky if they got along long enough to get out of town. But here was proof that Lanzo knew something of Nika and that he cared enough to cater to those desires. She glowed nearly as bright as the fairy lights before bringing Lanzo in for another kiss.
This went on for awhile. When I heard thevoyouschuckling like schoolboys I decided it was time to intervene. I stepped back to the main room and said, “You’ll be staying here for a few days. It’s not much but it’ll keep you safe and hidden till we can get you out of the country.”
Holding Lanzo on the bed between me and her, Nika stared at me. Standing within those ancient stone walls, I must have resembled some kind of golem, a barely formed hulk that was both useful and frightening. Feeling a need to fulfill this role, I added, “We’ll bring you anything you need.” I waggled a thumb between me and Sophie.
Nika’s uncertainty gave way to an animated joy, her eyes brightening as she let go of Lanzo to bump around on the mattress like a kid at Christmas. It made her seem even younger than she was. I felt a sudden tightness in my chest that I tried to banish but wouldn’t go.
I got Lanzo’s attention and swiveled my head back the way we came. “Walk us out.” He nodded, promising Nika he’d return shortly while she held onto him. He kissed her, clearly as reluctant to leave as she was to let him go.
Eyes back on me, she said, “I didn’t think they’d be able to follow me.”
I realized then she was embarrassed, that she was surviving the experience all young people must survive in realizing that they aren’t as smart as they think we are. I thought about the one long road down from Mitnick’s and his palatial part of town and wondered how she thought they wouldn’t be able to follow her. Instead of saying that, though, I lied. “They probably had a tracker on the car.” Maybe they did.
I don’t know if this consoled her, but she let Lanzo go. I walked him and the voyou back into the main room. I spoke to all four as if we were one happy squad. “You’re going to need to stay here full time for the next couple of days. If you need supplies, only one of you goes,” I floated a finger across the voyous. I pointed at Lanzo, “You stay here, no matter what.”
Everyone nodded and I gestured at Lanzo. “Let’s talk for a minute.” I sensed that the Idiots wanted to follow us, but Sophie interposing presence dissuaded them.
Outside of the hutch, there was the distant sound of police sirens and I let those fade away before I spoke. The dark reflexively caused my voice to drop to a whisper. “You going to be able to hold it together?” I asked Lanzo.
He responded with a, “Oui,” and a stare out into the night that made me doubt him.
“You’ve turned the tables.” Lanzo’s eyes softened with hope. “Keep her safe for a few days. Then the two of you will be gone and none of it will matter.”
I think Lanzo may have fingered the roll of Euros he had in his pocket. He nodded and I said, “Good.” I gestured to Sophie. “We’ll be back.”
