Box Set: The Fearless 1-3

by Terry Maggert

  She had struck out on her own shortly thereafter, during the changing of a regime that was lost to time, and ultimately, of no importance other than to act as a reminder of the moment that she decided someday, by some hand, she would kill her creator and spare the world a great and unending harm.

  11

  Florida

  Accounting meetings with Liza Brenneman are, to put it mildly, dull. In fact, they can be shockingly boring for something of such a short duration. I am inquisitive by nature, but there are only so many times that I can look at a spreadsheet describing our collective financial standing, nod with what I hope is an august air of understanding, and then ask Liz if she wants to go eat ice cream. As the director of our rather unusual charity, Liz manages several million dollars, all legitimately earned by a now-deceased businessman we nicknamed Hayseed. Lyle, as Hayseed was called by the rest of the world, was an honest man who suffered the kind of loss that makes a parent either become a mewling wreck or a vigilante. He chose the latter.

  After his daughter was murdered by an old, grotesque ghoul who hunts under the stars of the Great Plains, Lyle became a one-man lynching party for immortals all along the central corridor of the United States. He was relentless as the prairie wind and completely free of mercy. In essence, Lyle became what the Undying could not resist—a perfect killer in his own right. His success was flawless, until the same ghoul that took his daughter fought and maimed him in a creaky barn somewhere near a nameless junction out West. He willed his money, a considerable amount, to us with the trust that we would distribute it to the people left behind by the creatures we hunted. We, in turn, looked to Liz Brenneman, an attorney who rented space in the Center, and a woman who we also found to be both likeable and of excellent character. It should then come as no surprise that Liz, with her deft, honest touch and a big pile of money, was capable of doing a great deal of subtle but effective good. Our meetings were largely formality, but since we all liked Liz so much, it swiftly became a means to have lunch with a friend. That’s a great way to conduct business, and it left us more time to pursue more important issues, like napping, sex, or beer, although not necessarily in that order. I watched her as intently as I could muster, focusing on her pretty features and mass of brown curls, her intelligent green eyes sparkling with each section of numerical sleep-inducing data.

  After Liz walked me through yet another account balance, I felt my eyes begin to glaze over and blurted, “Lunch?” without allowing her to finish her sentence. Liz, ever attuned to my generally coarse behavior, agreed, suggested an excellent deli that has my favorite half-sour pickles, and we decamped for sandwiches, both secure in the knowledge that all was well in our clandestine financial empire built on the backs of creatures who would love nothing more than to treat us like the pickles we devoured.

  12

  New Orleans

  “A check? You want to pay with a check?”

  To his credit, the real estate agent’s voice didn’t crack, but it did quiver slightly at the thought of such an enormous commission .Owen had yet to garner his first sale after three months as the most junior member of a small firm that primarily listed commercial properties, and when Herr Kreiger had called him, asking about homes with very specific qualities, he had lunged at the opportunity. Within a day, he assembled several older, private homes in the most cloistered neighborhood New Orleans had to offer, and the seemingly brusque Herr Kreiger had shown remarkable patience with his inexperience and pacing. Owen spent a full day driving his client from home to home, where the reactions ranged from a terse nod to a minimal smile. It seemed that Owen’s sojourn into residential sales was an utter failure, but then his efforts turned golden in one instant as Herr Kreiger announced that he would purchase all seven homes at their list price, with no negotiation, and a closing date to be arranged at the soonest possible moment.

  It was the Holy Grail, a grand slam, and Christmas morning all at once for Owen, who knew that this was one of the moments to be quiet, regardless of the fireworks in his stomach.

  “A bank draft in the full amount then, today. And to clarify, I hope you understand my company wishes to be discreet about our holdings, so as an additional incentive, I am offering you a personal bonus of five percent of the total sale in order to guarantee a minimum of public knowledge about this transaction. Does that agree with you?

  Herr Kreiger waited, his manners impeccable, as Owen hurriedly agreed to the terms. For a quarter of a million dollars above his already fat commission, his silence was most assuredly for sale, and he told his urbane, calm client as much in what he hoped was a suitably collected voice.

  “Contact me when we are prepared to close the sale on all properties at one meeting, no later than ten days hence.”

  And with that, Herr Kreiger stepped out of what was soon to be the last used car Owen would ever own.

  13

  Florida

  As a man who knows how to strategically yield on a daily basis to, not one, but two women, I get rare opportunities where I have the undisputed, no-doubt-about-it upper hand. When my phone pinged on the way home, I read a welcome message that put me firmly in the catbird seat. Our friend Blue, strip club owner and fellow boating enthusiast, had invested in a restaurant. Her club, the Corral, is actually one of our more popular destinations. The girls drink champagne and taunt me as I ogle women who are beautiful but not in the league of either Wally or Risa, a fact that reinforces our foundation and lets me ogle beautiful women. While that seems redundant, it’s actually one of my better ideas, and one I attempt to implement often.

  Although I pay for the champagne, it’s still a win/win. I think.

  Blue is a single mother with a son who loves to fish, so we loan her our boat and they bond during long, sunny days on the water in and around Port Everglades. Occasionally Blue motors out past the jetties into the green water of the Atlantic, but for the most part, she takes Evan for a leisurely in-shore trip where they anchor somewhere relatively quiet, cast a couple lines in the water, and catch up on being family. In return, Blue offers us access to information that filters through the Corral. The presence of immortals in a strip club confirms something that I’ve known all along; even if you live forever, you’ll never stop liking a great pair of tits.

  The fact that she gave us an opening-night reservation at her new place was a sign that we weren’t just friends, we were good friends, and I reminded myself to thank her with an unexpected gift before we were seated on Friday. In the meantime, I would naturally leverage this information to my benefit, but my options were currently limited because I don’t really need anything. Some might see this as an embarrassment of riches, but I see it as a sign that I am oversexed and financially solvent, or as I used to call people like that when I was alone and broke, an asshole. I texted Risa immediately, since we only had a few hours to select our dinner garb and then reselect different clothing of dizzying variety until the girls were satisfied that they looked amazing but not too similar in style, and that I was presentable, since walking into the restaurant with them on my arms made every diner assume we were sleeping together. While true, it wouldn’t do for me to look slovenly or common, so my dressing was left to them, and the driving would be left to me, and if I played my cards right, I would get to experience the assumption of every jealous male we passed on the way to what I was betting would be a plum table. It was shaping up to be an exceptional Friday.

  I hate to admit it when I’m wrong and Wally is right. I really hate admitting that Risa is right, too, when it concerns the same issue, but as I looked in the mirror at the dinner jacket they selected for me, I felt decidedly dapper. The fact that I shaved only added to the overall effect of adulthood, and the enhanced grooming was in honor of the fact that we were booked for Blue’s new restaurant at eight o’clock. I know when to clean up, and my prescient use of the razor was well worth it.

  When the girls came out to the living room, I was taken aback, as I often am, at just how unique and wo
nderful their respective beauty is, and how that radiance can fill a room. Risa wore black, Wally wore green, and I knew with certainty that every man in the dining room would feel a heated rush of callow envy that only their beauty can inspire. In a moment of gallantry, I held the door as we decamped to what we knew would be an amazing meal. In the Wagoneer, we stretched out as I drove towards the beach. Blue was a savvy business mind, and she knew the rule of location was never more viable than when considering where to invest several million dollars. Naturally, our chatter turned to food. We didn’t really know what to expect from the menu, although with Blue at the helm, I was certain we would find variants on cuisine that any of the other patrons could savor. We all agreed exclusivity was a powerful aperitif. Risa poked my shoulder from the back seat, no small feat in the enormous interior of the Wagoneer.

  “The bar will be top shelf, so we need to discuss. Is it a martini night or a wine night?”

  Depending on the choices, there are certain items that grab my attention when we visit establishments where I am required to wear shoes and a collared shirt. As a general rule, a vodka martini is my official companion for every dozen oysters I eat; they go naturally together for me and have the excellent side benefit of making Wally squirm with each noisome slurp as one of the unfortunate critters goes down the hatch.

  “If they have oysters, then yes, but one of you has to drive. I won’t be drunk, but I’ll have this dangerous erection, see—”I was interrupted with raucous laughter and a sidelong leer from Wally. Risa took the high road, sticking her tongue out so I could see her opinion of my lecherous nature firsthand in the rear-view mirror. We pulled into the alcove of the restaurant where the scripted name Strata was embroidered on heavy sailcloth, which hung at a rakish angle above the smoked glass window. Jacketed staff waited to open the door into the first foyer, where the ambience was a modernized speakeasy accented in black and white with deep toned wood furnishings. The atmosphere was so authentic I expected to see Lauren Bacall lounging on a Davenport, cocktail in hand. On the left were design elements I’d never seen before, and we gravitated to them, our curiosity piqued at once. The intricate black stone wall was home to an ascending set of deeply set grottoes, staggered according to the shape of the object resting within each hand hewn frame. The masonry alone was the work of a master craftsman, but the items within were riveting in their variation and quality. Discreet lighting added the sense that a secret was reveled within each recess.

  At the very bottom left, a fossilized ammonite stood propped up for maximum viewing, its whorls and segments polished until they gleamed like onyx. The animal, long ossified, seemed poised to contract and flee, captured in a moment of potential motion that was palpable. Up one level and to the right, the next display area held a lurid chunk of amber with small univalve shells resting within, suspended for eternity. We moved as a unit from case to case, our eyes ascending in both height and through the depths of time, from natural wonders to a roughly hewn stone adze and an atlatl, both worn to a coppery patina from age and use. Near the upper middle of the display path, two enormous eggs sat devoid of accompaniment, freckled and thick. Dodo eggs? This collection was museum-quality. Each successive object made me wonder just how much money Blue had spent on the décor alone, as my eyes wandered past a geode filled with rubies, then a small stone fetish that looked Neolithic and a tusked mask carved from ivory so ancient it was sunflower yellow. Next, a short sword made of bronze, free of adornment and lovingly cared for by the owner. No toy, it was thirty inches long, with a metal handle, deep runnel, and the dual edges of a weapon made for both slashing and stabbing. A xiphos of some type, probably a thousand years old when Christ walked the earth, the sword lay across a spear head that also reeked of authenticity. These were no playful examples of metal craft. I could sense their intent, age, and original history even as they lay there, gleaming beautifully under the recessed lighting in their own grotto.

  “Hullo, gang. Quite a scene, don’t you think?” Blue’s voice was low and always hinted at laughter as she waved expansively at the well-dressed horde bustling about. Clad in a simple black dress, she exuded confidence and control in the midst of what must have been a cauldron of stress. I could not help but admire her fortitude as well as her taste.

  “This entrance is stunning.” I glanced up and down the wall where history unfolded, one nestled treasure after another.“Right down to the stone setting. It’s a work of art unto itself.”

  Blue smiled slyly, “You should recognize Angel’s handiwork. He’s been here at night for a month, worrying over the placement of each fragment with a watchmaker’s precision.”

  Angel, a bulldozer of a guy with deft hands, was a long time tenant of the Center and a good friend. It didn’t surprise me that Blue had reached out to him for the project; she knew his reputation as a mason. Linking arms with the girls, Blue began to move into the dining area, awash with muted saffron yellow, dark gray, and the occasional punctuation of red or black. The effect was vibrant, cool, and as different from the Corral as night was from day. Risa and Wally asked her questions as we wended our way to an elevated corner dais, where a single table waited. There were three such prime locations in the restaurant, and we were granted one of the most desirable pieces of real estate in the social order. It was time, before the meal, to thank our friend.

  “Turn around, gorgeous,” Wally said to Blue, motioning that she should do so.

  Risa withdrew a black velvet box from her purse and opened it with a flourish. “For you, from us. Now hold your hair up, further, please.”

  I was allowed to do the honors, draping the simple herringbone gold chain around her neck, which was a mere backdrop to the single, enormous sapphire that rested naturally in the nape of Blue’s neck. Her hands went to it as she gasped and kissed Risa and Wally and then, on tiptoes, a playful nip on my nose, her eyes moist with tears. The necklace had been a complete surprise and worth every penny upon seeing her joy. Blue is a good friend, and the stone looked like it belonged. We’d done well.

  “This is an opening night I can tolerate with ease. I have to circulate now,” Blue said with regret. “I’ll be back to give you the tour when you’ve dined.” She touched the necklace again and smiled with unbridled warmth. “Thank you. Again.”

  The glow of giving a successful gift is unlike any other. It’s a narcotic of sorts, and the more altruistic the giving, the better the high. While we still buzzed from the gifting, our sommelier greeted us like old friends, his smart jacket indicating he was at the ready for the entire evening.

  “I’m Curtis, and before I offer you anything, I know you are a special friend of the restaurant. So may I suggest to you—simply relax, sit back, and we’ll bring you the very best of everything we have to offer. Will that be agreeable?”

  Risa was thrilled, Wally was relieved, and I was starving, so our collective assent was met with the professional enthusiasm of a seasoned expert. Curtis departed as a young woman stepped to the table and introduced herself as Krista. Her bright expression and smile boded well for us, and she repeated the house ideal of our complete care and relaxation under their watch. She also, to no one’s surprise, knew our names.

  “Risa, I am told you prefer beef, yes? And Waleska, wild game?” They both agreed, impressed with Blue’s research.

  “And Ring, for you, seafood this evening, as per the owner’s information, but not before a special amusement, based on your preferences, naturally.” Krista stepped aside as three waiters brought small plates to the table with the beginning course. “Enjoy, and I’ll return in a moment.”

  “Sweet mother of God.” I ogled my plate. Risa and Wally laughed at the hilarity of what was presented to us. Two gargantuan oysters in the shell, awash in their own brine, topped with caviar and a dollop of crème fraiche stood guard under a tall, frosted shot glass of what could only be Polish vodka. Phallic symbols never looked more delicious in my life and I fell upon an oyster first, avoiding eye contact with the girls
as they picked at theirs in a more dignified, but still enthusiastic, manner. Flavors of the sea mixed on my tongue with the fatty wealth of the butterfat. Each bite was a love letter to my palate, and whoever created the dish knew a great deal about me. It was intimate, delicious, and in a moment, gone.

  When Krista returned, she asked, “And how did you enjoy Czar Nicholas’ Balls?”

  Hooting with laughter, Risa snorted like a deranged piglet and Wally dissolved into silent, table slapping spasms as I sipped my wine and maintained my ever-present dignity. Someone had to.

  “First, the name is as brilliant as the flavors. Did Blue create that specifically for me? That was a greatest hits list on a plate. Incredible.” I was already nostalgic for the dish even though the vodka still burned my tongue in an icy wash.

  “Oh, that wasn’t Blue. No, that was a favor for a friend of the other owners, who you’ll no doubt meet later. The idea for that dish was courtesy of the lady—” Krista explained, then turned briskly with her apologies as she was called discreetly to the kitchen.

  The laughter stopped dead, with the alacrity of a meteorite slamming into the seabed. There was only one lady who knew enough about me to make dining suggestions for my particular tastes, and that same lady was on unsteady ground with us, although, I must admit that the situation remained fluid. I turned to the other booth on a dais and raised my glass in thanks, knowing who would be in such an exclusive seat. Resplendent in a dinner gown of raw black silk, Delphine waved back, a smile of intense satisfaction on her face. Dinner for us, it seemed, was destined to be interesting.