He shrugged and agreed just as Dina brought over three plates covered in quartered eggs, rolled in fried sausage and accompanied by the requested insulting tomato wedges. It smelled incredible, and I made to dive in, but Achilles’ big hand stayed my grab as he pointed at the bottle of HB sauce.
“Ahh. Okay, I can take a hint.” I splashed some of the sauce on my plate, and for a few minutes, we reverted to our collective animalistic state.
When we were done eating, and on our second round of pints, Patroclus’ expression grew dark and he said quietly, “She’ll begin harvesting soon.” I didn’t need clarification. I knew who she was, and the mere thought of Elizabeth cast a pall over what had been a convivial atmosphere. “It’s how she will rise to the occasion this time; it’s how she rages against her relative anonymity among the Undying.”
“She’s an optimistic bit of scum, I’ll give her that.” Achilles’ backhanded compliment concluded with a snort. I concurred, although I gave Elizabeth more credit as a threat since I was still well within the realm of what she might consider an easy kill. “Do you and your partners have a fallback contingency in case something goes wrong?” Trust Achilles to think like a soldier. It was a legitimate point, and I was glad that we had detailed plans in case that very thing happened.
“It depends on what or who gets in trouble. Our primary concerns are the residents of the Hardigan Center. Boon and Pan can always take the kids and run to Suma’s in Orlando, and from there, they have a place in Virginia that’s off the beaten path.” Patroclus nodded approvingly. Moving twice extended your odds of remaining hidden, and it was harder to snatch people in motion. “Liz is a different situation; she can be in Europe, with access to our money and all in a matter of hours. We don’t know where she’ll go, but we don’t want to know. Angel has relatives in Cuba and Puerto Rico. Getting to Puerto Rico is as easy as buying a plane ticket for him, but Glen is exposed. We haven’t told him the unvarnished truth yet. It doesn’t seem like the right time, not with Gabriel being murdered.”
Achilles held up an index finger. “A consideration. We’ll look out for Glen in the event something goes wrong, and I speak for Patroclus when I say we’ll help however we can. We won’t let any innocents die, not now, after what she did to Gabriel. But,” and he drew the word out, “there are only so many places we can be. If you want my advice, Ring, it’s time to take the fight to her.” It was the time for offense, not defense; I could feel it keenly knowing that whatever she was doing right now would be causing death.
I gave a terse nod, and then, to lighten the mood, asked Patroclus, “You know my house? Be there at nine in the morning. Wear something nice.”
He gave me a sidelong glance, shrugged, and drained his pint. “Got it. Nine. I find myself wondering if this is some sort of ambush . . .” he trailed off, appealing to Achilles for input, who responded by rolling his massive shoulders and spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
“Don’t look at me. I’m going to the fish house and then meeting that cheese guy from Miami. If I’m awake.” He, too, drained his pint and motioned for three more. “But your kids have fun with your secret mission.” I smiled blandly and settled in for my next pint. And this time, the first sip tasted vaguely of victory.
56
From Risa’s Files
Lisbon, Kingdom of Portugal, 1761 A.D.
Daughter,
For the first time in my long years, I have seen the power of nature at an uncomfortably close vantage point, and while the event gave me pause, the after effects are simply stunning. Lisbon was effectively destroyed by the shaking of the earth six years ago in a day of unfiltered, complete destruction and terror. Fools fell to their knees to pray even as the ground below them whipcracked and hurled their imbecilic bodies skyward, only to crash back to the dirt like so much dust. I saw the ground visibly roll like waves at the shore, and the tempest-tossed saints and sinners alike to be crushed under falling masonry. There was no logical selection, no quarter or respite, only the pure brutality of a force so deadly I laughed like a drunken serving girl as the church collapsed inward on an entire braying mass of mendicants.
That is the type of power I can respect. The true miracle was not in the few who managed to survive but in the aftermath. The ruler of this kingdom, Sebastião de Carvalho, is monarch in all but name, and he seized upon the disaster to rebuild the city as he saw fit. I approve of that kind of dedication to a task; he was drafting laborers even as the flies swarmed corpses still rotting in the sun. His moment of true clarity came this past year, when he realized that those self-important pederasts, the Jesuits, are actually the true threat to modernizing this city. We are currently in the midst of a struggle that pits future against past, God against Man, and reason against a clergy who are so thoroughly corrupt, I cannot be seen with them in public for fear of my own reputation. It is, as you may infer, the closest thing to heaven I could hope to find among these cousins of the Spaniards.
I was informed you have taken a title again in hope of gaining some semblance of station between your pitiful kills. Do be obedient and cease sucking cocks long enough to send souls on their merry way. If you must please men, make certain you do it while one hand is on your knife, so that you may dispatch them when they have finished with you. I have a reputation to maintain, child, and a whore daughter who pleases men first and me second is of no use to me.
Your Loving Mother,
Elizabeth
57
New Orleans
“It is rather satisfying to build such a thing,” Enoch admitted grudgingly. Davis held the object reverently, the product of days of careful efforts. It was unusual and more than a little unsettling to behold. There was a latent sexual malice beneath the gleam of bronze and gemstones, and Enoch found that staring at it caused a flare of heat in his groin, something he did not think possible unless he was in the process of humiliating someone.
“Now you see why I love my work,” Davis began, “and dedicated most of my life to the craft. I never wanted to do anything else, even when I was a child, except perhaps to read endless books.” Enoch cuffed him affectionately on the shoulder. Over the past few days, they had settled into a companionable routine, one that developed hastily after Enoch finally realized that he was not going anywhere until he obeyed Elizabeth’s wishes. Once that precarious balance had been struck between submission and fear, Enoch had actually proved to be a quick study, even taking to polishing stones with a deft touch. Davis had been impressed at how the scholar could, when he wished, adapt to a new task and apply himself fervently. Unmitigated fear at what waited for him should he disobey was also an excellent motivation, but regardless of the impetus, the results were spectacular. The circular bronze Negwenya seemed to throb with life, poised to move into action. They had built to exacting specifications with one single, stout pin holding the two halves of the circular sculpture together and a small locking mechanism under the ends coming together to hold the creation tight once the small key was turned. It was part handcuff, part ring, and all beauty, with the dull bronze gleam peppered with colorful lights reflected from the gaudy embedded stones that all pointed inward. In my hands, it could be a most effective method for cowing a husband who has accepted my offer to savor his wife, Enoch mused, then dismissed the thought since the circlet was simply too large to effectively threaten a man’s genitals. It might fit on a wrist, but even then, what was the purpose? Wrists were common, far from taboo. Bland, even, and he regarded the metal serpent again as it sat on the work table, inscrutably elegant and opaque of aspiration. A long peal of telephone bell broke his reverie, causing him to look around in confusion. A phone? Here? Davis seemed perplexed, too, but he stood and went to the corner where a mustard yellow wall phone jangled away. Picking up the receiver, which was clearly forty years old or more, he said a hesitant hello while Enoch silently watched. Davis listened for a moment while a watery smile crossed his features, and hung up without saying a word.
; Before Enoch could voice an inquiry, Davis offered, “Our work is done, and it seems that we’re to be rewarded. I’m going out, but you have a guest coming to visit.” The men looked around the workspace, a bit nonplussed, until Enoch clapped his hands together in a sound of finality. He indicated the door, and they both filed out to the main house, an uncomfortable hum of the unknown accompanying them as they closed the door behind them, but not before Davis gently cradled the bronze Negwenya in his hand, wrapping it in a soft cotton cloth, but not before taking a long, critical look at it. Was it art? It felt like art, but there was something more, a nameless quality dancing at the periphery of his understanding. He ran his fingers over the metal, and the gems circled inward like teeth, muted only slightly by the wrapping of the fabric. Like teeth? Yes, teeth set in a metal mouth. The smallest tremor of alarm passed through him like a spirit, and he stood still, letting it dissipate. They had worked hard to please Elizabeth, but he couldn’t risk seeing the expression on her face when she was presented with the fruits of their labor, nor could he be in presence once the device was in her hands. For the first time, Enoch knew what it was to have only bad choices, and the feeling left him unwell.
58
Florida
Not this time, girls. I shrugged into my blazer, checked myself in the mirror, and decided that this was going above and beyond the call of duty. I wore dress pants, shoes that were freshly shined, and a white linen shirt starched to a level of rigidity usually only found in corpses. I was freshly shaved, and in a fin de siècle, a perfectly knotted red silk tie rested dutifully against my chest. I checked the time. Four minutes until nine in the morning. Listening at my door, I heard the slightest hint of laughter; it was Wally, and then the answering, conspiratorial chuckle from Risa. With a self-important bustle, I spilled from the hallway into the living room, to find them both seated, as expected, at the kitchen table, coffee mugs in hand and a general air of malfeasance hanging about. Both of their mouths went into a round O of surprise as I strolled out, poured myself a cup of coffee, and leaned against the fridge with what I hoped was the bored affectation of a man who had just scored a major victory.
“Give me the envelope, darlings,” I gestured at them, knowing that the rent deposits would be prepared ahead of my monthly journey towards humiliation. It was time for yet another visit to the bank, and Annalise Wimple was now squarely in my target space as I went on the offensive.
Risa recovered quickest as she handed me the deposit. “Do you seriously think you can charm your way out of this . . . predicament?” Wally rolled her eyes and then cackled gleefully in a most unladylike way, but then, she did many things that a refined gentleman like me would find crude. I decided to let my plan unfurl in its own time, and I didn’t have to wait long. Our doorbell chimed pleasantly, and I sauntered over with the aura of a general who has all of his big guns in place at the perfect moment. Wally and Risa craned their necks as I opened the door to reveal Patroclus, resplendent in a dark blue suit, tieless, with a cream colored shirt open slightly.
“Very European of you to eschew the tie. I approve.” I shook his hand and welcomed him in, and his expression never even flickered. He was an astute observer, and he quickly assumed that this was some kind of playfully brazen affront to my partners, so he made to go along.
“I answered the call of a friend. Who am I to ignore a plea for assistance with an unknown matter of obvious importance? So, what are we doing? Who are we convincing?” He laughed and cracked his knuckles ominously, but I shook my head in the negative at his anticipation of some sort of mobster intimidation event.
“We’re taking our rent deposits to West Broward Savings. I have a . . . ongoing feud, you might say, with the head teller, one Annalise Wimple. She’s a tough nut to crack, and I decided to bring in a heavy hitter to smooth the way for future banking transactions.” He nodded sagely as Risa and Wally began to protest that I was cheating. “Now, now, “I began, placating, “you brought this on yourselves, making me undergo such regular humiliation at the hands of that woman. I’ve been left with no choice but to bring such eye candy—no offense, Patroclus,” and he smiled in acceptance of his status as bait. “Really, you two should be ashamed of yourselves.” Wally snorted, Risa stuck out her tongue, but then they both realized that I might have just outmaneuvered them, and I could see them begin to formulate their next iteration of my torture even as the dust was still settling from this new development. “Patroclus, if you don’t mind, shall we?” I gloated as he bowed slightly to my partners, who were laughing outright now at my creativity, and we stepped out in our duds for Mission: Charm Annalise Wimple.
Patroclus entered the bank lobby like Caesar returning to Rome. Envelope in hand, he surveyed the staff with a look of earnest competence, and then allowed a blinding smile to the two nearest tellers, who both audibly inhaled as he approached. I grumbled internally but tagged along, playing the obedient compatriot. He was a damnably handsome man, I reminded myself, and so I kept my moderate irksome thoughts in check. We’d find out how potent his charm was in three . . . two . . . one.
Annalise was berating another customer in the drive-through for what was doubtless a miniscule infraction. I could see the man, a burly, grizzled trucker type hunched in the seat of his pickup with a sheepish look on his face as she concluded her correction of his wayward banking habits. She delivered her last admonition to the chastened man in a ringing voice, “—and I trust we’ll not address this matter again. Enjoy your day.”
“That was chilling,” Patroclus said to me, sotto voce, but Annalise sensed my presence and made a beeline towards us before we could be attended by another employee. As per her style, she was clad in a long black skirt that accented neither the length or possible shape of her legs, a bland white top of some mysterious fiber that clung to her narrow frame with desperation, and her signature black scrunchy, which gathered her mass of lifeless hair into dutiful, plasticized segments which were flattened against her long skull without any variation or movement. She punished the carpet with her blocky shoes and reached us in seconds. Gathering herself to the enormity of her height, she schooled her face with the ghost of a sneer.
“Mister Hardigan. I see you’re here for your monthly transaction.” Her inflection implied that my simple presence sullied the name of West Broward Savings. Both of her pencil-drawn eyebrows arched upwards over her long, pale face as she flicked her brown eyes at us in turn. Patroclus, forewarned on our trip over, placed a calming hand on my arm and took over in his deep, mellow voice.
“Miss Wimple, I am Mister Saavedra. I’ll be handling any and all business pertaining to the Hardigan Center from this point forward.” He extended his hand in a confident greeting, which she reluctantly took. This approach was clearly contravening how she envisioned our monthly tete-a-tete, causing her to waver for the briefest instant, but it was enough for Patroclus to seize the initiative. “I’ll be taking an active interest in multiple businesses in the area, and I have exacting requirements for my employees. As well as my bank,” he added as he cast an imperious glance around the building while deciding whether or not it was worth his time to even consider an account here. Incredibly, this offensive appeared to be working, as Annalise Wimple was, for the first time in recent history, speechless. Patroclus, sensing the advantage, plunged on, leaning in and bringing his considerable presence to bear. “In the event I decide to center my local accounts here,” he said, hinting at his international business concerns, “I’ll need to know that there is a liaison that I can rely on to deliver service that is equal to that which I am accustomed.” He concluded his veiled demand for Annalise’ undying devotion to his needs with a perfunctory look directly at her, before sliding his gaze back to assessing the bank as a whole. As a performance, it was brilliant, and for nearly ten seconds, Annalise Wimple, manager and customer service coordinator of West Broward Savings was brought up short, but, like any good sailor, she regained her sea legs, granted Patroclus a single withering glar
e, and emitted a small, disdainful sniff.
“I cannot imagine,” she began, fanning the checks out in her usual critical manner, “that anyone willing to . . . associate with Mister Hardigan and his partners can be accused of being in sound mind.” Patroclus winced. Here it comes, big guy, I thought, stifling a laugh. “However, as you are clearly new to our area, I’ll be happy to give my personal attention to all of your business matters as I see fit.” With a tap of finality, she placed the checks in the envelope, punched a key, and asked in a voice free of affectation, “Will you require a receipt for this deposit?” Stunned into silence, Patroclus demurred, and before we could respond at all, she dismissed us with a mirthless smile that showed not one single tooth.
On the ride back to my house, Patroclus alternated between gusty sighs and muttering until I finally told him, “You’re not the first to draw her ire, and you won’t be the last.” I punched him affectionately in the arm, earning a smoldering look that told me he was more than a little pissed.
“She was remarkably immune to any type of charm.” Patroclus sounded a bit sulky for an immortal that had his way with humanity for three millennia, in my opinion, but I understood his residual irritability. His expression brightened, though, as he found the silver lining within our encounter with Annalise. “On the other hand, we did get a smile, even if it could have frozen the Atlantic.” I agreed with his optimism, and that, we both decided, was progress.
Patroclus and I parted ways after our post mortem of his dealings with Annalise. He looked at his suit and said, “I may have to retire this one out of disgust.” I assured him that there was no fabric capable of charming the irresistible force of Annalise Wimple, and he granted the garment absolution, got in his vehicle, and left to seek the friendly confines of his restaurant. Before I could enter the house, Kevin pulled up and sat quietly behind his steering wheel, as my good cheer dissipated in a sickening moment of vertigo while the world beneath me tilted slightly.
Box Set: The Fearless 1-3 Page 44