Diamond in the Rough

by Isobella Crowley

  The vampire was first to speak. “Agent Gilmore, thank you for coming all this way. I can assure you that we have privacy and security here.”

  They exchanged a couple of other pleasantries, including asking Remy how he was recovering, and moved on to business.

  “So,” Gilmore began, “our man’s name, we’re almost sure, is Alexander Thomas. That’s the identity he checked into the motel with and it doesn’t seem to be a fake. He’s an Australian national, as you suspected. Unfortunately, we have no idea where he is and no good leads, either.”

  Taylor frowned and folded one hand over the other on her lap. “Yes, finding him will not be easy. We have tracking methods of our own but will not be able to deploy them until tomorrow, and they may cease working, anyway, now that Mr Thomas is aware of us.”

  The agent nodded. “I won’t ask what your methods are, but I can’t promise that other parties won’t take an interest in such things later. For now, though, our concern is finding this guy and his boss. That reminds me—”

  “Oh?” Taylor asked.

  Remy leaned forward as well.

  She looked from one to the other and continued. “Our contacts in Israel intercepted a few communications from persons of interest, mentioning someone named Moswen. A woman, seemingly. We suspect she may be a high-ranking member of Ein Avdat or even its leader.”

  The vampire closed her eyes and seemed to scan through the many files in her brain. Finally, she spoke. “Yes…I strongly suspect that is exactly who we’re looking for. Don’t ask me how I know. Let’s simply say a very good hunch.”

  He felt a chill at the back of his neck. Somehow, he imagined her as a young vampire back in England, hearing campfire stories of some ancient and powerful princess of the undead sealed away in the Middle East.

  Gilmore shrugged. “We’re looking into it and need more evidence before we jump to conclusions.”

  Taylor frowned. “What I don’t understand is, if the Black Cat is so important to Moswen or whoever Ein Avdat really is, why isn’t she here herself? Sending only one guy after it seems almost careless.”

  Both women examined the statuette, turned it over, and speculated as to its value. He struggled to his feet and hobbled over to the table to peer at the idol while they turned it in their hands.

  Remy blinked and suddenly felt as though he’d been slapped in the face. “Wait—hold it!” he exclaimed.

  The women looked sharply at him.

  “It’s a forgery,” he stated.

  “What?” Gilmore responded in disbelief. “How can that be? It was displayed at the museum—” She glared at Taylor. “You didn’t switch it for—”

  “No,” the vampire responded coolly. “This is the piece I took.”

  He almost grinned. “Ha, oh, this is rich. Do you see that little tiny mark on the underside of the tail? That’s a signature. Some asshole who calls himself Osman, whatever that means, and who makes a living by faking rare pieces like this. It’s definitely his mark. It almost looks like a natural flaw in the material, but it isn’t.”

  Taylor looked slightly amused. “And how would you know?”

  “Because,” he replied, “I was scammed by him at least twice back when I purchased swanky objets d’art to furnish my penthouse. I planned to hire a PI to track the guy and kick his ass, but I got drunk or something and forgot about it. This makes me feel better, though, since it means he even fooled the Guggenheim.”

  Gilmore’s nostrils flared as she considered what he’d said. “Well, this changes things. Does this mean that Moswen was duped as well? Or is something else going on?”

  The vampire drummed her nails on the table. “No, somehow I don’t think our adversary would be so careless. I can tell, Agent Gilmore, that you don’t think she’d make that kind of a mistake either. And yet, her henchman still pulled out all the stops to come after it.”

  “He doesn’t have all the information,” the agent concluded. “He’s a patsy, an expendable pawn. But what is her goal, then?”

  The other woman’s gaze went distant. “Bait,” she said. “Moswen is trying to lure me out. Our interests lie at cross purposes. And she succeeded, to some extent. But if Mr Thomas doesn’t know it’s a forgery, he’ll continue his attempts to steal it.”

  Remy recalled the ugly mixture of fear, rage, and desperation that had emanated from the man and he knew, instantly, that she was right. He would never give up.

  “So,” Gilmore ventured, “you think he’ll target you?”

  “No,” she replied. “He’ll try to steal the statuette again, but not when I’m around. Our last altercation went rather badly for him, and I crudely threatened him to make sure he got the point. He won’t want to fight me again. And it would be unwise for him to take Presley on, either. Don’t let his age fool you, Agent.” She smirked.

  The butler merely said, “Thank you, madam.”

  The FBI agent nodded. “So, we use the Black Cat to trap a thief. But this time, both of us will be ready for him.”

  “Exactly.” Taylor steepled her fingers. She looked aside at Remy. “A new strategy is forming. And, Remington, you’ll even get to help. Unfortunately, it will involve you playing a role you seem to greatly dislike.”

  He turned his eyes heavenward. “Bait.” He sighed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Moonlight Detective Agency Office, Bushwick, Brooklyn, New York

  Remy sat in silence and waited for Taylor to speak. Once again, she was the one with the answers, and she’d probably be the one to have the final word on their course of action.

  “All right then,” she began, “here is the plan as it now stands.”

  Everyone was present. In addition to the two of them, Bobby, Volz, and Riley hovered around the edge of the office lobby. Nearer the center and near Taylor, Agent Gilmore stood with her right-hand man, Agent Mortensen.

  Remy glanced at Riley, partially for moral support and in part because he wanted to make sure she paid attention.

  He’d brought her from her colony under the George Washington Bridge this morning after the usual obligatory haranguing and nonsense from the other fairies. Taking the night off and resting seemed to have done her good. She was chipper and spry again.

  However, she also seemed somehow distracted once again. As though she were thinking of all those men at the Botanical Gardens who crowded around her and made her feel special.

  Getting that much attention must have been…addictive, he thought. That was the perfect word. The cocktail of itchy boredom and pathetic longing that emanated from her reminded him far too much of any given druggie who tried not to relapse—such as himself, for example.

  Still, she was overjoyed to see that he was fit enough to at least walk and excited to help bring this whole mess, at last, to a decisive end.

  Taylor set the Black Cat Idol on a desk before she continued her spiel.

  Bobby gasped. “I forgot my talisman! I really wish you’d warn me before you brought occult objects in here.”

  “It’s a fake,” he pointed out. “Trust me on this. The museum was duped.”

  “Oh.” She relaxed. “Well, good. My horoscope was fortuitous this morning, after all.”

  Volz coughed, and Taylor continued.

  “We brought the statuette in this morning, and we were loud and obvious about it. If our friend Mr Thomas or some ally of his has had this office under surveillance, he’d have seen or heard everything. The NYPD is cooperating. We’ve convinced them that Gilmore had to remove the statuette from the museum for its own safety.”

  Remy wondered, with a certain amusement, if the folks at the Guggenheim had become more accommodating once they’d learned it was a forgery.

  “And”—she raised a finger—“if any man on the street asks, the local cops have instructions to mention, offhandedly, that the Black Cat is being kept at ‘some agency.’”

  That sounded almost too obvious to him but Alex was likely desperate enough to pounce at any opportunity he
could get.

  “Meanwhile,” Taylor explained, “I will, once the sun sets, pursue a so-called lead upstate. I won’t be too far—only far enough to convince Mr Thomas that I’m not around. We believe he’ll therefore conclude that it’s safe for him to strike.”

  She turned to Remy and fixed him with her dark gaze. “That will leave Remington as the sole guardian of the idol. Bobby, Volz, you two will go home after you help us make a few preparations. For your own safety, of course.”

  But not mine, he lamented while the receptionist and the tech specialist nodded their heads.

  Gilmore turned to face the rest of the group. “However, it’s a trap. My team and I will wait in the abandoned store down the street. If I may say so, our response time is excellent and we’re well-trained to deal with highly dangerous individuals like this. At the first indication that Thomas has made his move, all seven of us will be on him like flies on shit, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

  Volz chuckled. “Consider yourself pardoned. I’ve heard worse.”

  The agent turned toward him and arched an eyebrow. “I’ll bet you have. You’re not a One-Percenter, are you? Staying out of trouble?”

  “Why,” the dwarf sighed, “do law enforcement officers always ask me that? I don’t even own a motorcycle. Although it might be fun to tinker with one.”

  Taylor raised a hand. “Save the banter for later. For now, we need to focus on the task at hand.” She produced three small black devices, each with a single discreet button, and laid them on the desk before her.

  “These,” she explained, “will trigger a silent alarm in the form of a low-intensity flashing light on Agent Gilmore’s equipment. We’ll set up all three of them at various strategic locations within the office. Remy, all you need to do is press one of them the instant Mr Thomas makes his move. We’ll have you positioned at the one in the center of the office and if need be, you can flee toward one of the others to either side.”

  Remy was about to ask what good that would be if Alex was able to sneak in and snap his neck before he even noticed him, but she cut him off.

  “Of course, we’re taking precautions to ensure that whatever his first move is, it’s something you will notice—and before he attacks you, to boot. He might try for stealth, but he also knows you’re no match for him in close combat, which ought to make him reckless and overconfident.” She paused. “And we brought a couple of portable stretchers, just in case.”

  His mouth twisted into a sour expression. “We can only hope. I can walk, but I’m not up to much fleeing if I do have to reach one of the other two buzzers. Let alone trying to fight the bastard.”

  Gilmore put a hand gently on his arm. “Don’t worry. My people will handle the fighting. As soon as we show up, you get out of the way and we’ll take care of things. We’ve apprehended guys on PCP before who could have wrecked three or four tough-ass bouncers at once.”

  “That’s good to know,” he acknowledged, “but whatever this guy is on, it seems to be even worse than PCP.” He wondered how much the agent truly knew about what was going on—if she still held to her mundane, scientific explanations for all the recent phenomena.

  The woman exchanged a glance with Mortensen. “We’re aware of that,” she mentioned. “Based on everything you’ve told us, we have a good idea of what to expect.”

  The two agents conferred with Taylor one last time, left a plan behind for how to set up obstacles for their target, and nodded to the others before they took their leave. They all felt certain that Alexander Thomas would not show up until after dark, so it seemed prudent for the Feds to depart before then.

  Taylor then set the rest of the crew to make a few alterations and rearrangements to the office, the better to welcome Mr Thomas when he arrived and ensure he wouldn’t want to leave too quickly.

  In the rear of the building, Volz unspooled barbed wire while Bobby held the wheel in place and stared at it with slight distaste and discomfort.

  “He might be able to snap through it,” the dwarf declared, “but I imagine it will slow him down.”

  “Ick,” Bobby said. “Okay, I know he’s an enforcer for a drug lord or whatever, but I don’t like the idea of anyone stumbling into barbed wire. What if it gets tangled around his—”

  “More likely”—the dwarf cut her off hastily—“it will slow him down in that he’ll need to stop and think of how to climb over it.”

  Riley, of whose existence Bobby was still unaware, fluttered near the ceiling and occasionally helped with small bursts of magic. She still acted a little odd, although she now seemed pouty rather than distracted.

  Meanwhile, Taylor ensured that Remy was armed.

  “Now,” she inquired as she set a heavy crate of weapons on a desk, “you did say the Taser you stole stunned him for a moment, right?”

  He nodded. “He got over it a lot faster than I would have liked, but it still took him a second. It probably saved me from getting killed.”

  “Good.” She reached into the crate. “Take two, then. And don’t hesitate to use them.” Her hands emerged and each held one of the black, pistol-like electroshock weapons. “Try to save the first to slow him before you press the alarm button. And the second to keep him off you until Gilmore’s team arrives.”

  Remy accepted the weapons but left them on the desk for now. He intended to help the others with their preparations and would holster them later.

  Something in her eyes changed and she turned to face everyone at once. “All right,” she announced, “the sun has set.”

  It struck him that she had risked pain and injury, not to mention the possibility of clueing Gilmore into her vampiric nature, in order to be at the office during daylight hours to make their preparations.

  She glanced at the nearest clock. “Mr Thomas will probably wait a short while after he knows I’ve left to be safe. Therefore, I’ll stick around as we finish our preparations. We must not wait too long, though, or he might change his mind and come back tomorrow night, instead. Let’s hurry.”

  They set to work.

  According to Gilmore’s instructions and with Taylor’s added guidance, they rapidly advanced beyond the laying of barbed wire and transformed their cozy corporate office into a dangerous obstacle course. The idea was to make the whole area difficult to traverse for someone who moved at highly advanced speed.

  Of course, there were also booby traps.

  “Ugh,” Remy apologized with a little embarrassment, “I’m sorry I’m not more help. I can’t lift very much right now. Doctor’s orders.”

  “Ha!” Volz scoffed. “You couldn’t lift much even before you were busted up, either. Look at that frame! It’s like someone stretched you out with a giant vacuum cleaner.”

  “Nonsense,” he countered, “it merely looks that way because someone dropped a six-foot-wide anvil on your head as a child.”

  The dwarf laughed. He was in the process of securing a levered bar to the ceiling. Remy held the tripwire as he worked.

  The nature of the trap was that anyone who touched the tripwire would cause the bar to swing down toward their chest, its end bristling with needles on which a powerful sedative had been smeared.

  Once Bobby was out of sight, engaged with the extremely simple task of smearing grease on certain parts of the floor, Riley also joined their efforts. Being able to fly, she could secure wires to different parts of the walls and ceiling that were difficult for the non-winged to reach.

  She also lent an invisible, telekinetic hand to Remy as he struggled to push a few desks and chairs into inconvenient locations.

  “Are you okay?” he asked her.

  She didn’t look at him. “I’m fine.”

  He cursed inwardly. As all men knew, that statement meant she wasn’t fine.

  Taylor examined their handiwork one last time and noted the locations of the various traps. “All right, we’ve done what we can. It’s time for me to leave.” She looked at her co-workers and nodded.

  R
emy hobbled to her side. “Hold on a second.”

  She hesitated and seemed about to brush him off but instead, she stopped and locked gazed with him. “Yes, Remington?”

  He swallowed and tried not to clench his jaw as he spoke. “Was I…I mean, was I being bait really the only thing I was ever good at? You at least owe me honesty on this, Taylor. I’ve tried to do more than simply stumble around and attract trouble to myself. Is that my only real skill? Do I have any other function?”

  A smile, slight and wan but faintly warm, spread across the woman’s pale, beautiful face. She rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “Perhaps,” she said tentatively, “at first, I thought it was thus—that you might possess some basic competence at the tasks I assigned but that mostly, you were simply for drawing out my enemies. I apologize.”

  He blinked and stared at her. She really means it. She’s actually apologizing!

  “You have proven surprising in many ways,” Taylor went on. She retracted her hand. “Both in the positive and negative sense, granted. I’ve already discussed the negative matters, so we needn’t dwell on those. But you also have a certain…business acumen. Maybe that’s not what you would prefer to hear, but it’s true, and it’s something you can take pride in. I would not have allowed mere bait to rent an office in my name, after all.”

  “Well,” he returned, “thank you. Business acumen, yes. That sounds accurate.”

  “It is,” she assured him. “Now, get ready. In this situation, being bait is perhaps the most heroic thing you could do. Which is to say, it’s dangerous. Take care.”

  She turned and left, a slim, dark, graceful form vanishing out the doors with nary a wasted sound.

  Moments later, Volz and Bobby finished their tasks.

  The dwarf took Remy’s hand in his powerful grip. “Good luck, my friend. You can handle this. But please, don’t mess up my computers. I worked hard on those, as you well recall.”

  Remy smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”