Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus)

by Robert McCarroll

  "I said I'm all right. But you need to teach me some more fighting."

  "Sure thing."

  Xiv smiled his creepy, fanged grin.

  The Leyden Regency Hotel was one of those upscale places in Leyden heights that I couldn't afford to stay in. Externally, it was nothing special, a building of balconies. Inside, it presented itself as a bastion of traditional luxury. The lobby was furnished in richly upholstered wooden furniture over plush Persian rugs. Well, not Persian really, given the sanctions, they were probably made by neighboring countries, or Iranian expats. The Leyden Regency looked like the sort of place where a Chinese knock-off would be unacceptable. The brass elevator doors were decorated with faux-Egyptian papyrus leaf patterns. The interior was wood and brass. Nick pushed the button for the penthouse.

  "Can we just walk in there?"

  "His publicist, one Amy Brown, said we'd be met by security."

  She was right. In the elevator lobby, there were four men who looked like they'd be more comfortable challenging an ape for dominance than waiting around in three piece suits. All four were clearly armed. One came forward with a metal detector and a metal dish.

  "Please empty your pockets," he said. I was tempted to complain, but I dropped my phone and keys in the dish. Nick did likewise. He waved the wand over Nick and didn't get a hit. The pattern looked the same for me until it passed too close to my head and beeped. "Please remove the eye patch."

  "Hell no," I said. He moved the metal detector past my head slowly. It beeped again as it passed my artificial eye.

  "You have something metallic in there."

  "Yeah, they had to rebuild my face after an alien surgeon tore it apart." I was exaggerating, but the bandages I'd been bundled in at the airport would have supported such a claim.

  "You can stand down," a woman's voice said. Turning to look at the speaker, I saw a woman with short brown hair and a gray suit. "I doubt Mister Colfax as affiliated himself with the Morlock Society. They were the ones who cost him his eye."

  "If you say so, Miss Brown." The security guard held up the dish so we could reclaim our effects.

  "I have to apologize for all of the security," Amy said. "Since the accident, there have been threats against Mister Baker's life."

  "You mentioned the Morlocks?"

  "That's who some of the messages have claimed to be from, yes." We followed Amy through a door into a room that looked like the bastard child of the gilded age and the excesses of the eighties. Intricately carved bookcases ringed the back of the room below a second floor balcony, touching staircases on both sides. There were banks of windows to either side with thick pile, imitation Persian rugs filling the floor between. A wine red couch curved around a glass topped table in front of a massive television screen. The cushions were so thick that the man seated on it had a hard time standing up to greet us.

  "Fabian, this is Nick and Travis," Amy told him. "They were in the car Vanessa hit. Gentlemen, this is Fabian Baker."

  He was short, svelte, and had a babyish face that almost invited a punch. He had wild red hair, an assholish smirk and deep blue eyes. I shook his hand politely. The smirk slowly melted as a thought dribbled through his brain with the speed of molasses. I was less inclined to hurt him as a glimmer of sadness appeared in his eyes. "I'm supposed to keep up an upbeat face for the sake of my image," he said. He had a less boyish voice than his appearance would have suggested. "You'll forgive me if I can't pretend to be happy with Vanessa..."

  "I understand," Nick said.

  "Have a seat. My lawyers keep telling me I shouldn't meet with you guys. They're afraid I'll say something to admit liability. But really, it's whoever sabotaged the brakes that's at fault." We sat down. It felt like the leather couch was trying to envelop me. "Did you break your arm in the crash?"

  "It's not the arm," Nick said. "It's the ribs, but they hurt when I move the arm."

  "I see. I hope it didn't cost you your job or anything."

  "Uh, no," Nick said. "I'm not currently working."

  "Ouch," Fabian said. "Losing your van has to have put a damper on your job search."

  "I'm actually a student."

  Fabian sighed. "When the music machine decided I could be a moneymaker, my academic career got torpedoed. I want to go back to school, but when your face is plastered on merchandise, it gets a bit difficult to not cause a ruckus."

  "I heard something about Morlocks threatening you?" I asked.

  "Well, their philosophy is eat the rich, isn't it? Amy looked up who was involved in the crash so she wouldn't be blindsided by the press. She also gave me the cliff notes version of your biographies. To tell you the truth, I never heard the word 'Morlock' before she mentioned them. Then all of a sudden they're signing death threats. And now they've gone and broke out of the city jail. The whole pack that the heroes bagged the day of the crash. They're all loose again."

  I raised an eyebrow. The only jailbreak I'd heard of happened on my birthday. I'd have thought someone would tell me it had been the Morlocks we'd nabbed. Nick exchanged a glance with me.

  "I'm sure they'll be caught again soon," Nick said.

  "Still, that's why I have all these armed guards. I'm sorry about the hassle."

  "It's perfectly understandable. Though I'm rather sensitive about my scars," I said.

  "I can't imagine. Seriously, I have no frame of reference to compare it to. I hope you don't take that the wrong way."

  "Not at all. Most people aren't even aware of that much."

  "Isn't it risky to have so many windows?" Nick asked.

  "That's armored glass. They'd need a rocket launcher to put a hole in it. The Regency gets a lot of VIPs with security needs, so they put that in on their own dime ages ago. I just can't go out on the balconies." Fabian sighed. "They're using Vanessa as an excuse to cancel when it's really security concerns. But Vanessa loved my music. She'd be horrified that we're canceling in her name. Not that I think I'd be able to go up on stage and perform at the moment."

  "I sort of get that," I said. "Grieve now, you can hold a memorial concert later."

  Fabian smiled. Not the smarmy grin he'd had on earlier, but a more genuine expression.

  "I think that's what I'll do."

  "My Girlfriend would kick my ass if I didn't ask," Nick said, "But sometime when you're feeling better, would you be willing to meet her? She's a fan of yours."

  Fabian gave a weak chuckle. "Sure, but it may be a while."

  "I'll make a note of it," Amy said, pulling a phone out of her jacket.

  Fabian turned to look at me. "You're either very jaded, or you're unfamiliar with my name."

  "Both," I said. "But I gather you're some sort of musician."

  Fabian laughed.

  "Something like that," he said wearily. "Had this tour not been interrupted, it'd have been worth a few million. After taxes. But, the fans will miss the tour more than I do. It's not as if I really need the money."

  "Fabian," Amy said. "Now is not the best time to be talking about money."

  "Why? Are you afraid I'll start giving it away?"

  "You have been known to be unduly generous when overly emotional."

  "Overly emotional," he snorted. "How much is too much to feel?"

  "That's not what I meant."

  "I know what you meant. You're afraid I'll do something that will let the Van der Veen family slam us with a lawsuit."

  "Stephanie knows this wasn't your fault," I said. "She's not going to sue you."

  "Maybe," Fabian snorted, "But have you met her dad?"

  "No."

  "He has... a reputation. Turned Amy white as a sheet when she first saw who was in the van with you two."

  "I didn't know that."

  "I must sound like I'm drunk right n
ow," Fabian said.

  "Not really."

  "That's funny, because I am sort of drunk right now. Not that I'll be driving anywhere anytime soon. Okay, maybe half drunk."

  "I think we should wrap this up," Amy said.

  "You're not old enough to drink, are you?" I asked. Fabian shook his head.

  "They'll probably un-stock the mini bar now."

  "Gentleman," Amy said, gesturing towards the way we came in. I struggled to climb out of the embrace of the couch. Eventually I managed to stand up.

  "Wait," Fabian said. "Amy, let them replace their van on me. I know the Van der Veens are made of money, but the boys aren't."

  "Seriously?" Amy asked, scowling.

  "It's not like they'll be able to break the bank with one car."

  Amy sighed. "We'll cap it at what the insurance company will cover."

  "Don't be silly, anything they can drive off the lot today."

  "That means no custom jobs," Amy said.

  "Don't scowl, it's my money."

  "It's my job to help you make more, not spend what you've got."

  "Make good press out of it then."

  Amy escorted us back to the elevator. She grumbled as we waited. "Mickey, get the hotel to clear out every bottle of liquor in this suite," she said. "And tell our staff if they want a drink, they have to get it downstairs."

  "Yes, ma'am," one of the over-muscled suits said. "What happened?"

  "Fabian is drunk." The elevator arrived and the three of us climbed on board.

  "Look," Nick said, "I know people don't make the best decisions when intoxicated. So I'm okay if we don't go out car shopping."

  "No, Fabian will remember," Amy said. "After all, I'm only his publicist, not his mother. Her he gave a million dollar house in Reno. How did you get here?"

  "I borrowed a car and drove us," I said.

  "You can drive with one eye?"

  "I passed the road test."

  "Fair enough." The elevator let us out in a hallway at the basement level. It passed beyond the side of the building and connected to the parking garage.

  "I wish we'd known about this on our way in," Nick said.

  "You need a keycard to access the garage from here, and vice versa." To demonstrate, she swiped through the door into the garage. "And that wasn't the same elevator you took from the lobby." As Amy looked around a small handbag for her keys, the garage exploded. Reflexively, I grabbed Amy and hauled her back into the tunnel as a wave of purple flames spread through the cars to the sound of shattering glass and the secondary thump-boom of gas tanks igniting. It was the slowest explosion I'd ever seen. It stopped dead twenty feet from us, leaving a sea of ash and slag where the garage once stood. A few moments of cracks and twanging passed before chunks of the ceiling crashed down, bringing pavement and cars down with it.

  Amid the thunderous pounding of the upper level collapsing, a pall of concrete dust billowed into the hall, coating everything a light gray. That's when the gunfire started.

  Part 14

  Shielded from the initial blast, the wrecked vehicles and askew slabs of concrete formed an apocalyptic landscape through which a fine grit blew. The crack-crack-crack of a semi-automatic handgun echoed across the otherwise silent devastation. "What the hell?" someone asked.

  "I think it was a variable-yield plasma charge," I said, forgetting that I was still in civilian guise.

  "How do you know that?" Amy asked.

  "It was purple." Smoke billowed from a few fires near the edge of the devastation, but those in the middle appeared to have been extinguished by the same forces that created them. The handgun cracked again, followed by a shree-bam, then a few more.

  "Who's shooting?" Nick asked.

  "I have no idea, but it's getting closer." A man in a long brown coat hopped down from the upper level. Landing on the roof of a shattered green SUV, he slid to the uneven pavement. In his left hand, he carried a large metal case. In his right, a large caliber pistol. He wore a pair of red-lensed goggles and had short black hair. Under the brown coat was a full suit of black body armor. He glanced at us, huddled behind the doorway, and took off in a different direction.

  In a crack of thunder from a green bolt of lightning, Arclight appeared between us and the SUV. From this angle, I had a better view of his brass rig. Four mechanical arms were currently extended and firing energy bolts after the fleeing browncoat. Two more sat folded against a pair of vertical pistons. Thicker than my thighs, the pistons were affixed in a narrow V position. The outer casing was brass, but the inner shaft was a cluster of glowing green rods. They rose slowly, lifting up the caps, which bore small Tesla coils wreathed in green lightning. Each shot from Arclight's guns made a scree-bam sound, and pounded through cars and concrete like a jackhammer.

  "Get back here!" Arclight bellowed, though it was obvious the brown coat could outrun the heavily laden man with ease.

  "I think not," the brown coated man called back. Arclight's pistons reached their full extension. As they slammed down, he vanished in a thunderclap and bolt of green lightning. At the same time, he reappeared near the opposite end of the devastation. The brown coat cracked off a few shots. The first pegged Arclight in the shoulder, but the other two bounced off a field of green lightning that flickered around him.

  "You can only catch me by teleporting, and you're vulnerable after a 'port," the brown coat called again. "Give it up."

  Arclight worked his shoulder, clearly having some form of armor himself. He snarled and teleported again. More gunfire, distant this time.

  "What was that?" Amy asked.

  "Should we have done something?" Nick asked. I shot him an 'are you crazy?' look.

  "I'm suddenly glad the elevator was slow getting to us," I said. "We would have been under that if we were any earlier." I pointed at the ruined garage.

  "Someone is blowing up hotels in New Port Arthur," Amy said. "We have to get out of this town."

  "Aww, man," Nick said, then pointed into the devastation. The black sedan we'd arrived in sat amongst the debris, on its side, wedged between two slabs of concrete.

  "I borrowed that car," I said. Technically, it was one of the team vehicles, but I had to stick to the story I'd given Amy.

  It was surreal giving a statement to the police without filling out BHA forms. But, I had been there as Travis Colfax, and I hadn't really been on duty. While we were technically trying to investigate Vanessa's death, it had been a very informal visit. A somewhat drunk and emotional Fabian Baker wasn't the best source of information anyway. He did insist we come back up to the penthouse while we waited for a ride. Jennifer and Stephanie eventually arrived and got past the security cordons. By then, Fabian had passed out and was sound asleep.

  We left the Leyden Regency in Jennifer's little coupe. With Nick's cracked ribs and Jennifer's refusal to let anyone else drive her car, I ended up in the back with Stephanie. The back seat was not designed for people. Even children would have found it cramped, and I sat with my head almost sideways. It didn't help that Jennifer was zealous on the accelerator and cavalier about braking. With my limited field of view, I was terrified. To be fair, I don't think there was a time when she wasn't paying attention to traffic, but that didn't make my intestines unclench any.

  "Couldn't you have borrowed a car?" I asked as I tried to fix the crick in my neck.

  "We were at the Doolittle Club meeting one of my contacts," Stephanie said. "The Leyden Regency was closer than any of the team cars." We rode the elevator down and assembled in the mess hall.

  "So what happened?" Jennifer asked.

  "Another plasma charge," I said. "And Arclight was chasing somebody after it went off."

  "No, not what I mean." She turned to Nick. "You went to meet Fabian Baker and left me behind?"

 
"He's already agreed to meet you socially when he feels better," Nick said. Jennifer smiled and hugged him. "Careful - the ribs." She let go of him.

  "Okay, now we can talk about the bomb."

  "I didn't see the device, but the blast was very slow, purple, and looked like it burned very hot. That is, based upon the damage it did."

  "Wasn't the same thing used to take out the top of the Darjeeling?"