“How’re you feeling?” She laid a hand tenderly on his arm. He propped himself up with some effort; the pain in his side ramped up a little, but he was able to bite it back.
“I’ll live. Thanks again, by the way. Let’s not make it a habit, you saving my rear.” This was an uncomfortable position for him to be in, in a lot of ways. Usually when it came to women, he was the one doing the saving. Or at least, when there was saving needing to be done, Claire notwithstanding. And now he owed Lori. He didn’t like owing anyone anything. He’d gotten where he was by amassing unspecified-favors-to-be-paid-later, not by being in the position of having to pay one out. Then there was Lori herself. A Lorelei. A species not known for their warm hearts. How much of this supposed attraction she had for him was acting, how much was due to the geas, and how much was real?
“I know it’s probably ironic of me to ask this, but I don’t suppose you happen to have any more water in that sack?” He chuckled weakly. “You being a Water creature and all that.”
“First thing I thought of, since you were going to be dehydrated.” She got up…and every movement of every inch of her was seductive as she walked away from him…fished another bottle out of the sack, and swayed her way back. “I also found where there’s a clean tap; I can refill these so don’t go all manly on me and crush them.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes as he sipped at the water. Lori watched him the entire time, and Humph did his best to avoid her gaze, occupying himself with his thoughts. Lori was the first one to break the silence.
“We shouldn’t be here,” she said. “I don’t mean here here. I mean messed up with these damn humans.”
“It’s kind of their galaxy now, darlin’. We’re just living in it.”
She sniffed. “Oh yes. They’re the ‘normals.’ We’re the ones that—aren’t. Humans always have been trouble right from the time they started to put thoughts together in their little ape-brains. And they can’t see anything without wanting to use it, own it, exploit it, or run over the top of it. Look what they’ve done to you and me! We were minding our own business, never causing any trouble, and then—bam. Geased. Used. Enslaved.”
“You’re going to learn to get over it sometime, kid. Shit happens, then you deal with it.” He sighed. “I’ve been out in the world a lot longer than you have, so maybe it’s just that. But you can’t hold onto that kind of hate; there’s no money in it, for starters. Besides, it’s not like our kind is exactly blameless in the annals of history; there’s a reason that Norms have stories about the boogeyman, boggarts, and even little siren frauleins. That reason isn’t particularly cheery. If you’re preaching revolution, you’ve got the wrong boggart.”
Suddenly, and without warning, he missed his partners. If Skinny Jim and Fred had been here…he’d have had not one, but two foils to fend off Lori. He’d have had someone to keep an eye on Harry at all times. Skinny Jim didn’t even sleep; he’d have had someone he could trust to stand watch while everyone else did.
He’d gone decades without having partners; he’d always been convinced he didn’t need them, didn’t need anyone, and now look. A handful of months with those two lugs cluttering up the office and he felt crippled by their absence. Is this what it’s like for Norms?
And where were they? Were they even still alive? Or—at least, what passed for alive in Jim’s case? He’d always been told that Paras who worked together for a long time or had some sort of bond could at least tell when something Bad and Permanent had happened to each other, but he’d never been in the position to find out. Mostly he had put that down to an old wives’ tale; more than a few Paras got caught up in their own bullshit and myths. Now he hoped that it wasn’t. Still, it was better if Jim and Fred were in the wind or taking dirt naps than in the clutches of whoever the hell was after him, that much he was certain of.
Lori pressed on, undaunted. “Fine, fine. I’ll put away the placards and slogans. But more immediately…shouldn’t we ditch Harry? If we didn’t have to worry about him, we could disappear, lose ourselves out there. We’ve got enough money to get by, at least for awhile.” She laid a hand on his arm. “We could run away together, Humph.”
The Boggart stared into her eyes for several long moments, searching for how to answer. “The thought has crossed my mind, more than once. The kid is a stone around our necks sometimes; he just doesn’t know how to walk on our side of the tracks.” He paused before continuing; he thought he had heard something outside, but quickly dismissed it. “Despite that, he’s been starting to pull his weight. If he hadn’t managed to snag my watch back at the flophouse, you’d be short one boggart. Even though he’d more than likely be toast without me, he still stuck his neck out in a way that not a lot of beings would’ve for an old P.I.”
“So that’s it?” he could tell that Lori knew she was defeated, but still harbored some hope that he would change his mind.
“It is.” He had to be firm with her, to stamp this notion out once and for all. “The kid is all right, despite being a spoilt nincompoop. We need him as much as he needs us, if we’re going to get to the bottom of this and come out of it alive. Besides, even if we did ditch him, we’re in it too deep now; whoever is after us will keep coming after us until we’re dead. That’s what my gut says on this one; whenever I start going against my gut feelings is when shit goes sideways on me.”
She let out her breath in a long hiss that reminded him that some people claimed the Sirens and Loreleis were somehow serpentine in nature. “I never got involved in anything this twisted before,” she admitted, finally. “My kind are pretty straightforward: If we like you, we like you; if we don’t, you’re dead. And there wasn’t a lot that Paulie wanted out of me but simple seduction; he never let me in on any of his complicated schemes. I guess I had better stop trying to ride on my own instinct and follow yours.”
The Boggart relaxed. The last thing he needed right now was a recalcitrant Lorelei on his hands. She was a great asset…and she would have left a serious hole in his planning if she decided to cut her losses and leave them. “Thanks, Lori. I need you on my side to help me figure out how we’re going to get out of this pickle. Now, what’s taking Harry so long?”
Lori shrugged, taking a sip from his bottle of water. That sick feeling in his stomach came back. Humph debated internally, then started gathering up gear; he checked the revolver, made sure it was still fully loaded. “I’m going to head out, see if I can find what’s taking Harry so long. I’ve got a bad feeling for some reason.” That part caught her attention; concern creased her brow. “If I’m not back in three hours, take the money and disappear. No guarantees, but you might be able to slip off alone if you’re careful.”
“Don’t count on me doing anything that sensible,” she retorted. “Let’s hope this time your gut is wrong.” She grabbed him by the ears and kissed him, releasing him again quickly. Then she slipped off into the bowels of the old derelict; he hoped she had herself a hiding place or a back exit or something down there in the darkness. He didn’t waste any more time; he started off out of the hole in the craft, his pace quickening as he oriented himself in the ship graveyard. He broke into a full-on sprint when he heard a commotion on the edge of the lot; it was near one of the entrances, between the lot and an adjoining street. Humph stopped short of the exit, quickly catching his breath and steadying himself before he carefully peered around the corner of the wreck he was hiding behind. He drank in the details immediately; Harry, shouting obscenities, and being manhandled by two hired guns in suits into an all-black and tagless transport before having a black bag roughly pulled over his head. The suits followed him in, slamming the doors shut after them. But the vehicle did not immediately speed off. Maybe they figured there hadn’t been anyone watching them. Or maybe they needed to secure Harry a bit more before they moved.
I’ve got to move fast; if they take off and get into traffic, I’ll never be able to find them again. Humph put on one of his standby disguise faces; he made sure
it was one of the ones he hadn’t used in quite a while, just to be safe. He quickly ran a few dozen yards along the fence and away from the transport before he found a hole in the enclosure big enough for him to slip through. Shit! It’s taking off! The transport was just starting to lift off the ground, readying to join the air traffic. Humph looked around frantically, then ran out into the street to stop a passing aircar; he was almost run over for his trouble twice before one, a junker that looked like it was on its last legs, stopped for him. The driver was a Norm male, and was less than happy with the Boggart. “Fuckin’ idiot! Tryin’ to get yourself kill—” Humph had gone around to the driver’s side, punched the man in the jaw, and ripped him out of the vehicle before he could finish his sentence or properly react. He slammed the door and scanned for the transport. There! It had already lifted off and was moving to merge with traffic; luckily, this wasn’t his first time performing a tail, and he knew all the tricks. Tails were a lot easier—and safer—with multiple vehicles, but he didn’t need any with this bunch; they didn’t seem at all concerned that someone might be following them. Still, he played it cautious; the last thing he needed was to tip his hand and turn this into a proper chase.
Or worse, end up with them chasing him. Whatever happened, he needed to get Harry back, alive. Thoughts raced through his mind as he followed the transport: Did Lori feed Harry to the wolves, tip off the goons to get rid of him? Would she do that to save her own neck? Is she doing that to me now, that final kiss to seal my fate? Loreleis…they were all about themselves. Well, that was what he’d heard, anyway. All Paras that used fascination as a weapon were cold. He supposed it came as part of the territory; how else could you stand to lure someone in, seduce him, then off him, up close and personal, yet oh-so-impersonal?
It wasn’t long until they arrived at their destination; it was a medium-sized warehouse, buried in one of the more run-down industrial sections. The transport went into landing mode and parked in front of the entrance; since the traffic wasn’t as sparse in this part of town, Humph flew past, then turned a corner a block down before parking himself.
“This could get messy,” he muttered. He hated going in cold, not knowing the strength of the opposition, the layout of the building, or any of the other numerous little details that could kill or save him. But this time the Boggart didn’t have any choice; checking and readying his revolver one final time, he started walking toward the warehouse. His destination was the rear door, maybe loading docks if the place had them; with any luck, the security there wouldn’t be as heavy as the front door. His single best hope was that Harry’s captors had no idea there was still any opposition left.
He rounded the corner, then found his way next to a trashcan fire that was burning unattended. Humph pretended to warm his hands as he studied the rear of the building; it didn’t appear that there was any external security. No cameras, sensors, or guards, at least that he could make out. Maybe they had to set this place up in a hurry. Or maybe they’re not planning on sticking around all that long. Either way, I need to get in there and get out with Harry, the sooner the better. He made his way slowly over to the warehouse door, crossing the street and trying to look like just another bum down on his luck, stopping to peek inside dumpsters and trash cans—at least, the ones that weren’t on fire. Once he reached the door, he did a very quick check on it; not even so much as an alarm appeared to be hooked up to it, just a simple lock. It took him a few minutes of working at the lock with his picks, but he finally cracked it. Slowly, he opened the door, then slipped inside, closing it behind him. He had just enough time to place the picks back into his pocket with his watch when he heard a voice from behind.
“Put your hands up and turn around slowly, or you’re a dead man.”
Shit. Humph grabbed his watch, then complied with the demands, raising his hands and turning around slowly. He was greeted with the muzzle of a rather mean-looking shock-gun being held by a rather mean-looking guard. One squeeze of the firing stud, and the Boggart would either be incapacitated or fried to a crisp.
“Please, mister, I was just hungry an’ lookin’ for food! Don’t kill me!” He whispered urgently, then proffered his watch. “Here, take this! It’s the only thing of value I have, I swear!” He dropped the watch, then kicked it with his boot so that it slid behind the guard.”
“Shut up, and keep your hands where I can see them.” The guard reached for his radio, then blinked hard; the trespasser had disappeared before his eyes. He didn’t feel a thing when Humph clubbed him over the back of the head with the butt of his revolver. Humph caught the man as he slumped to the floor, setting him down gently. He checked for a pulse; there was none. That’s the thing about getting hit in the head; if it’s hard enough to knock you out for any significant amount of time, it’s also probably hard enough to damn near kill you. Tough break. Humph had a quick burst of inspiration. He started to strip the man down, putting on his uniform; a simple black jumpsuit and a load-bearing vest with tactical gear. To complete the look, he changed his face to that of the guard’s, scooping up his shock-gun.
“Thanks,” Humph said as he wedged the dead guard’s body between a couple of shipping crates; hopefully no one would be able to easily stumble upon him there. There was something incredibly pathetic about the whole little scene; one poor idiot, dead in his underwear, crammed into a space full of dust and mouse turds. Helluva way to end your life.
Shit, he probably deserved it. No time to ponder it now. He did his level best to act casual; he needed to put off the vibe that he belonged here, after all. It took him less than a minute to get to the center of the room through the labyrinth of shipping containers. Humph didn’t like what he saw; there was a cleared space in the middle of the room, with Harry tied to a chair with the black hood still over his head. There were two suits standing in front of him, arms crossed in front of their chests and smug grins on their lips. Three more guards were spread out in the open space, all of them with shock-guns; probably more elsewhere in the warehouse. Harry was saying something, but Humph couldn’t make it out, so he walked closer.
“…you bastards just wait! You’re going to regret the day you ever, ever laid a hand on me. My mother is going to make your lives hell!”
The suit on the right casually leaned forward and slapped Harry through the hood, hard. “Whatever you say, pretty boy. Just wait until the boss gets here; then we’ll see how much you feel like issuing threats that your ass can’t cash.” The suit checked his watch, then chuckled. “In fact, he ought to be here in just a couple of minutes.”
There were too many guards for Humph to fry before he’d get fried in return; they weren’t grouped close enough together to get all of them in one blast, at least without hitting Harry in the process. He had to come up with something fast; whoever this boss was that the suit was talking about, Humph was pretty sure he wouldn’t be alone when he arrived. He kept walking closer, then found what he was looking for. Keeping his shock-gun ready but trying to be discreet, he strolled up to a control panel and started to quickly punch in commands. The suit that had slapped Harry took notice.
“Hey! Simmons, you’re supposed to be patrolling your sector of the perimeter. What do you think you’re doing?”
“Redecorating.” Humph mashed a final button. Machinery whirred to life overhead as a crane activated with a hum, swinging down and then flailing crazily. It struck a stack of containers, sending them toppling over; the topmost one crushed one of the guards as the others scattered. The suit looked back to Humph, disbelief being replaced by rage just before he caught a blast from the shock-gun; he burst into flame, jerking wildly with the voltage. The other suit and one of the guards managed to dive out of the way of the shot, scrambling for cover from the falling shipping containers and the shock-gun. Humph ran over to Harry, who was squirming in his seat from all the loud crashing and weapons fire. He grabbed Harry, tearing the hood off. “Hold still!”
“Don’t kill me!” Harry started squirmin
g harder.
Humph took a second, then dropped his glamour in annoyance, revealing his true face. “It’s me, dumbass! Hold still so I can cut the rope!” He extended his claws, then started sawing at the rope around Harry’s wrists.
“Humph? Humph! You came to save me? How’d you find me?” With a final cut, Harry’s hands came free.
“Fewer questions, more running! Let’s go!”
The shipping containers were still being knocked over as the crane followed the erratic and conflicting instructions Humph had programmed into it. The guards and the suit were starting to recover; Humph sent a blast from the shock-gun their way, even though they were outside of its pitifully short range; it’d give them something to think about at any rate. He grabbed Harry by the arm and then shoved him toward the exit. Both of them started running, skidding to stops and dodging as crates and containers rained down all around them. Fortunately the same falling objects were making life just as difficult for their pursuers. It was pandemonium; between running herd on Harry, dodging the falling crates, and occasionally shooting over his shoulder to dissuade their pursuers, Humph had his hands full. One guard ran into their path; Harry actually gut-punched him, shoving him out of the way before continuing his dash. At some point—Humph didn’t even remember how—he picked up a second shock-gun.
The exit suddenly loomed in front of them, salvation for at least a few moments. Humph could still hear shouting and barked orders from behind them over the din. He and Harry burst through the warehouse door one after the other.
“What now? We can’t lead them back to Lori!” Kid is actually starting to use his head. If we live through this, he might actually be worth his salt.
“Here!” Humph reached into his belt, pulled out the revolver, and thrust it into Harry’s hands. “Go hide behind that dumpster on the other side of the street, I’ll be right there!” Humph had to work fast; he fished out a torsion wrench from his lockpick kit and jammed it into the emitter of one of the shock-guns. Then he keyed the firing stud, using the grip from the other shock-gun to keep it depressed; the shock-gun started to emit an insistent whine that was growing in intensity with each passing second. Humph set the jerry-rigged guns down gingerly, then sprinted as hard and fast as he could over to the dumpster that Harry was hiding behind. Harry startled for a half-second before he recognized Humph. “Gimme the gun!” Harry handed the heavy revolver to the Boggart; Humph took very careful aim at the shock-guns, and waited.
Reboots: Diabolical Streak Page 9