by Adam Carter
The racking in front of him exploded into fragments and Baronaire ducked, hearing the shotgun pumping again.
“There he is!” someone shouted. “Go!”
Counting to three, which didn’t calm him at all, Baronaire rose and fired off four consecutive shots. Not having much of a life outside of work, Baronaire spent a lot of his time training. And Sanders liked all his senior staff to know how to wield firearms, even if they were seldom allowed to use them in the line of duty. Three of his shots tore through either chest or head, the fourth missing and glancing off a shoulder, and Baronaire dropped once more, always moving. He could see a ladder ahead of him and knew it would be his first step to the roof, if only he could ...
Suddenly he was yanked back again and Luis tossed him into the centre of the warehouse. Baronaire fell into a video camera, and it fell on top of him. Pushing the thing away in haste, he rose to his feet just in time to find himself surrounded by the remaining thugs.
“You are so dead, pal,” the leader was ranting, his mind in shock from having seen his guys gunned down before him. Baronaire figured it didn’t matter what filth a guy was into; until a man supposedly protecting you was gunned down metres away from you, you could never know real horror. “You’re dead!”
“Yeah,” Baronaire said calmly. “Dealt with that possibility a long time ago. Who wants to join me?” He no longer had his gun; he could see it lying near the ladder where Luis had grabbed him. It had been his only weapon, but then aside from the leader waving the shotgun around these monkeys were pretty much armed only with pipes and melee weapons. There was a chance Baronaire could take them.
If only it wasn’t one in the afternoon.
A terrible explosion rocked the warehouse suddenly and all heads turned to the main doors as they blew inwards. Baronaire stared in shock as a familiar car shot through the ruined doors. It slammed into the van and skidded so its driver could level a shotgun out the window, resting across the left hand he was using to drive the car. The gun fired once and one of the hired muscle was blown backwards.
Baronaire ran for the car in the confusion. One man tried to stop him, but Baronaire ducked nimbly those large and clumsy arms before leaping through the air. The car was headed towards him and Baronaire landed heavily across its bonnet. The car veered, heading for the entrance once more, as Baronaire clambered through the window into the passenger seat.
“Sanders said you needed backup,” Jeremiah laughed. “Said you must have forgotten to take me along.”
“Strange, we both agreed you were too much of a head-case for this mission.”
“Sometimes all it takes is a head-case, Charles.”
“What’s with the gun?” There was no way Sanders would have assigned Jeremiah, of all people, a firearm.
Jeremiah grinned. “Just something Sanders doesn’t know I have.” They broke out onto the open road once more and Jeremiah glanced into his wing-mirror to ascertain whether they were being chased.
“They won’t pursue,” Baronaire said. “They failed, they have to report back now.”
“Doldress?”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s our next stop?”
“We?”
“In this for the long-haul, Charles.”
Baronaire grunted. He had no doubt that Sanders had indeed sent him, and perhaps Jeremiah was right. Perhaps it was time to stop creeping around everywhere. “Take us to Doldress,” he said. “I’ve had enough of this, pal. Let’s wring this maggot by his neck.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
It did not prove difficult to speak with Hector Doldress. Once Baronaire and Jeremiah drew up outside his house, his security force simply let them in. Both had been expecting a fight, and as they were escorted into the lounge – whose door Baronaire had been listening at not so long ago – they were left with a sense of confusion and nervous anticipation.
“It’s what he wants, you know,” Jeremiah said, sinking into a chair and putting his feet up on a statue’s head. He didn’t much care how much the thing was worth. “He has control of this situation still, Charles.”
“Killing him won’t regain us control, just a whole lot a hassle.”
“So what are we here for?”
Baronaire was looking about the room, slowly pacing. “I don’t know.”
“Surely you’re not intending to appeal to his better nature?”
“Frankly I’d prefer to kill him. But Sanders has rules for a reason, Jeremiah.”
Jeremiah shrugged. “It’d blow over, I’m sure.”
“Gentlemen,” Doldress announced as he entered the lounge. His guards closed the door after him, leaving the three men alone. Doldress was finely dressed, all smiles, and strolled across to the drinks’ cabinet, where he immediately poured three whiskeys. “Don’t you know it’s foul manners to plan your host’s demise?”
What with all the confusion and haste earlier Baronaire had not taken the time to even properly assimilate this man who was his enemy. Doldress was a man so rich his idea of dressing casual was unbuttoning the top button of his three thousand pound suit. His jet black hair was slicked back as though he hero-worshipped Italian gangster films and his thin lips were the perpetual sneer of a man who thinks himself superior. His eyes betrayed not only an intense vanity but also sparkled with malicious glee. They were the hungry eyes of a fox trapped in a henhouse; just so long as it was the right class of hen. Crystal had put it best by calling him an upper-class jerk. Thoughts of his time with Crystal however, especially how he had probably lost her now as a tool, only hardened Baronaire’s determination to see this through. He would make the city safe for prostitutes even if the prostitutes themselves had abandoned him.
Baronaire ignored the proffered drink. “Don’t you know it’s foul manners to murder innocent young women?”
“Innocent?” Doldress asked, glad Jeremiah at least had accepted the drink. “I’d hardly call Ms Reynolds innocent.”
“She never harmed anyone in her life.”
“She did when I was paying her to.”
“Nice duds,” Jeremiah cut in before Baronaire could really lose it. He glanced at his partner, silently reminding Baronaire this was all about control. “I especially like this rug.”
“Ah, a man of taste,” Doldress said. “Yes, a Kirman Vase Carpet.”
“Nice,” Jeremiah said.
“Mid-seventeenth century, southeast Persia. One half the size of mine has recently been valued at over six million. I also have a Safavid silk rug of ...” His face fell as Jeremiah casually poured his whiskey onto the floor.
“Not worth much now,” Jeremiah sighed, getting comfortable and managing to kick the nose off the statue he was using as a footrest.
Doldress shook his head, refusing to be cowed by these two men. He set his glass aside and faced them imperiously. “What exactly do you people want with me?”
“You set me up,” Baronaire told him simply. “Tried to kill me.”
“I’d like to see you prove it. You private detectives or police?”
“Does it matter?”
“I just like to know who I’m dealing with. I’ll be straight with you. I know you have an inside man. First that thing with Crystal, then you surviving the warehouse? Things like that just don’t happen. Not with the money I pay. You have a mole here, and I’m in the process of ferretting him out, have no worry there.”
“Ferret out a mole?” Jeremiah chuckled to himself.
Doldress ignored him. “I want you to know you’re losing,” he told Baronaire. “It won’t be long now. Soon I’ll have you right where I want you.”
“Good luck with that,” Baronaire snorted.
“I am a man with friends,” Doldress warned. “You don’t begin to understand just who you’re dealing with here.”
“This started with me looking into Nields,” Baronaire said, knowing how easy it would be to kill this man and rules be damned. “Turns out we don’t need Nields. You’re a shady enough character
to bring yourself down.”
“Like to see you prove that too.”
Baronaire said nothing. He took two very slow steps towards Doldress, who refused to cower. “Everyone has a weakness, Doldress. It may take us a while to find yours, but once we have it, believe you me you’re going to prison.”
Doldress looked away, made a show of going for more ice. Baronaire and Jeremiah could both see the man was unnerved and neither spoke, for the ball was in Doldress’s court now.
“All right,” he said at last, turning to face them again. “How much?”
“How much?” Baronaire asked. “How much what?”
“Even you’re not that dense. How much to get you people off my back? Ten? Twenty?”
“Twenty-five,” Baronaire said.
“Twenty-five it is then.”
“Twenty-five to life.”
Jeremiah laughed to himself, settled back in the chair. He knew he didn’t have to say anything in this exchange and was just enjoying the show.
Doldress glanced to Jeremiah, but his attention was fully upon Baronaire. “Irksome fellow, aren’t you? If I can’t buy you off, I’m just going to have to kill you. You know that, right?”
“I know you’ll try again,” Baronaire said. “But you don’t know where I live, where I work. You know nothing about me. While I know everything about you. You’ll slip up sooner or later, and then you’re mine.” He turned and headed slowly for the door. Jeremiah realised that was his cue and got to his feet in an ungainly manner which saw his fingernails tear the fabric of the chair. Jeremiah had very sharp nails.
“Hold on a ...” Doldress floundered. “Where are you ... What was the point in coming here if you’re not going to accept any money?”
Baronaire did not answer and passed through the door. There were guards posted either side, and they looked questioningly into Doldress, who was shaking and already pouring himself another whiskey. One of the guards detached himself from sentry duty in order to show the two men to the door.
“Kinda agreeing with him there, Charles,” Jeremiah whispered as they walked. “What was the point in coming here?”
“I wanted to see how scared the man was. Scared men make mistakes. He’s about ready to make the biggest mistake of his life.” They exited the house and walked slowly to the main gate. “I’ve got an idea, but I need you with me on this.”
“Always with you, Charles.”
“Wasn’t talking to you.”
Jeremiah glanced then at their escort and shrugged.
“This could end bad for me, mister,” Joe said. “This an idea or a sure thing?”
“No such thing as a sure thing, Joe,” Baronaire said. “But it’ll work so long as we all keep our heads.”
They had reached the gates by then, although Joe still seemed uncertain. “This could go bad real quick,” he said.
“Yes,” Baronaire told him straight. “But it could also work. And I think it will. If everyone plays their part. Doldress is panicking now, he’ll make a mistake. It’s all about control, Joe. We stay calm, we have him.”
Joe still seemed in two minds, but finally he nodded. “All right. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“I’ll phone you when you get home. Just pull a double-shift and be back here tonight.”
“You don’t know my number.”
“I have everyone’s number.” Baronaire stepped out the gate, Jeremiah in tow.
“So this is going down tonight?” Joe asked. “Is it a good idea to do it so soon?”
“While he’s still scared,” Baronaire said. “Besides, night’s when Jeremiah and I come out to play.” He smiled slightly, although if it was at a memory or private thought, Joe could not say. He closed the gate and went back to work. Whoever those two people were, they were truly dangerous men to know.
*
“You want me to what?”
It was late afternoon. Baronaire had contacted Joe, who had revealed his surname to be Fletcher, and arranged everything. He had returned to the bunker alone, leaving Jeremiah to keep an eye on the house. Once it began to get dark Jeremiah could move in properly, but until then they were forced to play a waiting game. There was one further player to be brought in, however, and Baronaire had been dreading raising the issue with her. He would much preferred to have been able to continue using Crystal, but his general pig-headedness had firmly closed that door. Now he was dry of alternatives and had to go for the only option he had remaining; the very thing he had been trying to avoid since this case began. He silently thanked Crystal once again for just walking out on him.
“It’s perfectly safe,” he told Detective Foster. “Jeremiah and I’ll be watching you the entire time.”
“Well that makes me feel so much better.”
“Sorry, that came out wrong. Look, we need another hooker inside and we can’t use Crystal again. Joe Fletcher will vouch for you, Doldress will believe you’re legit, and we get an officer inside his house undercover.”
“And whose covers would I be under exactly?” Foster folded her arms. “Not doing it, Charles.”
“It’s already arranged with Fletcher.”
“Well unarrange it. What are you doing, committing me to this before checking with me anyway?”
“Well I just thought you’d be up for it. You’re always trying to see what work I’m doing, I figured you’d jump at the chance to help me out.”
“You already owe me one, Charles, I don’t have to do this.”
“Sharon ... I thought we were friends.”
Some of her frustrated defiance melted in that moment and she looked away. Baronaire could see her forcing the anger back and her lip protruded once more at the thought of what he was asking of her. “Still not doing it.”
“Look, I need this guy taken out. You do this for me, I’ll owe you big time.”
“How big?”
“Well ... big.”
“Big ... take me to the cinema big?”
“That film still out?” he groaned.
“It was only this morning we were talking about it.”
“Been a long day.”
“That a yes?”
He could sense her excitement and was as confused as ever. He did not understand Detective Foster, her constant mood shifts, her general excitability. And she didn’t ever seem to bother anyone else in the office, just him all the time. It was annoying to say the least, but the very thought of spending an entire evening with her ...
But he needed her if he was to see this plan through, and was a couple of hours in a dark room really that bad a punishment?
“All right,” he said. “I’ll take you to the cinema.”
Foster veritably squealed, seemed on the verge of throwing her arms around him – which incidentally he was glad she didn’t – and hurried off, saying she had to get an outfit ready. For the mission or the cinema, Baronaire had no idea. But then he had never understood women and wasn’t about to start now.
He went back to his desk to find DCI Sanders waiting for him. There was no one else around and Baronaire could feel he was in for another stern telling off.
“Detective Foster seems excited,” Sanders noted.
“She’s very excitable.”
“Must be your blazing personality.”
Baronaire grunted. “I’m using her for an undercover op. She’s agreed.”
“She has her own work, Charles.”
“And you told me to choose a partner by 4 p.m. and oh look it’s 4 p.m..”
“Do I at least get Jeremiah back?”
“You get us all back after tonight.”
“You certain of that?”
“Trust me.”
“Never.”
Baronaire could have laughed, but refrained. He and Sanders had a strange relationship. They were not friends, would never be that much, but they respected one another and knew well the other’s limitations. They played to their strengths, and had the same vision, the same morals. They did not l
ike one another, but they tolerated one another. For the sake of the mission.
“I want a full report on my desk by the morning,” Sanders said, leaving him to it. “Oh, and if any harm comes to Detective Foster, I’ll have your head, Charles. I throw you a bone now and then, but this is a night operation. I know you work best at night, but it’s also when your beast comes out. She dies, you die.”
“I’ll protect her.”
“Yes,” Sanders said speculatively and returned to his office.
It was a strange relationship indeed, and Baronaire hoped it would continue for a long while to come.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Night came swiftly and Baronaire appeared in the attic of Doldress’s abode. It was a huge area filled with crates and boxes, several original pieces of artwork protruding from loose bubble wrap. Untold riches collecting dust like some abandoned Aladdin’s cave. There was no light within the attic, but then Baronaire did not need light by which to see. Night had fallen and his senses were awakened once more.
Day was strange to Baronaire. Whereas most human beings were alert during the day and slept at night, tiring as the evening wore on, tired when they woke in the mornings, Baronaire suffered no such troubles. He seldom slept, it was not in his nature to waste time in such pursuits. His work generally kept him up at all hours, and if he ever had the night off he would go wandering the city, drinking in the sights and sounds and smells of a living metropolis. For the night was when Charles Baronaire truly came alive, when his senses were clear and he did not feel as though he was dragging his sluggish body through the morass of day-to-day life.
Baronaire lived for the night. He did not understand why, did not fully understand what he was. He knew he wasn’t like other men, other humans. He had not only heightened senses but abilities humans simply did not have. Ordinary humans could not turn into a white mist and float around on the air, ordinary humans could not mesmerise people. And he had yet to meet an ordinary human who gloried as much as he in the terror of innocent young women.