by Al K. Line
Doing It In Style
Men rushed toward us, my nose tickled, Vicky jabbed her fingers at anything she could, and I searched the interior frantically, sure there must be an easy way to get the damn thing started.
"Start," I muttered, pointing my wand at the array of mystical buttons and switches. White energy crackled from the tip of my wand in a panic that was clearly contagious and the helicopter juddered then spasmed into life.
The blades spun and over the roar I shouted to Vicky, "Strap in," as I yanked on the harness as fast as I could.
Vicky's eyes widened but she managed to get herself secured even as she shouted, "Is this a good idea?"
"No, a very bad one," I bellowed as a goon yanked the door open and I kicked him squarely in the head.
How did I get it off the ground? More buttons, or just pull back on one of the levers? There was one to my left, one in front of me between my legs, but there were also pedals. Did it work like a manual car? Were there gears?
"Ah, fuck it," I groaned, and pulled back on the lever to the left, or was it the other one? I was so panicked I honestly didn't know what I was doing. The deathtrap rose with a terrible whining that I was sure wasn't good, but at least we were off the ground, which was good. What was definitely not good were the men fanned out beneath us, all carrying weapons, all pointing up at us.
I cackled as we lifted higher, no way would they shoot. We'd crash and probably explode and their precious building would go up in flames. I settled into my seat, turned and winked at Vicky, who, for some reason, was sweating and gripping the seat so tight she was pulling out the stuffing. Then I focused on my flying.
We were above the top of the building now but all we'd done was go up, we had to actually get away. Which way? Like it mattered. I carefully grabbed the controls between my legs and gave an experimental jiggle. Bad move, the helicopter shuddered and wobbled like we were gonna flip, so I put it back into its center position and we leveled off.
Vicky looked at me dubiously, I shrugged my shoulders, and tried again. Gently. We angled to the left and banked that way, but lost altitude almost immediately. Hell, how complicated could they make these things? So I had to control the lift and the angle, how was that supposed to work? And what about the pedals?
I wiggled things, I pressed down on things I ought not to press down on, and I used what I guess was like a steering wheel to turn us in several directions until I saw somewhere we could land and make our escape.
Then I took a breath, blew the feathers from my face, and went for it.
As we increased speed and banked hard to the right, we shot over the tops of the buildings and past the heaving, morose traffic, through air thick with noxious chemicals toward trees and fields. Even metropolises such as this have parks; you have to keep the populace at least semi-sane if they are to remain.
The ride was not thrilling, the ride was not smooth, the ride was mostly a hardly controlled hurtle toward a very uncertain future as I tried to control the speed, and failed miserably as how the hell were you supposed to think about, let alone operate, two things at once? Apparently, women can do it, or they say they can. I believe it. Inevitably, we turned left sharply and clipped the trees. That was it, we were out of control, just a few minutes from Cerberus HQ.
Thinking it best to let gravity do what it did best, and having watched enough movies to know that a crashing helicopter with spinning blades was never a good idea, I flashed weak magic at the controls and they sparked then the motor died.
As we spun and headed nose-first toward a playing field, thankfully empty at such an ungodly hour apart from several dog walkers, the world suddenly became silent as the rotors slowed without power. With no time to think about the consequences of my next move, I released my harness, reached over Vicky and did the same to hers, grabbed her in a tight bear hug, blasted her door away, and pushed off hard with my feet.
We fell from on high like two battered bricks tied with a piece of string, the helicopter made a weird cranking noise—you probably aren't meant to shut them down mid-flight—then plummeted into the park and exploded in a most spectacular way. The resulting shockwave lifted us from our descent and shunted us sideways, slamming us into a tree that would have crushed our bones and our stupid heads if I hadn't put up a hurried, and not quite perfect protective shield that bounced us off a branch. We careened backward, hit the trunk of another tree that took the air out of me, and then we smacked into a bed of pine needles.
"And that," I groaned, "is why I hate flying."
As if timed to absolute imperfection, Vicky's phone began playing the theme tune to Wonder Woman. She was getting a call. I let down the shield, released her from my hug, and she fumbled out her phone as I rolled onto my back and lay very still.
"Hello?"
I could hear mumbling and shouting from the other end of the line. The Slug. Damn, what was his name again?
"Sorry, sorry, I got caught up in, er, work."
More shouting, Vicky's face flushing the longer the tirade went on.
"I didn't know," she said, checking her watch. "Of course I'll be there to take them to school. When have I ever missed doing that?"
More shouts.
"Apart from those times? I'll be there soon, just make them breakfast and get them ready please, but I'll take the girls to school like I always do." Vicky hung up. I pulled a twig from her unraveling ponytail.
"Do not," she warned, "say a word."
"Wouldn't dream of it. Shall we steal a car?"
"Yes." Vicky's eyes didn't even sparkle with excitement. When it came to her kids, she took her responsibilities very seriously.
A feather landed on my knee where my combats were ripped.
Mom Stuff
The drive took hours that felt like many torturous lifetimes stuck in the most devilishly devised of hells. I knew that when I finally died and got stuck on a loop in my everlasting afterlife this would be my punishment. To forever repeat this journey, to speed across the country on its network of motorways, setting off every speed camera, my body hurting, my mind screaming, wishing I was back in the helicopter, anywhere apart from in a stolen car with an utterly manic, completely stressed-out, jabbering, intermittently screaming, sometimes yelling into the phone, Vicky.
Yeah, we were late picking the kids up for school, and Harry, a.k.a. the Slug, was not happy.
Neither was I.
I had my own set of problems to worry about. For one, I had to cancel the exchange with Ivan, and you shouldn't piss off gangster vampire werewolves for obvious reasons. Two, we'd just killed Nathan, and Cerberus probably wouldn't take kindly to that, especially as they knew I knew all about the warehouse now. Three, if what I thought was in the silver box in my barn belonged to who, or what, I thought it did, it was very, very bad to have not got rid of it at the earliest possible opportunity, as the true owner, and not the guy I stole it off, seemed to have somehow known I was going to take it before I had. That's the problem with such entities, they can be anywhere, any time, and this one had obviously been keeping its eyes and ears open for any mention of the book.
But, and it made everything else pale into insignificance, the worst thing of all was Vicky screeching and sobbing, shouting and generally giving me abuse for not driving faster. When we got stuck in traffic just a few minutes from her home I honestly thought my head would explode. I wished it would. Brains splattered all over the plush interior of the Mercedes Benz would have been preferable to listening to her moaning a moment longer.
"Told you not to come," I said. "Not when there's school in the morning."
Vicky turned her cold gaze on me and the pressure built. Her neck turned puce, her cheeks swelled until she looked like a rabid chipmunk, a thick vein throbbed at her temple, and I only just ducked in time as she punched out fast and hard.
"You're the one who took me to see Beast. You're the one who crashed the helicopter. This is your mess."
I shrugged. "I'm a bloody gangster,
this kind of thing happens all the time. You know that."
"Do not."
"And besides," I offered brightly, "you're the one who killed Nathan. So, nah."
As my nose split and blood splashed onto the cream leather, I realized this wasn't the right time to have that discussion.
Ten minutes later, with a tissue stuck up my nose and Vicky in tears, I pulled up outside her house. The Slug was on the doorstep, tapping his foot. His obese body rippled under his crisp white shirt.
Vicky flinched in the car, looking truly worried. "You okay?" She nodded. "He'll understand." With a pout, she got out then bent to say something.
I burned rubber to the shout of, "You coming in?"
Like hell I was.
I went straight to the only place I knew I could go and not get shouted at by women.
Satan Breathes
"You know it's after you, right?" said the Turk as I approached the small counter at Satan's Breath.
"What! How the hell do you know? You sure?"
The Turk rolled up a towel and placed it with the rest behind him on a new shelving unit. Guess he was doing minor renovations, first I'd ever seen. His thick mustache twitched as he smiled and his belly wobbled underneath his stained white vest. He was way too hairy to walk around like this, but it was his place, his rules. He nodded, dark eyes dancing.
"Damn. What's so funny? And how do you know stuff like this?"
"Because I'm the Turk."
"Whatever, just give me a towel. A clean one. No stains."
The Turk handed me one that actually smelled nice, like lemons, and I snatched it off him and went off in a huff into the changing rooms. Goddamn it. If he could sense this thing after me, I was in deep do-do. Why'd I have to get greedy and take this job from Ivan? And that was another thing. He must have known what I was getting for him. Meaning, Mikalus definitely knew, so they'd put me in this position knowing the likely outcome. I'd have to have a word. Politely, of course.
But first things first. I needed to chill, or sweat. Relax, I needed to relax. I waved away the wards guarding my locker, ignored the artifacts I kept stored there even as they turned the air blue with magical pleas of release, stashed my clothes, and wrapped the towel around my waist. It was with calm descending that I put my hat back on my head, set it to circulate icy air around my scalp, and prepared to get sweaty.
The main room was quiet. It was early and wizards aren't usually early risers apart from yours truly, so I had the place almost to myself. The large pool—recently redone after an incident with a demon that ruined the tile work—was bubbling and just right to slow-cook the flesh off your bones, the air was thick with steam, and everything felt right with the world if only for a short while.
Over the next ten minutes I slowly lowered myself into the water, watching with interest as my skin shone pink then puce, but got myself in and leaned against the side, coming to a slow boil. I sweated out the poisons of the city and my own warped mind and actions as my pores opened, until the noxious vileness of the modern world clouded above me, leaving me free and lightheaded.
I ached on just about every level, from muscle down to bone. Even my ears hurt, but that was probably from listening to Vicky. But this was Satan's Breath, palace of wonder for wizards such as I, a realm of true steam magic, and soon enough the effects of the workout, the running, the crashing, and whatever other nonsense had gone on—much of it already feeling like a disturbed dream—slowly faded as the heat eased the hurt until I drifted on a sea of scalding purity that scoured me clean and scrubbed away the madness if just for a short while.
So, I'd taken something I really ought not to have taken, nothing new there, and now the true owner was after me. I just had to go get it, give it to Ivan, and that would be that. It would be his problem then, nothing more to do with me. Looking at it like that it didn't seem so bad. I'd drive to the portal, do a quick trip home, take the book to Ivan, get paid and get on with my life.
But what life was that? Be a father? I was doing that, wasn't I? George didn't want me hanging around, she had her own life to lead and of late that had meant a lot less of me. But I could keep the house in better shape, ensure I was always there for meals. Look what happened when I took jobs. I'd missed breakfast again, hadn't even called, had I? I tried to think back but my memory was foggier than the room I was in. I had a vague recollection of calling George, but that could easily have been another day, another level of madness.
Maybe I should be a stay-at-home-dad, but that was for when your kids were young, not when they were maturing women with their own lives to lead. Take it easy, focus on the vegetable plots? Get more animals? I did all that stuff anyway, it wasn't like I worked all the time. Sometimes there were weeks or months when I did nothing but hang out with Vicky or stay home and focus on improving my magical abilities. Something I'd neglected of late, ever since Vicky became properly involved now I came to think about it.
I smiled at the thought of her nuttiness, not that I'd been smiling earlier, mind you. She was something else that one, a tiny bag of bonkers. Mad as a box of frogs and then some.
Maybe I could take up a new line of work? Something less dangerous? Haha, who was I kidding? This was who I was, the choice I'd made, and I had many years ahead of me if I didn't get myself killed for the final time. Maybe hundreds of years. What else was I gonna do but mix with the undesirables and steal magical items for high-paying clients? I wasn't about to go back to the wayward life of my younger days, where I was more a bodyguard for the major players both magical and not so magical. Those days were behind me and it hurt too much when I got hit anyway. Let the youngsters do that nonsense.
No, I was old enough, certainly ugly enough, to admit the truth about myself and my future. I was, and would always be, The Hat. And The Hat did whatever the fuck he wanted to.
I sank under the water, then came up spluttering and swearing. I'd forgotten to take my bloody hat off my head.
Time to go home and get this stupid bloody debacle over with. I'd tell Ivan that we were through, no more jobs for the vampires. I'd tell him without getting angry, of course. I may be The Hat, but I'm not stupid. Not all the time, anyway.
Dirty Again
Exfoliated to within an inch of my life, pores tight from a cold shower before I boiled, hat dried off with a touch of magic, and feeling semi-human again, I passed the Turk giving an ancient wizard grief for blow-drying his balls in the locker room—it was about time someone set the old dude straight, what is with that?—and exited Satan's Breath.
Cracked concrete and dilapidated buildings greeted me in this part of the city, familiar and comforting in their own way. A breeze ruffled my long hair and tickled my beard—I needed some serious grooming but to be honest I just couldn't be bothered. It wasn't like the women were queuing up to fondle my bits, in fact it had been so long I wasn't even a hundred percent sure I still had bits down there. Maybe the old dude knew something I didn't, and I should get a hairdryer?
Distracted, I didn't notice the chill until my teeth began to chatter and my eyelashes felt frosty. I brushed at my eyes and breathed deeply through my nose, the icy air stinging my nostrils.
"Great, what now?" I muttered, willing the magic that had gathered inside me while I rested in the pool to ready for action. I was far from on top form, needed at least a half day in my Quiet Room and to focus properly for that to happen, but I'd made do with less in the past so what was a poor, charming, heroic wizard to do?
I peered forward at the rippling concrete and the weeds that froze even as I watched, then one flattened with an audible crunch and I whipped out my wand and sigils activated as warm air gushed from the tip to counter what was, I was sure, a very poor veil.
Orange heat highlighted a ball of protection several paces away then chewed through it before fizzing out in the dull morning like the dying embers of a rain-soaked fire.
"Don't tell me," I groaned. "You're the replacement, right?"
"It's the tweed
, isn't it?" said the tall man with a genuinely pleasant smile.
"That and the air of smugness that surrounds you. Can you read what I'm surrounded by? It's the air of fuckoffness I'm directing right at you. So, why don't you do just that?"
"Haha, Nathan told me you were funny." He thought for a moment, a slim finger rubbing against his clean-shaven chin. "Hmmm, actually he said you were annoying and too damn good at what you did, but he did like you."
"I have that effect on people. It's the one-liners, gets them every time."
"That's not what got Nathan though, is it? You killed him. Murdered him."
"It was an accident. And besides, you lot have been after me for long enough, interfering, being a bloody nuisance."
"I could say the same about you, Arthur 'The Hat' Salzman. Is that a Jewish name? It's not easy to find out much about you."
"Fuck off, don't play games with me. I'm sure you know everything about me, or my past anyway. So, what do you want?"
"First, let me introduce myself. I'm Carmichael, Nathan's replacement."
I studied him while he spoke, but it was just more of the usual. The higher-ups in Cerberus had an uncanny knack of all looking the same even if their features were different. Carmichael was tall, six-five, with a gangly build. But he held himself with military bearing, spoke in that clipped way that told of time in the army bossing about the grunts, and clearly kept in shape.
He oozed wealthy background, private school, always knowing the right people. One of the good old boys, the kind of guy that went to private member's clubs and hobnobbed with those in positions of power. CEOs and politicians, those running the spies, those running Cerberus, probably the country, and who knew what else.
Basically, the absolute opposite of me, and I did not like his suit either. He had a neatly folded handkerchief poking out of his breast pocket, and I wanted to strangle him with it.
Carmichael raised an eyebrow at me, and I knew we weren't going to be friends. I waited him out, but he didn't frown or act annoyed, just smiled and hummed. Buster's hat, this guy was chilled. He'd probably spent years honing his waiting game as he plotted to get rid of Nathan and move up a notch in Cerberus, which was how I imagined these guys liked to pass the time.