by Black, Regan
On cue, Mira's stomach rumbled. "How long was I out?" She adjusted the bed and accepted the aromatic tray.
"Long enough," Jaden evaded. "I was only told to pick you up and bring you here."
Mira poked at the scrambled eggs, wondering if she could trust the food. "And here is?"
"Chicago." Jaden leaned forward and took a bite of the eggs in question. "The food's safe. You're safe, I promise."
Mira couldn't argue without information and denying herself would only weaken her. Besides, if her mother was right, she'd be dead by now, or worse, stripped of her gift. She ate, only mildly uncomfortable as Jaden watched in silence.
"I brought you some better clothes and supplies," she said, patting the shopping bag.
"Thanks."
"I don't know what kind of trouble you're in specifically. We were just the pick up team. But if you need something while you're here, just tell someone."
"How long am I expected to stay?" Although the food was so good, if her Dad wasn't in trouble she might be convinced to stick around.
Jaden raised her hands, palms out. "Again, I don't have the details. You'll have to ask the boss."
"Does the boss have a name?"
Jaden's grin was fast and full of light. "Slick Micky."
The name had Mira choking on her coffee. A terrible thing to do to such an excellent brew. Everyone who spent more than five minutes in Chicago would've felt the same. Micky had a ruthless reputation on the street for delivering anything, anytime, anywhere. Last she'd heard, he'd been declared dead, not that she believed it. "I've been smuggled?" Good grief, who would've arranged that? Her mother was in on it with who else? And what did they tell him she could offer in trade?
"Looks like." Jaden rose to leave. "Don't worry about it. Take your time with breakfast. The door's unlocked and his office is two floors down whenever you feel up to it."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. And good luck."
Mira figured she'd need some luck on her side for the task her mother had given her. She savored the rest of her breakfast, refilled her coffee mug from the small carafe, then set the tray aside and poked through the shopping bag.
Jaden, or whoever had done the shopping, had thought of everything.
As she climbed out of bed, she wasn't surprised her pockets were empty. Someone had found the key and contact lens box. Maybe the person who had the items now would know what to do with them. So far, she had no idea.
With her limited options, Mira took her time getting around and indulged in a real water shower to dust off the last of the mental cobwebs. No wonder Micky's mules were notoriously loyal.
She stared at her reflection as she brushed her teeth, her mind drifting over that last cryptic encounter with her mother.
She had to assume the black bag was with the same person who took the key. A study of the tidy white room as she absently worked the toothbrush over her teeth, proved there was nothing of any color save the food tray.
Slick Micky must have confiscated the bag along with the key and contacts. A smart girl would've looked into the bag when she picked it up, but she was just a healer, not a spy. Whatever she was mixed up with, whatever the Five were trying to avoid, it was going to take skills beyond her extensive ability to disguise her appearance and falsify employment records.
Donning a wig and manipulating a few computer records might have been enough as she moved around to avoid detection as a healer, but she was pretty sure it wouldn't be enough to find her dad.
Realizing she was gnawing on the bristles of the toothbrush, she returned to the bathroom and finished the job properly.
She glanced out the window, but didn't see much beyond a field of urban decay. No helpful landmarks. It was second nature to straighten up the room. She didn't consider herself obsessive and she refused to beat herself up for momentarily delaying the inevitable meeting 'two floors down'.
But the coffee was clearly full-caff quality and she was getting twitchy. Better to get on with it, because the answers weren't going to magically appear on the white walls. Unfortunately.
With the shopping bag in hand, she stepped into the hallway and followed the signs to the nearest stairwell, passing an elevator along the way.
If she didn't know better, she'd swear she was in a hospital. Had Slick Micky commandeered an abandoned hospital after the health care reformation? She tried to recall the location of closed facilities, but there were several that would qualify. Without any landmarks or street signs she didn't know what part of Chicago she was in.
She left the stairwell and looked both ways. After a moment, she turned left. That's where the offices would be if this had been a working medical facility.
She reached an open door and peeked in. The man behind the desk didn't fit the stereotype that came to mind when she thought of a receptionist. Barrel-chested and sporting a skeptical expression he looked better suited to bouncing rowdy patrons out of a bar. "He's expecting you."
Too bad she didn't know what to expect. The smuggler she was about to meet had the worst reputation in Chicago, but no one knew what he looked like. Even she had occasionally wondered if he was just a rumor.
"Come on in, Mira." The voice was friendly enough, but she took a calming breath anyway. Mustering her confidence, she pushed open the door.
"Welcome." The man stood and motioned her inside. "Close the door, please."
She did. Tall and lean, with a flawlessly handsome face, he didn't look all that intimidating at first glance, but Mira suspected there was plenty beneath the surface.
"You're Slick Micky?"
"God, I hope so," he answered with a wry grin. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Have a seat, please." Micky motioned to the chair facing his desk and once more Mira obeyed. "Coffee?"
"No, I think I've had enough."
He grinned. "That happens when you drink the good stuff. You're wondering why you ended up here."
"Yes." Mira perched at the edge of her seat, her posture perfect, hands folded in her lap, the shopping bag on the floor at her feet. She got the sense that this meeting was just as important to her future as the judgment of the Five.
"I was asked to get you out of harm's way. This is the safest place I control."
There had to be more to it. "At what price?"
"Negotiations have been made, of course."
"Isn't it a lot to expect I'll just fall in line with whatever someone else promised you?"
"What I expect is that we'll come to terms." Micky leaned back in his seat as if he could care less about the outcome of their discussion. "Do you have any idea who arranged for you to be under my protection?"
She shook her head. The only person from her community who would care was her mother, but she couldn't imagine how Chicago's top smuggler fit in with steady, never-buck-the-system Lydia.
"I won't ask you to do anything you aren't comfortable with. I really just need you to do what you've been doing."
She didn't bother protesting what he did or didn't know about her professional activities. "How long am I indebted to you?"
"'Indebted' isn't a term I'd use in this case. Bringing you here was a separate negotiation, services were implied but not promised. I'd like to discuss your options. I believe we can come to terms."
Mira didn't believe the terms would be favorable. For her.
"You're suspicious. I understand, but you're not alone. There are people willing to assist you. This is my offer. There's a little bistro in the financial district. I think you could be helpful there."
Mira waited, but Micky didn't seem inclined to say more. "Helpful how?"
"I'm not asking you to wait tables, Mira. Think of it as a place people could visit you if they were in need of medical assistance."
"Customers at this bistro have frequent health problems?"
Micky chuckled. "You'd be surprised what goes on in the financial district." He reached down and pulled up her black bag from the floor. "Honestly,
I'd like to keep you right here. A supernatural healer would be a real bonus."
"I'm sure." Irritation sparked. "You could use it in all your recruiting brochures."
"Mira, you're a cynical woman, but I'll blame it on the difficulty you're facing."
She wanted to rail, to release all the fury and frustration bubbling inside, but she couldn't, wouldn't expose herself that way. She wasn't cynical, not really, but she wasn't about to explain her innermost philosophy to a smuggler.
"I know you have other things on your mind. I'm offering you a safe place at the bistro until you move on."
"Move on?"
He didn't respond or give her a chance to ask more questions. He just pushed the black bag, key and the contact lens box across the desk to her. "Take your things. Jim will arrange for transport to the bistro if that's where you decide to go."
She twisted around, following Micky's gaze to the doorway behind her where the bouncer-receptionist loomed. Turning back, she reached for the bag and key. "And if I decide otherwise?"
Micky spread his hands wide, palms open. "I wish you all the best, wherever you land."
Mira studied him a long moment. He seemed sincere. She had to fight the urge to judge him according to rumor. There was a knowing glint in his eye, and while she didn't doubt he could be a lethal enemy, her gut instinct was to trust him.
"Who negotiated my release?"
"That's a conversation for another day," he said with a cryptic smile.
"Is it true you deal in chocolate?"
"Possibly. Do you have a craving?"
Mira shook her head. She didn't want to like him. "My mother loves truffles. If a box fell off a truck..."
"A surprisingly frequent occurrence." His charming smile was nearly as blinding as a surgical lamp. "Give me the address."
She keyed it into the electronic notepad he offered but when she tried to give the device back, he stopped her, his expression serious.
"If I do this, you will owe me."
"I understand."
"Let's hope that's true." He stared at her long enough to have doubts creeping into her head.
Owing Chicago's top smuggler wasn't something to take lightly and yet... "She needs to know I'm safe." And she was looking for confirmation that her mother had been the one to arrange her escape, but Micky wasn't letting anything show.
He'd be hell at a poker table.
She stuffed the shopping bag into the black tote, along with the contacts and key. Walking out of the office without another word, she followed a stoic and silent Jim through the building and down to a garage of sorts.
A big yellow car, reminiscent of an outdated taxi cab, idled with the back door open.
"Am I getting another sedative?"
"No," he replied, sounding unhappy about it. "You've been cleared."
She wasn't sure what he meant, but she was increasingly certain she didn't want to stick around. The door opened behind them and another man entered. With a big smile, he shrugged into a battered leather bomber jacket as he approached them.
"I'm Cleveland," he extended his hand. "I'll be your driver, young lady." He jerked his chin at Jim. "Is this guy bothering you?"
Mira wondered just what sort of rabbit hole she'd fallen into. "He's fine."
"That can't be true, though there's no accounting for taste," he added in a stage whisper. "I'll assume he's just being his normal imposing self. Don't worry. Micky doesn't let him bite. Where are we headed?" He waved her toward the car.
Mira aimed toward the open back door, but Cleveland pushed it shut. "You'll ride up front with me. Better view." She followed, sliding into the offered passenger seat. With the black bag on her lap, she waited until the doors were closed before she quietly told Cleveland where to take her.
He laughed out loud. "Nothing like a visit to the warehouse to instill a bit of paranoia. Don't worry, he doesn't really know everything."
"But you'll tell him where you dropped me."
"Won't have to."
An industrial sized garage door opened and Cleveland eased the car forward into a long tunnel.
Mira sputtered. "You just said he didn't know everything."
"He doesn't. He may know where you go, but not why you made the choice."
Mira wasn't sure that was a valid distinction. Micky couldn't possibly stay at the top in his game if he didn't know how to read people. She wasn't even sure which part of that equation bothered her most. "Thanks for driving."
"No problem. I was headed that way."
"You're not a tax-"
"Do not finish that question," Cleveland said, sliding a glare at her. "This is a classic 1957 Chevrolet. Not an old cab. I've sweated over every inch of the restoration and made her compliant with current emissions regs. This paint job happened to be very popular in the mid-twentieth century and -"
Mira's burst of laughter interrupted his tirade. "So-s-so you must get this a lot."
"Enough that I'm considering a new paint job. My kids groan when I take them to school in this."
"Kids?"
"Yeah. Couple of former street rats, brother and sister, and smart as I've seen. Love 'em to death. The adoption should be official soon," he finished as if he knew what she was thinking.
Except he couldn't know she was thinking of her own father and the years she'd gone without him because he was working on something sensitive, or more likely something the elders wouldn't approve of. There were notes and emails, but she'd always felt something missing. The feeling intensified, along with the mystery as her gift for healing strengthened and developed into a brighter power than any of her peers.
Cleveland drove across the river into the refurbished and now respectable Financial District.
He pulled to the curb in front of the bistro and put the car in park. A neon sign over the door declared it Leanore's and a handwritten sign in the window announced it was under new management.
"That's the place," he said, shifting to face her. "You have allies here in town, Mira."
She paused, one hand on her bag, the other on the door handle. "If I ever don't need a cab, I'll be sure to call you."
Cleveland smiled, but his eyes were a little sad. "Do that."
With the sense that she'd disappointed him, she said thanks and climbed out of the big vehicle, uncertain what sort of reception she'd get from Leanore.
No coward, Mira took a breath and walked through the bistro's outdoor dining area decorated with white lights and fresh evergreens and into the colorful small, restaurant. It was an odd little place, a blend of coffee shop, convenience store and bar. When she spotted lobster ravioli in take out containers in self serve cooler near the door she realized Leanore catered to a specific clientele with superb taste.
A waitress smiled on her way to serve a table outside. "Seat yourself, we'll be right with you."
Mira took an empty seat at the granite-topped bar and tried to decide what to tell Leanore.
A slender woman with platinum blonde hair in a short spiky style burst through the door behind the bar. "Mira?" She smiled and rushed forward. "It's so great to see you!" She swept Mira into a hug. "God, you look amazing. Come on back and let's get caught up." She drew Mira with her into the kitchen, then pointed at a small office. "Go on ahead, I'll just order up something to nosh while we chat."
Moments later she returned, closing the door to the noisy kitchen. "I'm Leanore. Micky sent me a picture of you so I'd know who to expect."
Leanore's big, happy personality filled the small office and Mira struggled to find words beyond 'Thank you'.
"It's no problem. I'd bet good money everyone in town owes Slick Micky in one way or another. What do you need?"
"A chance to catch my breath, I guess."
Leanore laughed, the merry sound pinging around the small space. "I can make that happen." A knock on the door signaled the tray from the kitchen. Leanore accepted that, but cut off the long, curious stare aimed at Mira.
"I've got a room u
pstairs you can have for as long as you need," she said when they were alone again.
"Is that your repayment to Slick Micky?"
Leanore's smile slipped. "Girl don't you get it? There are things you don't want to know. Suffice it to say you can stay here with no obligation to me. Okay?"
Mira nodded.
"Now dig into that lunch special then I'll give you the tour and your own access code. As far as anyone here knows, you and I were friends in school."
"Got it."
"And you're staying with me while you look for a job. Is that good enough?"
"Sure."
"I thought that would explain any coming and going you might need to do."
With her mouth full of the delightful sliced roast and red pepper sandwich, Mira nodded again.
"Look, I don't know what your deal is with Slick Micky – and I really don't want to. All I ask is that you keep your business to yourself. That means no visitors beyond the restaurant floor."
"No problem." She couldn't imagine anyone who might visit anyway. Well she could imagine Jameson, but if she wanted to maintain her sanity she really shouldn't linger over that day dream.
Besides he wasn't anywhere near Chicago.
A scream followed by a violent outburst interrupted whatever Leanore was going to add. "Someone probably cut themselves. Happens often enough, but let me check on it." She opened the office door and Mira watched the color leach from her face as the riot level noise poured into the tiny room.
The sounds of pain were clear and Mira ran into the fray before she knew what she intended to do. It looked like a brawl with two people trying to hold down a third. Words drifted around her as Leanore's employees related events, but her healing instincts were locked onto the person in need.
The waitress who'd greeted her had apparently drifted too close to a burner and her blouse had caught fire. Mira took in the details, cataloged the woman's injured side and arm, and called for cool water.
She would need the practical external help as well as a distraction for the onlookers. "And bar towels," she called out.
"I'm on fire," the waitress wailed.
"No, no it's out," Mira assured her in a soothing voice. "It was just your shirt," she murmured, stroking the girl's forehead.