Edge of Dawn

by Melinda Snodgrass

  Scrambling into the passenger seat, Richard buckled in and pulled on the helmet, and they rose into the sky on a pillar of dust. As they headed north, Richard wondered if Johnny was a good liar. Would the community pull together and follow his lead? Would Jacobs and Brother Sutherland remember and finger him? Richard had one thing going for him—police departments tended not to care what happened in marginalized communities. On the other hand, white men had been shot by a minority. Richard feared that Johnny might need very good representation. He’d call Pamela as soon as they landed. His wandering thoughts had brought him around to Lumina … and Kenzo.

  Richard jerked up his wrist to check his watch. It was quarter to ten, and they were forty minutes from L.A. Sick with anxiety, Richard watched the roofs of the suburban sprawl that extended from Orange County almost to Santa Barbara go crawling past.

  * * *

  It was ten forty-five by the time he pulled into the parking lot at the office building. Richard had called Amy from the road, told her to tell Kenzo, “I’m on my way. Hang on, I’ll be there soon.”

  “He’s really pissed” had been the whispered response.

  Richard never made it to the office. He met Kenzo in the lobby. The Japanese man stood at the glass doors, staring out at Wilshire Boulevard, tapping his foot and checking his watch.

  “Kenzo,” Richard panted.

  “I have a taxi coming” was the terse reply. The words were a thin veneer over bubbling anger.

  Normally Richard would have wilted at that tone, but he had been through a firefight, killed a man and seen another killed, and his impulse control had taken a hike. He turned to face the security guard and said, “When the cab arrives, tell the driver he’s not needed. Give him this for his trouble.” Richard handed the bemused guard a twenty.

  “How dare you!” Kenzo said, crossing the room in three agitated steps.

  “Yes, sir,” the guard said. “Is that … blood, sir?”

  The guard’s hesitant question jolted Richard. He looked down and realized his left cuff was stained with blood. Kenzo was staring at the knee of his gray trousers. There was more blood there. He must have knelt in it when he did first aid on Jacobs.

  “I will second the question! Is it blood?” Kenzo demanded.

  “Yes.”

  A complex mix of emotions made up of both repulsion and fascination flickered across the CFO’s thin face. “What have you done?”

  Richard was damned if he was going to justify himself or his actions. “My job,” he snapped. “Shall we go up to the office?” He gestured at the elevators.

  The rent-a-cop was staring at him, wide-eyed. Richard pulled out his shield, flipped back the cover, and showed it to him. The guard stepped back behind his little desk.

  It was only after they were in the elevator that Kenzo spoke. “Has anyone died?”

  “Yes, two people.”

  “Killed by you.”

  “I only shot one, and if it makes you feel better, he was a bad guy.”

  “You are the head of Lumina Enterprises.” The words came out as an explosion.

  “Yes. I am the head of Lumina Enterprises.”

  They measured looks that were matched in hostility and determination. The elevator doors opened before either had backed down. Richard stalked out and led the way to the office.

  “Amy, hold my calls,” he ordered as they passed her desk and went into the inner office. Richard held the door for Kenzo, then firmly closed it behind him.

  “Okay, get it off your chest,” Richard said.

  “You owe me an apology,” Kenzo said. He then folded his arms across his chest and stared at Richard, his gaze dark and implacable.

  “That’s it?”

  “What more do you wish me to say? The onus is on you for your heedless and immature behavior.”

  An ever-tightening band of pain closed on Richard’s forehead, and he heard another male voice, this one unaccented, the timbre deeper, which had always given it the ring of authority. His father’s voice. Offering critique in words almost identical to Fujasaki’s. Reaction to the shoot-out had weakened the bonds of control. Fury tore them to shreds.

  “I saved a man’s life this morning. Yesterday I ended a threat that could have brought monsters into this world. Your time and, frankly, your wounded pride are immaterial when measured against those acts. You are a bean counter. Your only purpose is to crunch numbers so I can do my job. Now say you’re sorry and get the fuck out of my face because I have things to do.” Richard stood, listening to the blood pounding in his ears, feeling the rage-induced tremors begin to subside.

  The older man had blanched, but he recovered his composure and said stiffly, “I will tender my resignation.”

  “No. Not right now. I’m too stressed and pissed, and you’re too pissed for either of us to make a reasoned decision. Now let’s get back to New Mexico. I’ve had enough of California.”

  * * *

  Grenier didn’t think a direct call to Alexander Titchen was the way to go. He could have, because once upon a time they had been allies in an attempt at world domination. Titchen had donated to Grenier’s church and his broadcast company. Grenier had reciprocated with instruction in how to contact the Old Ones and all matters magical. On a more mundane level, Grenier had helped provide the names of senators and representatives who would be open to the legal form of bribery that existed in modern American politics.

  Those days were long past, and since he technically worked for the other side now, Grenier knew he wouldn’t be trusted by Titchen, and he bloody well knew he couldn’t trust Titchen. But he needed to erode Richard’s support among his officers. The best way to do that was to make him spend a king’s ransom acquiring Gaia.

  Richard had a soft spot for children. Despite his sexual proclivities, Grenier fully expected him to marry at some point just so he could have kids. The fact that these computers had been put into the hands of poor children around the world would incline Richard to spend any amount. Grenier’s plan was to ensure that Richard spent a fortune.

  He pulled nervously at his lower lip. His belly rumbled and he rubbed it distractedly. Of course, he had to be sure that he brought Lumina merely to the edge of collapse and not past it. He had to be able to bring it back. Grenier shook off the worries. He believed he could, but for now the focus had to be on increasing the company’s cash flow problems.

  No fingerprints. That was the key. Good thing he was the media manager for Lumina Enterprises. It gave him so much access. So many ways to start a rumor.

  Grenier pulled out his cell phone, then changed his mind and put it slowly back in his pocket. Richard was a trained investigator and a damned good one. Once the leak happened, he would start digging. He needed to hit something … someone before he hit Grenier.

  Jorge bounced into the office with his iPad in one hand and a cup of coffee with a donut balanced on the rim in the other.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Grenier looked up into that aquiline face and smiled.

  * * *

  At LAX, Richard showed his ID to the TSA and got waved through the line. Since he wasn’t wearing an airline uniform, glares from the other travelers, penned like cattle in a slaughterhouse chute, accompanied him. On the plus side, he got to leave Kenzo behind in the slowly snaking line. Once at the gate area, he called his sister.

  “You know that meeting of the officers you recommended? Let’s do it, but let’s do it in Rochester at the research facility. Let them see Kenntnis, see what we’re trying to do with both him and the sword. And how are you coming on that other issue?”

  “Your package is ready for you to pick up,” she said, surprising him.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I thought you wouldn’t want it delivered.”

  “No, no, you’re right. How did you do it?”

  “It wasn’t easy, but I had an unexpected ally. It seems the little girl wants to be with you.”

  “Really? Mosi is turning out to be e
ven more interesting than I thought.”

  “The aunt is still her guardian, but she’s agreed that you’ll have custodial rights, and be allowed to house, educate, and provide for the girl. They do insist that you bring her back once a year to connect with her culture.”

  “Sure, we can do that, and Pamela, thank you. You’re amazing.”

  “Whatever. How did it go with Kenzo?”

  Richard saw the CFO approaching down the concourse. “I’ll tell you when I’m back, and would you pick me up? I don’t want to ride with Kenzo.”

  “Went that well, huh? Okay.” He couldn’t tell from her tone if she was amused, weary, or frustrated. Maybe all three.

  He remembered Johnny’s likely predicament. “Oh, and I may need you to find a good lawyer for someone out here.”

  “Oh, God, what now?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “It always is with you,” she said sourly, and hung up.

  He then called Weber. “Wha…?” Belatedly Richard realized it was dark o’clock in Kenya.

  “Sorry to wake you.”

  “Yeah, Richard, what’s up?” Weber now sounded instantly alert. Like most cops, he awakened quickly.

  “I need you back at Lumina. Right away.”

  “Okay. The plane is off—”

  “Charter one. I need your expertise.”

  “Okay. See you soon.”

  Richard turned off his phone and felt a growing tension in his chest. He had just acquired a child.

  Now he had to keep her safe.

  * * *

  Southwest got them back to Albuquerque in the late afternoon. On the plane, Richard had picked a middle seat between a tired-looking businessman and a young guy with earbuds thrust deep into his ears—not the most comfortable, but a sure way to keep Kenzo from sitting with him. Joseph and Estevan were at the airport to pick up Kenzo, and the CFO gave Richard a look when he saw Pamela in a separate car. Richard knew he was being rude, but the waves of disapproval and anger coming off the man had him shivering now that his own anger had faded.

  Back at Lumina, Cross had left a message that he wanted to deliver a briefing. The homeless god requested that Richard come to his box because, as he put it, They’re beatin’ on me and I might fly apart.

  As Richard walked toward the large shipping crate, he heard the hiss of a camp stove. The sound took Richard back to Boy Scout camping trips. He pushed aside the blanket. Cross had a pan of beans heating on one burner, and he was toasting bread over the other.

  “Want some? Beans on toast.”

  “No, thanks.”

  Cross piled the toast with baked beans and finished it in five slurping bites. He began toasting another slice of bread. “They’re gathering,” he said. “The minute your sis started the legal moves, they zeroed in on the kid.”

  “Well, we knew that would happen. They monitor everything we do,” Richard said.

  “Which is why you wisely sent me to that shit hole known as Shiprock. They weren’t going to try and snatch her from her aunt with me there, ’cause unless they send another of my kind, no human can take me. Well, you could, though you won’t, you bastard.”

  “I know, I suck, and no, I won’t kill you.” Richard frowned. “And why wouldn’t they send an Old One to counter you?”

  “Because we don’t take orders from monkeys.”

  “You do.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a special case. I made a deal.” For an instant he looked old and not terribly human. Cross gave a shake of his head. “Anyway, they don’t want to send human numbnuts or even a human sorcerer into Shiprock ’cause that’s an insular and suspicious community with lots and lots of guns, and a worldview that takes monsters in stride. The bad guys would get their asses handed to them. No, better to try the snatch or the murder when you’re isolated.”

  Richard swallowed several times to try and ease the hollow feeling in his gut.

  “If it’s any comfort,” Cross continued, “I don’t think they’ll send a magic user. Too risky for them to go up against a paladin, and goons with guns are cheaper to train and replace.” Another slice of bread and beans disappeared into his maw.

  “Anything else?” Richard asked as he stood.

  “Of course, problems everywhere, and those damn computers aren’t helping, but nothing you have to deal with right this minute.” Cross abruptly switched topics. “Sure is gonna be weird having two paladins around at the same time.” Cross perked up. “Hey, she’s an impressionable kid. Maybe I can convince her to kill me.”

  “I still have the sword. And don’t you dare lay that burden on a child.”

  “Okay, fine, just thinkin’ out loud. Okay, I’m outta here. Better get back up there.” And Cross vanished.

  Richard turned off the propane and carried the pan back into the building. He recognized it as one of Franz’s and figured there would be an explosion in French and German when the Alsatian chef discovered the theft.

  * * *

  He woke after too few hours of sleep and slipped down to the pool in the basement for a swim. Richard knew that Joseph had informed Franz of his return because after his swim, he found chafing dishes waiting in the kitchen with a selection of breakfast choices. The French toast prepared with orange juice and Grand Marnier tempted him. Richard added a few slices of bacon and settled in to read the e-mail that had piled up during his absence. Periodically, he tried Weber’s cell. The man wasn’t answering. Good news. It meant he was on a plane.

  Two hours later Pamela arrived at work and came immediately upstairs. “I’ve got your dog and pony science show set up for next week,” she said. “I’ll send e-mails to Gold and Dagmar today. Kenzo we can just tell.”

  “Assuming I keep him on,” Richard replied.

  “So you haven’t decided yet?”

  “Truthfully, I haven’t had time to think about it.”

  “Richard, this is one situation where I think keeping him inside the tent is the smarter choice,” his sister said as she helped herself to eggs and ham. “He’s got—”

  The hum of the elevator had Richard holding up a finger to silence her. Weber walked into the kitchen and nodded at the siblings. “Okay, I’m here. What’s going on?”

  Richard outlined the situation.

  Weber piled food onto a plate. “Explain to me why having the only known paladins in the world, in a car, driving back to Albuquerque together is a good plan.”

  Richard paced. “Because I need time to start getting to know the girl. I thought a helicopter ride might scare her, and if someone fires a Stinger missile at us, the chances of our surviving a crash in a chopper are poor.”

  Pamela’s jaw clenched and she looked away. Richard realized she was frightened by his words.

  “And they’re better in a car?” Weber asked.

  “I’d have a chance to react.”

  “So would your pilot, but I understand the need to at least think you’re in control.” Weber softened the comment with a smile. “What are you driving?”

  “The armored SUV.”

  Weber ate for a few minutes, then knuckled his chin. “Okay, here’s what we do. We get four identical SUVs—”

  “That’s going to cost a fortune,” Pamela objected.

  “I think I see where he’s going,” Richard said. “And the decoys don’t have to be armored. They just all have to look alike.” He looked to Weber. “Right?”

  Weber gave him a thumbs-up and a nod. “We place them so they can all head off in different directions. I’ll be in my four-by-four pickup following you, and we’ll get a light plane to pace us.”

  “Somebody armed in that plane?” Richard asked.

  “Of course, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I can get away with commanding a small, personal army in Mexico, Africa, or the Middle East. They tend to frown on it here in the States.”

  “I should have had you bring people from overseas. This is going to deplete our security at the building.”

  “
They’re more interested in hurting you than us,” Pamela said heavily.

  “True, but they know they can hurt me through all of you.” Richard stepped to the bay window in the breakfast nook and looked out at a murder of crows whirling between the building and the mountains. “We spiked them in Mexico, and I poked them hard in California. They are not happy with me, and Cross says they’re watching us very closely.”

  “Is there likely to be a magical attack?” Weber asked. He rubbed a hand across his brow. “I know how to counter violence, but that unnatural shit…”

  “Cross doesn’t think they’ll risk a sorcerer or an Old One, but just in case I’d suggest packing a knife … or three.” Richard turned back to face them with a grim smile. “Let’s hope they’ll be smart. They know what happens if I get to them. Goons with guns are easier to replace.”

  “Well, all righty, then, let’s do it … says the goon with a gun.”

  Richard flushed and threw out a hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way—”

  Weber cuffed him on the chin. “Would you stop it? I was joking.”

  “Sorry.”

  “And stop apologizing,” Weber said. He briefly cupped Richard’s cheek, then gave it a pat. Richard moved away.

  “How soon can we be set up?”

  “I should have everything in place by tomorrow morning.”

  The house phone rang. Pamela answered the extension in the kitchen, listened, and held it out to Richard. “It’s Jeannette.”

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Fujasaki has arrived. May I send him up?”

  “No, I’m too busy. Give him an office and tell him I’ll see him”—Richard did mental counting—“day after tomorrow. No, better make it the day after that.” He hung up. “Well, let’s get to it.”

  Weber polished off the last bite of his breakfast, and he and Pamela left. Richard stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, packed a small overnight case, and rode the elevator down to the subbasement, where he grabbed a shotgun and several boxes of shells from the armory. He added a few boxes of ammo for the Browning.

  He got off the elevator in the lobby, intending to go to the security office and talk to Joseph. Kenzo was seated on one of the modern black-and-silver sofas, flipping through a copy of Forbes. Paulette, the receptionist, gave Richard a helpless look and shrugged her shoulders.