by Declan Finn
Kovach checked the giant's eyes, nodded, and began to remove the plating around the arms, while the redhead removed the shoes. They looked at each other as though they had done this before; the author removed the helmet, checking the back of the head. Sean didn’t know what they were looking for, nor did he need to. No one took the full force of a table without at least a gasp of surprise, unless of course someone was on drugs. There were needle marks in both arms and several underneath the toenails. The eyes were dilated, and Sean was certain there was a bump on the back of his head.
Therefore, someone wanted to test your skills, and sent in zombie boy to do it. Hit him over the head, drug him up, send him in when he wakes. That works.
“I’m going to bed now.”
Sean started to slink out of the ballroom when he was nearly bowled over by two large forms—Athena Marcowitz and Edward Murphy, guns up and ready.
Sean sidestepped them. “Where’s the fire?”
Edward came to a halt, scanned the room and his eyes found the giant on the floor. “Him—he has a twin outside who’s been laid out. We spotted the two of them hulking around outside and thought that backup was in order. We came here, found the guy outside banged up and tossed around. We secured him, and now this.”
Athena Marcowitz stepped over the unconscious giant, still holding her gun on him. She looked at the two younger persons searching him.
“And you two are?”
“Moira McShane,” the redhead answered. “He’s Matthew Kovach, and this guy is seriously drugged.”
She nodded. “Athena Marcowitz, Convention security, and we know.”
Kovach nodded absentmindedly. “Indeed, I’m sure there’s someone else outside; just one of these guys isn’t a test of security. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were three of them total.” He looked up. “You took out the other?”
She shook her head. “No, he was already down when we showed up.”
He raised a brow. “So that means someone else out there is on our side…or is at least against theirs.”
Athena smiled. “I didn’t know there was a ‘they’ in this,” she joked.
He cocked his head. “Of course there is. After all, Ryan’s here protecting Mira Nikolic, which means either Serbs or cranky Muslims, or both. They’d like her dead; and this was a test of security. Like that’s hard to figure.”
Moira smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s his fault; he attracts trouble.”
“True enough.”
Chapter 6: Danger in the Night
Sean Ryan’s arms had been wrapped securely around Inna’s frame for several hours of peaceful silence until he was awakened by lashing sounds outside his window. With little effort, he disentangled himself from Inna and the bedsheets, slipping the large, twenty-shot, semi-automatic Stechkin from under his pillow on his way to the window. He blinked, noting the two odd lines of black.
Rappelling cables!
***
Andre Dragov was awakened by the sounds of gunfire. He blinked and looked out his window. The large Serb got out of bed and looked closer. What idiot would rappel down to someone’s hotel room for an attack? Couldn’t they use the door? And silencers?
I wonder who it is?
He ambled to the window in time to see a piece of cable fall, followed by something falling—a person to be precise. He chuckled and went back to bed.
All of these people have such strange ways in America. Even the criminals.
***
Sean leapt back, pushing Inna out of bed before the glass shattered. With murder on his mind, he absentmindedly turned and fired before another cable slid into his line of sight; that bullet, oddly enough, had sliced through one of the cables. He smiled curiously, placed the gun on the night table, and stepped calmly toward the window’s ledge, listening for the familiar sound of someone sliding down the rope with a descender, the device on a climbing belt meant to grip the rope and slow one’s descent. He heard the familiar sound in a moment, and remembered one stunt he performed where he had to leap on someone descending from a rope, and time it based on the noise the descender made during the controlled fall.
One of the two attackers slid down on Sean’s right, and he continued to descend, sliding off the severed cable and falling into empty space. Sean leapt atop of the other one, grabbing the descender to accelerate the fall; the climber was too shocked to fight back, but Sean slammed his own forehead into the visitor’s nose anyway. Looking down to see that there was little rope left, he slowly let the descender go so the rope wouldn’t flay his hands when he grabbed it. He grabbed the last foot of the rope when it was just over his head, and the tip was at eye level.
The descender, still attached to the climber’s belt, was a foot off the rope, and the climber was only held up by Sean, holding him at arm’s length out to the side.
Sean grinned. “Hi there, how’s it hanging?” He noted the drop to the ground below and said, “Pretty high, it seems. Now, I’m betting that you’re not exactly a Serbian terrorist, am I correct in this assumption?”
The Hispanic male Sean held sneered at him.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, if you’d like to come along quietly, I’ll turn you in to the authorities. If not, I’ll merely drop you here and you can join your friend on the street. The cops can carry you both away in matching soup containers.”
***
Middle Earth’s Most Wanted Elven Assassin opened his eyes, rolled out of his bed, onto one knee, and slid his weapons into place when the first bullet sounded outside his window. He pushed off one foot, causing him to fly to the balcony door, and he slid it open before his other foot landed. He wheeled about, seeing four rappelling cables hanging from the roof.
Without thinking, on pure reflex alone, he loaded his bow and fired, the arrow cutting through all four cables. He fired and forgot, turning his attention to the window directly above him. He bounced off the balcony rail, grabbed onto the balcony above, flipped himself onto it, then leapt for the edge of the roof. He swung his leg over the side, then rolled to his feet.
There were two men climbing up from the cables. The assassin sighed. I should have aimed higher, that way I would have killed them too. They must not have climbed down yet.
He reached for another arrow.
The other two men drew their submachine guns.
***
The climber stared at Sean Ryan for a moment, his hands dangling out of sight—an immediate warning sign for Ryan, who let go as soon as the adversary brought up a serrated combat knife, specifically meant to kill.
Before impact occurred, Ryan had already begun his climb to his hotel room window.
Goran, now very much awake, helped him inside the room.
“Quit hanging around,” Inna told him as he landed inside.
“Done,” he replied. He held up the cable he had dragged with him. “I don’t like being a Christmas ornament.”
The top half of the cable fell, draping itself over his hand. Ryan blinked. “Darn, there must be more of them.” He tossed the cable into the room to make sure it wouldn’t slide down. “I’ll need that for later—who knows what they might have left on it. Maybe epithelials, or epidermals, or whatever.”
Ryan grabbed the Stechkin off the night table and flew to the door in his underwear. He ripped open the door, only to find someone with his hand raised, as though to pound downward.
Ryan had him up against the wall with the gun to his throat in a moment, the taller man’s feet dangling from the ground. “Can I help you?”
Matthew Kovach looked down at the weapon. “No, I just thought I heard a gunshot. I’m fine now. You aren’t, however.”
A well-manicured hand gently laid down on top of Sean’s, and a low, threatening voice purred into his ear. “Put the gun down, or you lose the hand.”
Sean Ryan caught the sight of a redhead in his peripheral vision, the same one from earlier that evening. He let Matthew drop and glanced back inside the room. “Inna, you trust this c
lown?”
She nodded. Ryan turned back to them. “Stay with Inna, and if something happens while I’m gone, you’d better have died preventing it.”
He looked at Ryan distastefully. “Of course, what else would I do?”
***
Middle Earth’s Most Wanted Elven Assassin didn’t wait, blink, or flinch at the guns pointed at him. He tossed himself to his left as he fired an arrow into one of the weapons, sending it over the roof. He rolled to his feet, another arrow aimed at the armed one’s chest before the assailant could blink.
“I do not wish to hurt you. I have no cause, and I do not know yours. Who are you trying to kill?”
“Mira Nikolic.”
The arrow flew before he thought of releasing the string.
While no one could outrun an arrow, anyone could outrun a man pulling a trigger—if you can be faster than the intent. While the gunman had no advanced warning about the elf’s intent, his own intent was to act as a distraction, and leap to one side, drawing his gun. He managed to leap, but the elf had adjusted his aim subconsciously, out of reflex. Like Wyatt Earp in the Old West, that reflex took out the new submachine gun, kicking it over the side of the roof.
Both gunmen decided one thing was easier than death—jumping.
They leapt off the roof as one, an Elven arrow following them down.
“Who the hell are you?”
The elf turned out of reflex, spinning to a crouch and firing at the same time. However, the other was already in motion, leaping behind the fire door he had just opened, holding it open by the handle.
“Do we know each other, or do you just hate me to save time?”
The assassin blinked. He knew that voice. “Nikolic’s Ranger?”
***
Ryan raised a brow, gripping the Stechkin loosely. Ranger? Which one? G5? Lord of the Rings? Texas? Neverwinter Nights? He sounds like…could that be the elf-guy from the riot this evening? He sounds so familiar. “I’m protecting her. How about you?”
“I am Galadren, better known as Middle Earth’s Most Wanted Elven Assassin.”
Sean paused a second, then rolled his eyes. Why do they always find me? LA, New York, the wackos always find me. “You at the convention for business or pleasure?”
“I am here to make Mira Nikolic remember who she is as an elf princess.”
Sean blinked and nodded dumbly. “Uh huh. And you’re going to do this how?”
“Once she sees that a wound mortal to most men would not harm her, she would surely see what she is.”
“So to prove to her she’s an elf, you’re going to try to kill her…almost kill her.”
He laughed. “You understand.”
I understand you’re a fruit loop with nuts and way too much white powder sprinkled on top…and maybe the wrong kind of white powder. “Sure, but no hard feelings if I kick your ass while you do that, right?”
“Galadren” nodded and smiled beatifically. “Of course, I understand. But there are men here who wish her real harm, and I must stop them. Farewell.”
With that, the one calling himself Galadren leapt off the edge of the roof.
Sean thought for a moment, then wheeled around the door at a crouch, scanning the area before coming out into the open.
He blinked a moment. Don’t tell me he just did a swan dive off the roof.
He sighed. Time to make an account of the bodies dropped today
***
Sean looked out at the swimming pool—directly below his hotel room—and looked, dumbfounded, at the clean sight. There was plenty of water splashed about, but not one drop of blood. “What the hell…?”
A member of security came out, noting his gun, and said, “Excuse me, sir—”
“I dropped two people from that room, right there!” he said, pointing with his gun. “And there should’ve been more. Where’d they go?”
The houseman smiled. “Oh, that’s easy. This place was built by someone from Hong Kong. Something called Feng Shui had something to do with the placement of the building being wrong, so they had it tilted slightly.”
Sean groaned. Outer Whitelandia, indeed!
***
At 2:30 a.m., there was a slight problem no one would find until later. At the time, the zocalo room had been closed for well over an hour; the merchandise, and, more importantly, the money had been secured (the merchandise to the tables, the money to the safes). The lights had been turned off, and the entire area scoured for any possible problems that needed tending to—coffee makers absentmindedly left on, a book out of order—and locked up for the evening. Everything was in place, except the locks were not truly meant to keep out anyone who really wanted to get in. This was perfectly shown by one door kicked in.
***
Sean Aloysius Patricus Ryan was awakened by the phone ringing at six in the morning. “Ryan. Speak!” He listened to Janowitz a moment, then sat up. “Say again?”
“We had the zocalo locked all night, and I don’t know how, but we found a vampire with a stake through his heart!”
He nodded. “I guess they don’t disintegrate like on Fluffy, the Demon Slayer.”
“We need you!”
Ryan laughed. “Why? You’re supposed to call the cops! I’m security, I don’t do homicides unless I cause them!”
A little over a half-hour later, Ryan looked up at NYPD Detective McGauren, who was the closest cop in the area.
“Don’t look at me, Inspector,” he said. “You think metal detectors would have picked up polished mahogany?”
The tall blonde glared down on him. “It wasn’t mahogany; it was one of your props.” She checked her notes. “A cobra headed, five-foot ‘war wizard’s staff,’ with a hidden sword inside. Sound familiar?”
Ryan nodded. “I unpacked it myself. He was run through with the sword? It was a rather flimsy blade.”
“No,” she replied in a deep drawl. “Someone rammed the staff through his sternum, into his heart, out his back, and wedged between the two doors of the loading dock. You have any idea why anyone would choose here as a crime scene?”
He shrugged. “Depending on when it happened, this might have been the most private place he could find. There’s no way in hell anyone would be in here after one a.m., and the convention is shut down for the day.”
Then again, there’s also a possibility the most wanted elven terrorist followed this man from the attack last night, then did him in…but why not with an arrow?
“Was there anything of importance missing? Did he work there? Who was he?”
McGauren’s glare silenced him. “We don’t know ‘who’ just yet, but so far, no one knows him from the vendor’s area. There has to be some reason he was here, but we can’t find it. But I’ll leave that to the locals. I’m just here until the rest of them arrive.”
“I’m certain they’ll insist you take the case, Katie,” said a voice behind Sean. Ryan turned and found Matthew Kovach. “After all, who else do they have out here?”
McGauren smiled. “The locals can handle it.”
Kovach chuckled. “Yes, but they're not as good looking.”
Ryan looked from one to the other, then sidestepped out from between them. My shortness is starting to feel very pronounced.
She actually laughed. “Wow, Matt, I haven’t seen you since you blew up your high school… I can’t believe you’re taller than I am.”
Kovach nodded. “Weeds do that.” He spared Sean a glance. “For the record, I didn’t blow up my high school; someone else did that.”
Ryan waved it away. “Don’t worry, I have the same problem.”
The author smiled. “Oh, you mean when you blew up Philippe Nero’s house?”
Ryan twitched. “That was arson, and how the hell do you know about that? For that matter, this is a crime scene! I’m security, she’s the cop, you’re a bystander. Get—”
McGauren stepped forward, and Ryan shut up. “He’s with me. You got a problem with that?”
“Not yet.
Give me time, though.”
Kovach patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I do this all the time. The only reason I’m even in the state is that every college I’ve been to has been gracious enough to pay for my education so long as it’s somewhere else.” He shrugged. “Long story, you’ll read it sometime. At the moment, I still write about fighting my way through high school.”
Ryan blinked, wondering about that a moment before he recalled that Kovach’s first novel, Summer Death Camp, had been set at a summer camp for incoming high-school freshman.
This should be fun.
Ryan was the last one to go down the staircase, watching the other two move ahead of him. Kovach flowed rather gracefully for one of his build, which somewhat disturbed the bodyguard. There was only one other person he knew who moved like that, and he had been British SAS, on set to train an actress in weapons.
Ryan’s eyes floated over the bookstand as he walked past, noting how neatly they had all been put back. He smiled at the Writer’s Book of Poisons and Other Malevolent Objects, but wrinkled his nose when he glanced at the editor: Corbin Eielson.
The last person on this planet who I’d want to see with a deadly anything! Who lets him out in public?
The corpse was a fellow of medium height and wide build. He was overweight, Hispanic, about thirty years old, dressed up as a pure, Bela Lugosi Dracula, complete with tuxedo and cape. The ruby-eyed pewter cobra head protruded from his chest, staring at the crime scene unit with contempt.
Hispanic male dead in zocalo room; Hispanic male tries to shoot at me last night—connection? Hell, the guy in the elf getup really might have taken him out. Then again, do I really want to ask how many Hispanics are in the New York City area? Besides, the elf was pretty well armed; why would he kill with a weapon of opportunity?
“I have three disappointments for this convention,” McGauren said. “Corbin Eielson isn’t the corpse, he probably didn’t do it, and he’ll probably turn out to be a nice sweet man…”
“Two out of three isn’t bad,” Ryan chuckled.