"You can assure him I'm in, if the find is what they suspect," the drinking man told him. "If I find out tomorrow that it isn't, the whole thing is off."
"Of course," the fat man said. "He also wanted me to remind you of the consequences of backing out once whatever this is has begun. Or of not having the money."
The other smiled and lifted his glass once more. "Ah, yes," he chuckled before sipping. "The required veiled threat. It's good to hear. Assures me he's on the level."
The fat man grinned. "You have an interesting way of thinking, laddie."
"I'm sure he's given you the same?"
The fat man snickered. "You realize I have no solid idea of what the hell the two of you are dealing about. He only tells me what to ask of you and what he thinks I need to know."
"Language, sir," scolded the drinking man. "This is a class establishment."
"All I know is it's a damn big secret. He doesn't use details when he talks to me, and he chose me because I don't ask questions."
The drinking man said nothing for a moment, sure that this middleman must have figured out a few details on his own, or had made at least a few guesses. Whether or not the man knew his contact was from ESA or not would certainly indicate something of just how much he might have guessed. The drinking man had not expected to deal with a go-between. The man from ESA must be more worried about being traced than with the loose ends the fat man would create. The drinking man had, after all, never actually met him. Loose ends could always be tied up, one way or another. "So you'll contact me tomorrow?"
The fat man nodded.
The drinking man downed the last of his scotch and stood. "Then it appears we're finished. I look forward to a confirmation."
The fat man pulled out a cigarette and lit it in one complete, practiced motion. "And I'll relay your commitment to my employer."
The drinking man looked down at the other from his full height as he pulled on his overcoat. "Good evening. And enjoy your cigarette here awhile longer." With that, he turned his back on the man and moved for the elevator. Moments later, the elevator doors slid closed and he was on his way to the parking level far below.
The fat man, with his poorly-tailored suit and UK accent, was a loose end. This was truer for his contact than for himself, but still a worry. Yet now that he was fully committed, the drinking man had more pressing concerns. His plan for getting the money had nearly come to fruition. Nearly. It was even more vital now that things resolve themselves as planned, unless the entire deal was based on a false assumption. He thought to himself that he might be more surprised if the verification did come, though he hoped for such a surprise. Besides the obvious financial and career benefits to him if it did, he had already set risky events in motion to acquire the capital—events that he would prefer to be worth the danger.
The elevator opened. The drinking man walked the short distance to a waiting limousine whose doors opened for him automatically.
"Good evening again, sir," said his driver in greeting as the door closed behind him. "Where may I take you?"
The drinking man was tired. Sleep would be welcome, but he had a few loose ends of his own to check on. "Head for the docks," he ordered after a moment.
"As you like, Mr. Wallace."
The limousine headed into the city.
XIV
The sound of a floater passed overhead. Romulus woke with a start, thrown into confusion by both the fading chaos of a forgotten dream and the waking realization that this was not his own bed, or even any bed. It sent him slipping off the seat where he lay, and in the blink before he hit the floor he recalled that he was in the back of the floater. The fact was emphasized by the hard surface that smashed his hand when he tried to catch himself—a pain followed by another as the bite wound on his wrist opened again.
He lay there a moment, regaining his bearings, resting and remembering. He and Diomedes were spending the night here, both sleeping and watching for any sign of the vigilante. Felix had told them that this area near the Brooks Transit Station, one of those closer to The Dirge, was the location of at least two rumored sightings. The actual station itself was closed past two in the morning and primarily located below ground, but according to Felix the sightings had occurred just outside, around the part of the rectangular structure that rose above the ground, and beyond the scope of any existing cameras.
They had decided to call it a night shortly after leaving the Justice Tower. The idea was initially Felix's, who had suggested that it was too late to really investigate any more leads beyond just staking out an area for the night. Diomedes had actually agreed quickly, probably, Romulus guessed, having had enough of the man for one evening.
Romulus himself recalled being suspicious at the time Felix made the suggestion, though it took him a moment now to remember why. As Romulus had planned, he had reminded Felix to call his fire department contact, but when the man had pulled out his phone, Romulus caught a flash of worry across his face. It was then that he made the suggestion and explained that it was probably too late to call the man, but that hardly seemed to justify the anxiety in his eyes.
Romulus had meant to mention it to Diomedes but got distracted by the discussion of their respective tasks before meeting up again tomorrow: Brian, a man whom Romulus felt himself resenting for reasons he couldn't pinpoint, was to sift through the CMPC data. Felix would look into the arsons and talk more to his contact, and Romulus and Diomedes would stake out the transit station. They had, after all, nowhere else to go.
"Diomedes?" Romulus tried, moving to a sitting position on the floor.
His mentor was still in the pilot's seat, presumably awake and watching out the tinted windshield. "What?" he answered.
"Did you notice anything. . . weird about how quickly Felix left?"
"Everything about the man is weird."
"Well, yeah." Romulus stood and moved to the passenger's seat, fingering his bandage gingerly. It probably needed changing. "But he seemed to decide it was time to go suddenly there at the end."
"I don't trust him, either. But we haven't paid him yet." His mentor turned to glance at Romulus's bloodied wrist. "You're bleeding again," he said with a hint of concern. "You're dripping everywhere. Christ, don't you know how to tie a bandage?"
Romulus said nothing for a moment. "I couldn't do it quite right with just one hand, I guess."
Diomedes got up from his seat, moved to the back, and opened one of the compartments. He returned a moment later with a fresh bandage. "If you're going to do it, do it right," he muttered, taking Romulus's wrist and unwrapping it.
Romulus listened as Diomedes dressed the wound and instructed him on how to do so better himself. Not for the first time in the months since he came to the city, he was glad he had found Diomedes again. The man had a history of coming to his aid.
"Do you remember back on the farm when the barn loft collapsed under me?" It was one of the first times he'd helped Romulus. He had fallen, fracturing his wrist and breaking two ribs when he had hit the ground. Diomedes had found him first and carried him, unconscious, into the house.
"It was Max's fault. Your uncle told him to replace the rotten wood," his roommate stated.
Romulus grinned. "I remember. You and Uncle Frank nearly tore him a new one for that."
"It doesn't matter anymore. Max is gone. Your uncle's gone. They're all gone, except for you."
His roommate's tone made his own smile retreat a bit. Still, he had always admired Diomedes for his helping him then, and for going after Max for the danger he'd put him in. Romulus had never been too angry with Max himself, despite his injuries, but it had been nice to know that Diomedes looking out for him.
But, for the moment, his mentor was silent once more.
Howling yells followed by a gunshot broke the silence. Diomedes leaned forward to get a better view. "What was that?" Romulus asked. Another group of howls sounded, their source not visible, yet not distant.
"Don't know." Diomedes got up
while still watching out the window. He checked his gun and moved for the door. "I'll check. Stay here."
"Stay here?" Romulus asked, not wanting to be left out.
"Stay here." His mentor was nearly out the door.
"What if you need help?"
"It could be a trick." Without further explanation he closed the door and dashed across the street. Romulus watched his mentor duck into the shadows and hug the building until he slipped out of sight around the corner of the station.
Romulus watched the entrance for any sign of who might have fired the gun, or any sign of his mentor. Motionless shadows were his only reward, and once again, he was waiting.
How much of his life had he spent waiting? Waiting to grow up, waiting to leave the farm, and just waiting for things to happen for him. The one thing he had actually done was to come to the city, and that had only led to more waiting. He sighed and tried to remind himself of the reality of his situation, that he had accomplished things. Yet all he had left of his life now was his goal of becoming a freelancer, and what was he doing? Hiding in a floater while the one person who could teach him had left without him. Was Diomedes mad at him? Didn't he have faith in him? He said a silent prayer against the thought. Diomedes was all he had left.
A burst of gunfire echoed in the night, followed by more yelling from a source he couldn't pinpoint. Romulus ducked down for protection on instinct.
What the hell are you doing ducking? You're supposed to be watching!
He moved back up in the seat in time to see movement atop the station. Someone was running across the roof. It was the arsonist. It had to be! And there was no sign of Diomedes. Seeing his chance, Romulus clambered for the door and bolted out of the vehicle.
The figure was gone. Romulus ran across the street regardless. The figure couldn't have gotten far. Should he yell for Diomedes? No, that would only give him away. Romulus darted around to where the figure had been running and rounded the corner as the gangers' howling increased. God damn it, he hated that sound.
A pair of dumpsters sat beneath a high window to the station. Romulus climbed one dumpster and pulled himself up to the ledge in the hope of catching sight of their mark from higher ground. A brief look down yielded nothing but vertigo.
Another round of shots rang out. A scream of pain. It was on the other side of the station. Romulus looked up. The roof was just above him. He might make it with a jump, but if he missed. . .
Another shot broke out and made the decision for him. His fingertips barely caught the edge, and he strained to pull himself up the remaining distance.
A moment later he was at the top and running, dodging around a skylight that shone down at the four-story drop to the transit tunnel below and thanking his luck that he had seen it in the shadows. A yell of anger that had to be Diomedes met his ears a moment before Romulus stopped short at the edge and looked over.
Diomedes was there beside a kiosk. Three gangers that Romulus couldn't identify surrounded him. One was on the ground, but the other two—both quite large—had Diomedes held and were trying with all their might to maintain that. His mentor strained against them, but his eyes were fixed on neither. Romulus followed his mentor's glare to a whirl of howling movement below and to Romulus's left. Five more gangers surrounded the same figure in black he had seen on the roof—the same figure he was now sure to be Wraith.
Romulus watched, transfixed, as the gangers attacked the vigilante en masse. He kicked one backward instantly into a cement pillar. A second howled in pain just after Romulus saw the flash of blades at the man's neck. He fell quickly. The others pressed inward.
Diomedes's bellow simultaneously turned his attention back to his mentor's struggle and made him conscious of his own inaction. Though unable to do much else, Diomedes's captors looked to have him well enough held so that he was unable to fight back.
Romulus reached for his weapon and cursed. It was gone; he'd left it in the floater! A crack of bone came from his left and he froze, unsure how to help.
Do something!
With a shout, he jumped the distance to the ground, forced into a controlled roll by his own momentum. He shot to his feet and rushed the ganger on Diomedes's left, crashing into him. Surprised and off balance, the ganger's grip on Diomedes broke as Romulus slammed him against the kiosk. Romulus held the man back a moment before the ganger head-butted him. He fell back, catching himself on his wounded wrist and wincing in pain as his mentor swung the other ganger around to smash him into the kiosk where he remained.
In the same motion Diomedes turned and ran for the other struggle across the station entrance. Romulus braced himself for the other ganger's counter-attack, but when he looked a moment later, the man was scrambling for the safety of the shadows across the street.
Romulus sprang up and turned toward a sound to his right. An old man lay on the ground beside the outer wall of the station, cloaked in dirt and weathered clothing and clutching his stomach in pain. He looked at Romulus a moment in fear before his features softened in confusion.
"Was it you?" the vagrant asked.
The yell of his mentor's frustration jerked Romulus's attention away from the old man. Diomedes now dueled with Wraith among the fallen gangers. His mentor fought valiantly, attempting to grab the vigilante while at the same time trying to block the slashers that Romulus could clearly see even in the dim light. The vigilante connected, slashing into Diomedes's arm with an unusual clashing of metal. Wincing in sympathy, Romulus ran to help a second later.
The vagrant's voice trailed behind him. "No. . ."
He ran to Diomedes without thinking. The vigilante's eyes fixed on him a moment before a blaze of light flared from the palm of his hand.
Thrown off balance and blinded, Romulus stumbled. His hand struck a pillar but he managed to catch himself and regain his balance fast enough to keep his momentum and continue blindly toward Diomedes. Before he could think to stop, he struck hard against a stone surface that he realized to be another pillar a second before he lost consciousness.
"I don't know, I told ya!" The voice was ragged with anger and fear. "Don't know who he is! Don't know who you are! Don't know bleedin' anything!" The voice broke on a sob. "Leave me alone. . ."
As the voice trailed off and footsteps approached him, Romulus became aware again of his own consciousness. He was sitting propped against a pillar. A throbbing pain grew on the side of his forehead, and he groaned as he opened his eyes. A dark floater flew overhead behind the shape of Diomedes standing over him.
"He escaped," Diomedes said.
"Is that him? Eh?" Romulus heard the other voice ask. He looked over to see the vagrant he had spotted previously. "Oh. No." The man shook his head.
Romulus looked to his right, still dazed. Near the kiosk were the fallen gangers he and Diomedes had fought. To the left were—Romulus winced at the sight—more gangers, bloodier than the others. One's throat hung open, torn by the vigilante's blades. Blood ran down his chest. His mouth gaped, his eyes turned back in a ghoulish expression of—Romulus forced himself to look away.
"What happened?" he asked.
Diomedes stood, brooding. It was a moment or two before he spoke. "Things got fucked. The noise was them attacking him," Diomedes explained, indicating the gangers and vagrant. "Then the mark appeared and attacked them."
"Told ya I don't know him," the vagrant mumbled.
"Shut up!" Diomedes thundered. "I couldn't get to him," he continued. "Then you showed up." Romulus's brief smile in anticipation of praise for his help melted quickly as his mentor's already existing scowl deepened. "I told you to stay with the floater."
"I—I was following him! I saw him on the roof and I was trying to help!" Romulus bit his tongue before he could say more.
"He saw you coming and hit us both with a stun flash. Bastard ran when my guard was down. Slashed my arm."
Romulus glanced at his mentor's arm. The clothing was torn above a nasty pair of scratches on the metal beneath. If the
arm weren't cybernetic, Diomedes would have been in a lot of pain. "How long was I out?"
"Not long."
Romulus stood and looked toward where the vagrant crouched in a corner at the station entrance. "Shouldn't we do something for him?"
"We need to leave before cops come by. He'll live." The freelancer walked to the kiosk, retrieved his auto-pistol, and then checked and searched the bodies of the fallen gangers. "So will they," he said.
Romulus found himself returning to the bloodier collection of gangers where the vigilante had been. "They won't."
"It's what they deserved. Don't touch the bodies. Let's go."
Diomedes handed Romulus some of the money from the unconscious gangers and turned to go back to the floater. Michael waited, regarded the cash a moment, and then passed it to the wounded vagrant before following after his mentor.
Later that night, as he sat in the rear of the floater, unable to sleep from the throbbing of his head, he watched Diomedes sleeping in the pilot's chair. Before, Romulus had trouble finding sleep because of where he was forced to take it. Now, mere hours later, it struck him how comfortable he was with the idea. Perhaps after seeing the old man by the transit station he was just comforted to have shelter at all—something to protect him from the kind of cruelty he had seen tonight in men who would prey on an old man for their own sick enjoyment.
It troubled Romulus slightly that the person responsible for visiting the same cruelty on him, destroying his only meager home, was the same person who had tried to save the vagrant. At least that's how it seemed, to hear Diomedes tell it. He recalled what his mentor had told him, reviewing what he knew once more, just in case. There wasn't much to interpret, though. The gangers were beating the vagrant, and then the vigilante appeared to attack them.
Had Diomedes stood and watched until Wraith arrived, even as the man was being beaten? There was a definite lapse of time between when his mentor left and when he first spotted the vigilante. No, that was ludicrous. Diomedes had been trying to move quietly. That meant caution; it would have taken him some time to get there. And Diomedes was a man of few words. Just because he had left out an unnecessary detail certainly didn't mean that he'd done nothing. It was a foolish thought.
A Shadow in the Flames (The New Aeneid Cycle) Page 14