by Gavin Green
CHINESE
Viggo turned and walked out of the alley. I stared at that brick corner he went around, wondering if all of this was a good idea. That's when I noticed the huge - and I mean huge - Rottweiler sniffing my leg. I bet he weighed more than I did, and I wasn't small. I looked over to Ragna to ask how friendly the black and tan monster was, and saw that she was busy digging through the bags in her cart. I closed my eyes and hoped that when I opened them I wouldn't be standing in a dark, smelly alley with a pack of mongrels and a neurotic, homeless hemo. I thought I had a firm answer to that 'good idea' question.
"Ah, here we are," Ragna announced as she held up some sort of necklace. Without turning to me, she tossed it in my direction and said, "Put that on. Wear it over your clothes." I caught it and took a look. It was a small claw necklace on a thin leather strap. Before I could ask, she explained while she repacked her cart. "Owl talon, encased in silver - all of my minions wear one so as not to be interfered with."
I squinted in the dark and saw that some of the dogs, including the nosy Rott, wore one. "Are you saying that I'm basically the same rank as a dog, ma'am?"
Ragna turned her bent body halfway in my direction and looked past her shoulder at me. "Are you stupid? Of course not; they're all above you." She turned back to her cart and asked, "You have cash?"
I answered through clenched teeth, "Yes ma'am, a little."
"Good, you buy your own dinner. Follow me." Ragna got behind her cart and pushed it out onto the sidewalk. Her pack of pets moved with her. With an exasperated sigh, I slipped on the necklace and followed behind them.
Out of the alleyway, we went up to the next street corner and turned again. Ragna stopped a few doors down and shooed the dogs away from her, letting me approach. We stood in front of a small Chinese restaurant, the Wise Owl Wok, with a 'closed' sign on the door. I guessed their wasted food was what kept the alley so aromatic. Ragna rapped on the curtained picture window, and we stood there waiting in silence. Ten seconds later, an attractive Asian woman peered out of the window, and then promptly unlocked the door. How and why a homeless hemo had influence at that place, I didn't even ask.
The restaurant was narrow, deep and dark. None of the dogs followed us inside. Lights were on back in the kitchen, where I heard voices in foreign conversation. While the woman locked up behind us, Ragna led me over to a booth and turned on its overhead lamp before sitting down. Because of her curved spine, she slumped on the table. With different company, the ambiance would have been romantic. As I slid in across from Ragna, she pulled out a pen from her layers of drab clothing and started scribbling something on a napkin. The Asian woman set a menu in front of me, then stepped back and waited.
Ragna glanced up at me and said, "Get something. I hear the food is good." She then held out the napkin to the Asian woman. "Add this to your menu flier and have them sent out to your best customers by morning, Lynn. And bring me my usual order."
They both looked at me, so I quickly ordered the cashew chicken and a Coke. With a slight accent, Lynn thanked us and walked off. Trying to appeal to Ragna's nice side, if she had one, I said, "I'll get the check for both our meals, if you like, ma'am."
She looked at me like I spoke in tongues. "I don't eat food, you ignorant cur! Who's mentoring you?"
"Uh, Shawn Riordan, and I guess he only gave me the basics one night. But . . . you just ordered your usual, whatever that is, so I assumed that, uh . . ."
Ragna rolled her big eyes. "Freya, save me. Riordan, the powder-sniffing musician idiot? No wonder you know nothing. Very well, I'll give you a few lessons, and I'll even speak slowly so you can keep up." I bit my tongue instead of giving the response I wanted to, so I simply nodded. "For example," she explained, "many of my kind know I control this place, and they're going to get a revised menu tomorrow - one with a new item on it: the Beck buffet special. That and the necklace will let others know that you're my new minion. Normally, I'd only inform the Doyenne and the faction emissaries, but your master wanted the word out quickly. So, there you have it."
"I'd imagine the Doyenne won't be too happy to hear about this."
"From the basics I know of, most likely not. You let me worry about that." Ragna leaned even further forward on the table. "If you don't fight me this time," she said, pointing at my forehead, "I can learn what I need to know much faster than if I let you blather on, blowing your whiskey breath on me." My apprehension must have been evident. "There is nothing to fear, Beck; I'll do you no harm. I'd have to answer to your master if I did. Trust me, I don't want that. No one wants that."
Viggo said Ragna was trustworthy and loyal, so I took him at his word. Hesitantly, I agreed and looked her in the eyes. I had the feeling that something crawled into my head and began to slither around. Other than a slight pressure in my skull, it wasn't too unpleasant. My senses faded away; I was only focused on the sensations in my brain.
I blinked. I saw Ragna in front of me again, looking away. She was just letting go of my index finger, my trigger finger. The Chinese restaurant came back into focus. Lynn, our pretty Asian waitress, was setting a big plate of food in front of me. She then handed a plastic shopping bag full of fried egg rolls to Ragna. I blinked again and gave my head a quick shake to clear it. I'd lost track of time - I had no idea how long the crusty hemo was in my head. I waited until the waitress walked away, and then said, "I don't know what you saw in here," tapping the side of my head, "but some things are private."
"Don't worry," Ragna casually replied while she inspected her bag, "I learned only what I needed to." She looked and saw me staring at the bag. Holding up an egg roll, she simply said, "Dog treats."
Another comment came to mind, but again, I held back. Pillar of restraint, that's me. "If you know my situation from your staring Jedi mind trick thing, what do you think I should do?"
Ragna glowered at me with half-lidded eyes. "It's called the Gift of Control. I could use it to make you think you're a bowl of soup, so don't be so glib, Beck." She stared at me until I nodded and then started eating my food. "It would seem that working at a nightclub or a security firm wouldn't be as lucrative as being employed as a personal guard - EP, you call it - for the Outsider McKenna. I daresay he had plans to make you his own minion. Now, if he still wants to hire you, he'll have to barter with me."
I thought about that for a second, and then asked, "Why would he do that? I mean, I'm already spoken for, right? Why would he rent someone else's stuff when he can get his own?"
"Because my 'stuff' is better; better than he or anyone else might suspect, because you actually have the elder's immensely powerful blood in you. In terms of minions, that alone makes you more capable than most of the others. But to get back to my point, McKenna thinks you're mine. I am of a higher progeny than him, and I am over six hundred years older. My blood is more potent than his, so my minions have greater potential. He might trade some loyalty for a stronger, rented minion."
"Are you sure? Loyalty is a pretty good quality in a guard," I commented between bites of my meal.
"I've thought about that . . ." Ragna said as she stared off. Then she looked back at me and chuckled; it sounded more like a wheeze. "He could witness me ordering you to be loyal to him. Since you're not really bound to me, your loyalty to him would be optional. He might even think you're a free conduit to trade information."
"I understood the false loyalty part, but what do you mean by a free conduit, ma'am?"
"We Deviants know more than the other factions - rumors, gossip, personal and business secrets, all sorts of things. The other factions sometimes come to us when they want to know something, and we don't give it away freely. Perhaps McKenna will think you might occasionally let a rumor slip, something you heard from me. All the while, you'd be reporting his activities to us. He'll know you will, of course, so you wouldn't be directly involved with any of his projects. But it's all guesswork at this point. He might not choose to haggle with me for your services. We'll see. How's your food?
"
"It's pretty damn awesome," I answered, and took another bite.
"Ah, good; let's see if this helps your appetite." Ragna pulled the scarf down from around her face. Like I said, the top half of her face was beautiful. The lower half . . . wasn't. First of all, she had the mother of all underbites, but that was nothing compared to the rest. All of her lower teeth were way too long, and jutted out like blunt knives from her gray gums. It got worse. From her lower lip down onto her neck and below, it looked like Ragna had drooled acid out of her mouth. Strips and pockets of flesh were gone, exposing bone and sinew. Where there was skin, it hung loose, bubbled and pocked. Then she smiled.
"Oh, fuck," I grunted, pushing my plate away.
Ragna cackled like a witch, and then covered her face again. "Since you're done eating, leave some cash for your meal and go find a way home. Be back here tomorrow at sunset."
I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
HITTERS
As the taxi was approaching my house, I noticed all my windows were dark. I was positive that the living room lamp was on when I left with Viggo earlier. I told the driver to stop and got out a few houses down from my own. I waited for the taxi to drive off before I pulled my Ruger and hurried to the cover of my Jeep in the driveway. Suddenly, my cell phone chirped in my pocket. I silenced it as fast as I could - I'd read the damn text message later.
While deciding my strategy for what could have simply been a burnt out bulb, I heard two car doors shut somewhere up the street. Peeking around the back of my Jeep, I saw two guys walking quickly in my direction down the sidewalk. They looked bulky, like they were wearing flak jackets, and were holding some type of firearms close to their chests. Motherfuckers would not leave me alone.
I thought about my options in the few seconds I had. It would've taken too long to text a message to ShadoWorks for reinforcements. Now that I knew Le Meur had sway with the police, calling 911 was dicey at best. I could move off to a neighbor's and make calls, but waking them up would cause a commotion and maybe put them in danger. There was no way in hell would I let that happen.
My last choice was to just slink off, hide somewhere and call Viggo. I rejected that idea too. I wasn't going to run away while my own home was invaded.
Some of that early morning anger came back with a vengeance. Call me proud, call me stupid - I was still going to defend the place where I kept all my memories.
The two hitters reached my gate, pushed it open, and started through my front yard toward the porch. I had to be quick and quiet - I didn't want any intruders in my house to catch me out in the open - so I put my little gun back in my pocket. As fast as I could, I spun around my car, vaulted the chain-link fence, and charged at their backs from an angle. I threw my body sideways and blindsided both of them. I brought the guy on the left down under me; the other stumbled to his hands and knees on the walkway.
The guy I was lying on started to struggle and grasp for his dropped gun - a pistol with a silencer, a foot beyond his reach. With a burst of speed I rolled off him, grabbed his gun, and spun around on my butt. The other guy was swinging his gun around toward me when I let off three fast, muffled shots. The first two rounds hit him in the chest, enough to knock him off balance. The third bullet went through his raised left hand and into his cheek. He wobbled for a second, but I had no time to watch him drop.
The first hitter raised off the ground enough to launch himself at me. I just managed to get my knee up, stopping him short before he could land on me. The bastard was pressing forward, grabbing at my coat. He was too close for me to get a gun with a silencer between us, so I used the butt of it to whack him in the skull. He took the hit like a champ, but his grip on me loosened. I shoved hard with my knee and moved him back a foot or so, and then put two bullets in his neck. The hitter collapsed on my lawn, gurgling through his ruined throat. I didn't have much sympathy for him at the time.
I hurriedly grabbed both hitters' guns and ran for the side of the house, half-expecting someone to shoot at me from my front door. I hopped my fence again and crept down my driveway toward the back of my house, staying under the windows. I looked around the corner into my backyard and saw a body sprawled facedown next to my small patio. I wasn't expecting that.
The back door was locked when I got to it - a little surprising, since I thought that was the door they'd use to break in. It made me wonder if anyone was actually in the house. I hung one gun in my belt and opened the door with my keys as slowly and quietly as I could. The damn hinges squeaked. Fuck.
I pushed the door open with my shoulder and pulled out the other gun again. The house was dark and silent. I started to move stealthily through my kitchen; a few steps in, my foot bumped something. With my eyes getting used to the dark, I could tell it was another body. I stepped over it and reached the far end of the kitchen. I figured that if I turned on the overhead light behind me, it'd shine in the eyes of whoever might be waiting for me. It'd give me the initiative. I flicked the light switch on and pointed both guns forward into my living room.
Another body was on the floor in front of my TV. Viggo sat in my recliner, legs crossed and wiping at his chin with a handkerchief. I sagged with a heavy sigh, too wound up to cuss.
"You should have checked your text message," he said without a hint of emotion.
"Yes sir, sorry - I was sort of busy." As my adrenalin eased off, my bruised shoulder began to throb with pain from the recent activity. I belted one of the guns again, then opened my freezer and grabbed a bag of corn to press on the area where the rubber bullet hit.
"If you mean the last two assassins from the van, I would have handled them. I expected them to investigate when the others did not respond to the radio calls. If you had taken a moment to read my message, you would have been made aware of the situation."
I looked behind me at the dead hitter in the kitchen and saw a small transmitter in his ear. I turned back to Viggo and walked forward to take a seat on my couch. "Again, sorry; I didn't expect you to be here."
"Nor did I, not until I heard about the order for your demise," he told me casually while he stuffed the handkerchief into one of his coat pockets, "and to have your corpse left to rot in a sewer where a Deviant might find it."
"How lovely," I said with a frown as I sat down and set the guns on the coffee table. "It's always nice to know someone cares enough to make me a rat's dinner. Can I ask who you heard this from?"
"From the Doyenne, of course - I was in her office when she gave the word." Viggo noticed my shocked look, and added, "She was not aware of my presence; my Gift of Shadows is much stronger than her Gift of Discerning. Soon after the order was given, I came here to greet them. You will receive all the credit of foiling the attempt, which will only strengthen your reputation, or, in the Adept's views, infamy."
"Uh, thank you, sir . . . I think. Not doubting you, but are you sure that's a good move?"
Viggo nodded. "Quite sure; Adepts will be even less inclined to lose minions and resources to remove you. That, coupled with Ragna's backing, will make you more of a dangerous commodity. Speaking of which, what is your impression of the dog-woman now that you've spent a short time with her?"
"Oh, she's a peach," I replied sarcastically.
"Then I hope you enjoy that fruit, because you will be spending a fair amount of time with her for the immediate future. Do not fret, Leo. Ragna is an acquired taste. You might even learn a few things."
"Believe me, sir, I already have."
"Good. For now, though, you must be introduced to the toils that come with being my minion. It is time to start earning your keep, Leo. These assassins came in a van - I want them to leave in it. Once the van is loaded, drive it to the location where we held you and park it in the garage. You may keep the guns you earned. The other weapons, and anything else they carried, will be left in the driver's seat. I will get someone to bring you back home. I suggest you start by removing the two bodies from your front yard."
"Yes s
ir, I'm on it." I set the bag of corn on the coffee table next to the guns and went out the front door. It was a simple but tedious chore of dragging all the bodies to my backyard, then to move my car and back the van down the driveway and load 'em up. The two dead hitters in my house were lighter than I expected, with no signs of injury and very pale, cold skin. I guessed they were Viggo's dinner.
Transporting the bodies went uneventfully. I found the building where I was once a prisoner from memory. At first, I had reservations about going back there, but then I thought about how fortunate I was that Viggo cared enough to look after me. I no longer saw the place as a building with a large cell; it was a gateway to greater things. That didn't mean I was gonna go hang out in my room again, though.
A couple hours later, Shawn pulled up in his Camaro to give me a ride home. When I got in, he handed me two tickets to a rock concert being held sometime in April at a mid-sized event center out in a suburb. After that, and for the entire rest of the drive, Shawn played air-guitar on the steering wheel while Glazefinger's new album blared out of the speakers. Okay, it wasn't half bad.
MUTT
Nine hours of sleep did me a lot of good. There were no disturbing dreams involving Viggo, just one about him being on the ocean in one of those big old boats with billowing sails. I woke feeling refreshed, and my shoulder felt much better than I thought it would. I guessed it was another perk for minions.
A shaggy mess looked back at me in the bathroom mirror. Damn, I needed a haircut. I trimmed my beard, cleaned up, and left my house just after noon to go see my barber. I wasn't even off my porch when Miss Loretta called to me from next door, inviting me to a lunch of leftovers. I couldn't say no. Besides, her leftovers were some of the best meals I ever had. Over a feast of pork ribs and four side dishes, she asked about my long vacation and caught me up on the neighborhood gossip. Politely refusing dessert, I thanked her and carried my swollen gut out of there.