Helmut Saves the World

by Matt Sheehan

  And so, finally the truth. Not a thief, simply a scientist. He just happened to be a scientist who could potentially spell the end of the Cretan Empire. A bomb made from this technology would finally make the most powerful warrior in history, the Cretan battle mage, obsolete. And with that the Empire would dissolve. At that point we knew why Johnny was important; now the question was, why was he important to Alek?

  Shamus approached us and broke cover. “They’re coming.”

  I looked around the bar but didn’t see anything unusual. Johnny watched us with a confused expression, but he didn’t stop drinking. “Where?”

  “Under the bar, a mile away...I don’t know. But they’re close and they know we’re here.”

  I didn’t bother asking how he knew that. He wouldn’t know anyway—only that he was correct. He told me once that sometimes the universe just wants him to know something. Alek had likely had us tailed since our meeting the day before, although they must have been damn good because I’d never once caught a whiff of them.

  “Sha, we’ve got to get him out of here. We need a distraction.”

  Shamus stared at me for a few seconds, then went back to his stool and sat with his elbows on the counter and his head in his hands.

  “Helmut, what’s going on?” Johnny stared at me with eyes tired from drink and lack of sleep.

  I quickly thought of a few lies, then decided to go with the truth. “I’m a detective, not a vacuum salesman, and my meeting you today wasn’t by chance. We were hired to find you.”

  He crinkled his brow. “By who?”

  “That’s what we are trying to find out. The man who hired us claimed you were a lawyer who stole sensitive information for some sort of blackmail scheme.”

  His brow crinkled a little further, and he signaled the bartender for yet another round. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “That was just their cover story. The real reason has got to be what you were working on. How is it that you were allowed to take this little sabbatical?”

  He got a bit of a sheepish look on his face. “I didn’t exactly get permission. I asked the strategos in charge of our division for a leave of absence, but he denied it so I just left.” When I didn’t say anything, he added defensively, “I’m a civilian and this is supposed to be a free country. They can’t just keep me against my will.”

  “Yeah, I hear you. The problem is the knowledge in your head can end a conflict that’s been going on since the dawn of history. I doubt they want you following flaky girls around the country. No offense.”

  The look on his face said offense was in fact taken, but he swallowed it, along with half of the fresh beer just delivered. I asked the bartender to bring us whatever snacks he had behind the counter, and he came back with a bowl of pretzels and one of peanuts. I slid them in front of Shamus, who still had his head in his hands, and went to make a couple of calls.

  Chapter Thirteen

  We waited until Shamus had finished both bowls of snacks and washed them down with a black lager before heading out the door. Weather manipulation is one of the Druidic tricks that Shamus can just about do on command, but he’s always exhausted and famished afterward. For the plan to work, the fog had to roll in early, and Shamus had done a fine job. It was thick and wet, and visibility was poor.

  Johnny had bought into the plan rather quickly, especially considering that we had just met him. It probably helped that he was pretty tipsy.

  Leaving the bar we didn’t see anyone, but Shamus was sure they were out there somewhere in the fog. We avoided streetlights and clung to the shadows as we made our way through the back alleys. I silently cursed the terrible parking in the city that necessitated the long walk. We were a block away from my car when the three of them appeared in front of us.

  I’m pretty good with being aware of my surroundings, but I never saw them. It wasn’t just the fog. They just seemed to step out of the shadows.

  They were dressed all in black: combat boots, baggy cargo pants, tight black sweaters and skull caps. All three had huge knives sheathed and strapped on their outer thighs. Two of them wore it on their right and one on his left. The lefty was about my size, light skinned with a deep tan. The tall one, who stood a half step in front of the other two, had more of a Mediterranean complexion. The last was short and thick, with curly hair and a close-cropped beard.

  This was officially the last time I went out on the job unarmed. Not that I would ever carry a firearm. That is explicitly against the law. Just saying. I stepped to the front and addressed the roadblock.

  “Good evening, fellas. Nice night for a walk. You out for some fresh air as well?” While I was yapping, I sized up our opponents and decided we were in trouble. They all looked like fighters, and I doubted I could take all three of them in a fair fight. The knives created their own set of problems, and on closer inspection I decided they were actually big enough to be considered daggers.

  The tall one in front spoke up. “I knew I could count on you, Helmut. I never actually hired anyone other than you and Shamus to find Mr. Singh. That was just a bit of motivation.”

  The voice was familiar, and Shamus confirmed it.

  “I told you, Helmut. Alek’s a shape-shifter. And doesn’t he look familiar?”

  He pointed to the shorter one, who on closer inspection looked a lot like the battle-axe secretary we’d met the day before. He confirmed it with a smile and a wink.

  Alek spoke again. “And now, Helmut, it’s time to hand over Mr. Singh and run along home. Don’t worry, I still plan on paying you.”

  “You know Alek, I would love to, but unfortunately he’s not here.”

  Alek looked more closely at who he thought was Johnny, and his cloying smile quickly turned to a frown. What he must have noticed under the fedora and trench coat was a man a little too dark skinned and a bit thicker than he was expecting.

  While Shamus was concentrating on masking our escape, I had called a few of our buddies who do a little freelance work for us on occasion. Jason took Johnny back to his place to lay low while Collier played dress up and took a walk with us.

  “A trick?” His expression was one of disappointment.

  “That’s right, a trick. Johnny left the bar a few minutes after us in another direction.”

  He stared me in the eye, and I met his gaze. “Well, Helmut, you found him once and you can find him again. And you will find him.” He turned to battle-axe. “Take them.”

  Battle-axe smiled and stepped toward us. “Put up a fight. I need the exercise.” He got close and tried to push me. I waited ’til his hands were moving forward, grabbed his wrists and pulled him toward me. Then I stepped in and drove my forehead into the bridge of his nose. I let go of him and he fell flat on his face.

  Lefty came in on me and Collier intercepted him, but only for a few seconds. Collier tried to wrap him up but was hit with consecutive right and left uppercuts and dropped to the ground. I covered the ground between us quickly, threw my overhand right of death...and missed badly.

  This was quite a shock at the time. Now it’s not like every punch I have ever thrown was spot on, but this one wasn’t even close. By the time I recovered he was behind me, and I barely had time to whip my head around and see his left cross coming straight down the pipe. I got my right up just in time and absorbed the strike on my arm. The right hook was following close behind, and I was able to pull my head back just enough for it to only lightly graze my chin. I took a few steps back, squared my stance and motioned him forward with my lead hand. “Come get some.”

  A sudden and violent burst of wind momentarily drew our attention to Shamus, riding a swirling cone of air up twenty feet to the top of the closest fire escape. I was happy to see him remove himself from the fight, with style no less, but was a little concerned that I didn’t see Alek anywhere.

&nb
sp; I didn’t have time to worry about it because lefty was back with a vengeance. He was throwing punches and kicks faster than I had ever seen, and it was all I could do to dodge and parry. Initially, the few counterstrikes I was able to get off weren’t close, but as the fight went on, the speed difference between us seemed to rapidly diminish. After that, I started to get his timing down.

  After a few exchanges, I landed a sharp cross to his chin and drove a lead-leg shin kick into his liver. Any fighter worth his salt knows a good shot to the liver can end a fight, and I thought I had with that kick. He dropped to one knee, and I went in for the kill. Unfortunately he came up off the ground with a left that caught me in the nose and made me see stars.

  I didn’t go down, but it was close. The only other person who ever hit me that hard was my original martial-arts instructor, Ramón, over a decade prior. That was also the last time I had needed to exert myself quite like this in a fight. My body didn’t feel like it could keep going at this pace for much longer. I could hear my pulse pounding in my head, and my heart was pounding in my chest. It was then that I decided that a change of tactics was necessary.

  I squared up and motioned him forward with my lead hand. As soon as he threw, I wrapped him up and dragged him to the ground. I ended up in the top position and took his back when he tried to stand back up. I was able to sink in a rear-naked choke, and seven seconds later he was unconscious and the fight was over.

  I was tired after what was the hardest fight of my adult life. Battle-axe and Collier were just starting to stir as I struggled to my feet. Shamus was up at the top of the fire escape where I had last seen him, but now Alek was behind him holding a knife to his throat.

  I called up to him. “How are we going to play this, Alek? I’ve got two of your guys down here.”

  “That’s true, but you won’t kill them and I will kill Shamus.”

  “He’s lying. He won’t kill me.”

  “You two are harboring a traitor. I will slit your throat without a second thought if you don’t hand him over.”

  Now usually when a crazy person is holding a knife to your throat, you don’t argue with them, but Shamus loves a good argument when he thinks he’s right, and he always thinks he’s right.

  “Johnny’s not a traitor. You must at least suspect that by now. Where did you get your information, anyway?”

  The knife didn’t waver, but Alek’s resolve seemed to a bit. “The source is unimportant at the moment. Convince me.”

  And so Shamus laid it all out while Alek listened. When Shamus presented feelings or cosmic mumbo jumbo in place of facts, Alek appeared to accept it at face value. Finally the knife was put away and they both came down to ground level.

  “Gentlemen, I have to apologize for the subterfuge. When word came down of one of the top nuclear scientists going AWOL, we all thought the worst. A source who was thought to be beyond reproach convinced me that he was a deep cover agent who was going home with all our nuclear secrets. The plan was to track him down and eliminate him. When we couldn’t find him, our source mentioned a Druid detective who was doing good work. I figured an assassination plot involving foreign spies would not be a case you would have taken, so we came up with our little dinner theater.”

  “I was bloody brilliant at my part.” That from battle-axe, who was having trouble staunching the flow of blood from his nose.

  “You’ve met Hector, who enjoyed wearing a skirt and lipstick. And this here is Nero.” He gestured toward the one I referred to as Lefty. “We are all members of the Trojan Special Forces. We tend to get called in when something important needs to be handled quickly and quietly.”

  I asked, “What’s the Trojan military doing playing spy games in Hespera? We’re not part of the Alliance.”

  Alek smiled. “We work on behalf of the Confederation frequently, at times without their leaders’ express knowledge of our involvement.”

  Nero changed the topic abruptly. “Where did you learn to fight like that, Helmut?”

  Alek added, “I was wondering the same thing.”

  “Well, the choke I learned from a jujitsu practitioner who—”

  “No, not the choke. Nero was foolish to get caught with that.” Nero had the good sense to look at his shoes. “I mean the way you focused your qi.” He took my blank look as it was intended. “You were able to match Nero’s speed. That’s just not something a lay person should be able to do.”

  Shamus piped up. “You guys were moving almost too quickly to follow. I’ve never seen anyone move that fast, including you.”

  “You had a knife to your throat. I doubt you were seeing things clearly.”

  “I knew he wasn’t serious. Alek was as engrossed in the fight as I was.”

  Alek asked, “Who trained you to fight like we fight?”

  “You wouldn’t know him. It was back in Eireland.”

  “You might be surprised. We’re a small community. This isn’t a skill you just pick up by practicing hard.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  When I was a teenager, a hard-looking stranger named Ramón De Arca came through Limerick looking for an outlaw. Apparently the fugitive had passed through at some point, but by then the trail had gone cold. After Ramón had been tested in the Broken Bell by a few of the neighborhood toughs, who lived to tell the tale but with rearranged dental work, word quickly spread around town that the newcomer was not a man to be trifled with. It actually earned Ramón a job with the local Garda.

  Shamus was busy being a prodigy and I was on break from school and bored, so I followed him around on patrol one day to see him in action. This was a few years after he had arrived in town. I tried to be inconspicuous, but he obviously saw me following him at some point. I lost him around a corner, and a moment later I was startled by a hand on my shoulder.

  “Staying out of trouble, son?”

  He wasn’t particularly big or tall, but he had an aura about him that brooked no challenge. I barely had the presence of mind to nod my head.

  “Is there a reason you were following me?”

  He didn’t seem angry, only curious, so I answered him honestly. “I heard that you were a good fighter. I just wanted to see you in action.”

  He stared me in the eye for a few moments, and I labored to hold his gaze. After what seemed to me a lifetime, he gave me a half smile and said, “I have a good feeling about you, son. Have you been in any scrapes in school?” I nodded yes and he continued. “And how did you do?”

  I thought about embellishing my record, but decided to go with the truth. “Well, I don’t always win, but I never back down.” He must have liked my answer, because he started training me that afternoon. After his shift ended, I was invited to his house and given the tour. The main floor was nondescript; or at least I never paid it much attention. It was the basement where I honed my craft.

  The walls were covered with the flags of different nations and a myriad of exotic weapons. Four heavy bags hung in one corner. Makiwara boards (which are posts wrapped in canvas or rope) lined another. The other two corners contained a small fighting ring and a grappling area lined with thick rugs. Against one wall in the center of the room was a small shrine to the Egyptian deity Thoth.

  We started with simple punches, kicks and blocks. Over time as I got better, we went through combinations and cutting angles. His training style was fairly brutal. I had my share of black eyes and cracked ribs, but I learned the lesson intended from each bruise.

  I guess the good thing about being an orphan was that no one really cared when I came and went. Maybe that’s not fair. The staff there was nice enough; I was just a pain in the ass. We had rules and a curfew; I simply didn’t pay them any mind. I snuck out so often that they finally quit trying to keep track of me.

  Ramón trained a few of his fellow officers, mostly in weapons defense
and takedowns, but most of the striking art was saved for me. In hindsight I believe he saw me as the son he never had, and he wanted to pass his knowledge on to me. And he beat that knowledge into me day after day.

  After six months of training, no one at secondary school could touch me. One of the halfbacks on the varsity hurling team thought he could move in on my girlfriend at the time and got quite the rude awakening. After that I got the occasional challenge from someone wanting to make a name for himself—to no avail obviously—but for the most part people learned to be nice or keep their distance.

  The term qi was never uttered by Ramón. There were some meditative exercises early on to focus my mind and help keep me calm. In hindsight I guess it was pretty important, but at the time I thought it was a bunch of mumbo jumbo. I assumed that the physical work was the main reason for my improvement.

  After a year I could hang with the old man. He could still beat me, but he had to work at it. Initially he was so fast that I couldn’t react, but I got to the point where not only could I block or dodge his strikes, but I could counter them. Unfortunately, the training never went further. Weapons training was next, but before we could start, Ramón received news that the man he was tracking had turned up again.

  And just like that he was gone. He said he had more to teach me and would return when he could. He never explained why it was so important he find this man, other than it wasn’t just about the bounty. It was four years later that Shamus and I left for the States, and in that time I hadn’t heard a word from him. I always hoped that he found his fugitive—and came out on top.

  Chapter Fifteen

  We had a lot to discuss, and a dark alley wasn’t the place to do it. We retired to O’Kelly’s, at Shamus’s insistence, and most of us proceeded to drink heavily. Collier felt his time would be better spent anywhere but with us that evening, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. Shamus was at the bar taking shots of whiskey with Hector, while Alek, Nero and I sat at a booth trying to put the unfortunate confrontation behind us. Nero and Alek were drinking some dark brew that Shamus recommended; I stuck to coffee and water.