Chameleon Assassin (Chameleon Assassin Series Book 1)

by BR Kingsolver

  I thought about the kiss, decided it wasn’t too shabby, took a swallow of my beer, and asked, “So what are your days off?”

  “Tuesday and Wednesday.”

  “Slow days for dying?”

  “Slow days for funerals. People prefer weekends so they don’t have to take off work.”

  “Makes sense. Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Are you going to ask me on a date?”

  I started laughing uncontrollably as he got up from his chair, knelt down in front of me, took my hand and said, “Miss Libby, would you do me the honor of going to dinner with me this coming Tuesday evening?”

  “Get up. People are looking.”

  “Not until you agree to make this the happiest Tuesday of my life.”

  “Oh, God. Don’t push it, bud. Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you on Tuesday. Now get up.”

  I waved Nellie over when she took a break. “Are you going to see Miz Rollins soon?”

  “Probably tomorrow. Tom and I were going to drop by the orphanage.” Tom was Nellie’s older brother and about the size of a small mountain. He was one of the bouncers at Pinnacle.

  “Tell her that we found a building. I’ll stop by sometime next week and take her to see it.”

  “I can’t believe you’re doing that.”

  “I’m trying to buy my way into heaven,” I said. “I think I can manage that easier than being good.”

  She punched me in the shoulder. “What kind of building?”

  “Dad says it’s an old school.”

  She got excited all of a sudden. “Where is it?”

  I told her and she said, “I know it. It’s six blocks from my mother’s house. I went to school there. They closed it about five years ago. It’s in pretty good shape.”

  Nellie had told me she went to school through eighth grade. The neighborhood got older, and fewer children meant fewer parents to pay. Eventually the school closed.

  After she went back on stage, I asked Ron, “Did you go to school?”

  “Oh, yeah. My family’s been in the funeral business for generations. I didn’t go to university, but I went to a good school. Almost as good as a corporate school. What about you?”

  “Yeah, that’s about like me,” I lied. The only thing my grandmother ever did for me was put me in a top prep school and the University of Toronto. I guess as angry as they were at Mom when they cut her off, they couldn’t stand the thought of seeing me as a servant. That probably would be awkward, going to your snotty friends’ house and seeing your granddaughter scrubbing their floor.

  “So, where do you want me to meet you Tuesday?” I asked.

  Ron’s eyes widened in surprise. “I figured I’d pick you up.”

  I shook my head. “No addresses on a first date. You have a car?”

  “Motorcycle. Why? Afraid of stalkers?”

  “You ride a motorcycle? So do I. Maybe we can take a ride together sometime.” I liked him more all the time. “Place?” I prompted.

  “Aldo’s? You like Italian?”

  “I like food. Aldo’s is nice. It’s quiet, good for conversation.”

  “Seven o’clock,” he said as he stood.

  I reached up, grabbed his shirt and pulled his head down. The kiss he’d given me on the dance floor was pleasant, but quick. By the time I let him up for air, his flushed face displayed the same disorientation as mine probably did.

  “Tuesday, seven o’clock,” I said. “I’ll even wear a dress and brush my hair.”

  The doorbell sounded at the crack of dawn. I tried to ignore it, hoping the idiot would go away. No luck, the bell kept ringing. Stumbling out of bed, I grabbed my pistol. Anyone calling at that time of the morning had already proven themselves an enemy.

  It was Blaine.

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Yes,” he said, “it’s nine thirty.” The only reason I didn’t shoot him was because he held out a carryout cup of coffee. I cautiously took it and sniffed it. Caramel mocha. He was still a bastard, but I let him live.

  Inhaling the fumes and taking small sips as I sat on the couch, I gave him the evil eye. “What the hell is so important that it can’t wait until noon?” I asked.

  He held out a handful of documents in hard copy and several chips. student ID, corporate ID, passport, transcripts, birth certificate. Jasmine Keller had everything except a boyfriend. The pictures I’d given Blaine were on every document that needed them.

  “You have this identity flagged in your systems,” I said.

  “Of course. She’s entered and validated across the board.”

  “Take off the flags. Make her anonymous.”

  He blinked at me. Then he blinked again.

  “This,” I held up all the documents, “is mine. She’s not yours. She’s available to me after this contract, without any flags. Fix it. I’ll know if you don’t.”

  “Well…I mean…we’ve contracted you…” he stuttered.

  “Your password on your personal account is capital x, yz5347602,” I said. “Your validation question answer is Helen, a name I’m sure your ex-wife would be interested in. I’ll know if you leave any flags on this identity.”

  Probably not the smartest or most diplomatic way to start a relationship with a client, but I was groggy. I hated him for waking me up, and I suddenly felt a need to establish who was in charge. He might be paying me, but I wasn’t his lackey.

  He stared at me for some time, his face set in stone and his eyes angry. “I’ll take care of it,” he finally said.

  “Good. I assume you have a dossier on this case for me to read.

  He handed me a chip.

  “Thanks. Are my contact numbers and addresses on this?”

  He nodded.

  “Send my guardian angel over at one o’clock so we can work out the details.”

  “I’m sorry. Details?” Blaine must have been slow that morning.

  “Code words, when and where we’ll communicate, when he’ll charge in to save the day and when he won’t. You know, that sort of minor details. Mr. Blaine, I hope you’ve assigned the A team to cover me. If this guy is an idiot…” I let my sentence die.

  “You’re pretty damned cocky,” he said. That was the second time I’d provoked him to anger. I made a note that he wasn’t as sure of himself as he tried to project. If I was in his position, I’d be a lot more confident.

  “We can walk away from this deal right now,” I said. “You’re the one who solicited me. Either we deal as equal partners, or we don’t deal at all.”

  He silently regarded me, then sighed. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll send Wilbur over at one.”

  Wilbur?

  Wilbur Wilberforce had parents with a bizarre sense of humor. On the other hand, I certainly wasn’t going to make fun of his name. Six feet five inches with shoulders he had to turn to get through the door, he had a shaved head, dark eyes, golden-brown skin, and the kind of chiseled face the entertainment industry favored for action heroes. His arms rippled with muscle, and his six pack had a six pack. I guessed he was about ten years older than I was.

  With my usual aplomb, I opened the door and stared at him with my mouth agape. Before I started to drool, he said in a baritone voice that caused various parts of my anatomy to heat up, “Miss Nelson? I’m Wilbur Wilberforce. Mr. Blaine sent me.”

  “Of course,” I stammered. “Won’t you come in?” As he passed through the door, I wondered whether I was quick enough to hit the floor first if I tripped him.

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Water, if you please. Thank you.”

  I tried to think of something else to ask him just so I could hear his voice. Where had this man been all my life? The answer was pretty obvious. Spending his time being chased by super models and vid stars. Get hold of yourself, Libby. Even in my natural form, I couldn’t compete for a guy like him, let alone wearing Jasmine’s form, which I’d put on for our meeting. I doubted an awkward ne
rd would ring his bell.

  I brought him a glass of water.

  “Mr. Blaine said you wanted to get together to coordinate your protection,” Wilbur said.

  “Uh, yeah.” I stopped, seized hold of my libido, strangled it, and stuffed it in a hole deep in my mind where it continued to pant and drool. Taking a breath, I said, “I think we should each understand the other’s understanding of our relationship. Don’t you agree?” Why did I use the word relationship? Partnership? What the hell word should I use that didn’t set off unwelcome visions in my mind?

  Luckily, Wilbur was professional. He asked what my plan was. We discussed several aspects of it, and he made a couple of good suggestions. Neither of us thought this investigation would be quick or easy.

  “You do know that drug investigations sometimes take months, if not years?” he asked.

  Did that mean we should move in together? My libido asked, but I stomped on it again.

  We worked out code words for various scenarios and actions, and he gave me an earpiece to keep in contact with him. He told me it contained a tracker, and showed me how to shut the audio off.

  “You’re starting tonight?” he asked.

  “Yes, but just preliminary scouting runs. I know one club where the stuff is being peddled, but I want to find out how widespread it is. A friend of mine runs The Pinnacle, and although I’ve never noticed much of a drug scene there, their clientele fits the older end of the demographic.”

  He nodded. “I assume you won’t be wearing your disguise for that,” he said. “Do you want me following you when you’re Elizabeth Nelson, or only as Jasmine Keller?”

  Ooo, good question.

  “Suppose I tell you when I don’t need you? I have a date tomorrow night. I don’t think that would be comfortable for either of us.” Let alone Ron.

  Wilbur nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “Tonight, I’ll go to The Pinnacle as myself. Did Blaine give you a picture?” Wilbur nodded again. “I’ll be asking a lot of questions, and I’d appreciate your noticing if anyone seems to pay too much attention to me.”

  “All right. I’ll see you there tonight. Turn your comm link on so we can test it.”

  “Thanks for stopping by, Wilbur.”

  For the first time, he smiled, and as I melted into a puddle on the floor, he said, “Just call me Wil.”

  Never one to let logic and reality interfere with my dreams, I dressed and did my hair and makeup as though Wil would actually be interested in me and set out for The Pinnacle. An inconsiderate witch in the back of my mind nagged that if he fell for any woman at the club, it would be Nellie. It had happened before. But if he did, then he’d still come around for me to stare at and drool over.

  I didn’t see him when I walked into the club, but he came through the door just when I reached the bar and turned around. If he was following me, he was good. I’d been more vigilant than usual, knowing I might have a tail. Dressed to go clubbing, he was even more incredible than he’d been that afternoon.

  “Oh, wow,” I heard Paul’s voice behind me. I turned and saw he was staring past me toward the door.

  “You could give me a complex,” I said.

  “Oh, hi, Libby. God, did you see that guy over there?”

  “Yes, Paul, I saw him. Get in line. By the time he gets his first drink, half the club will be drooling on him.”

  “You know him?” He sounded hopeful.

  “No, I don’t, and I doubt I’ll ever get the chance to. Give me a beer.”

  Paul came back with my drink and I asked him, “Do you think there’s much drug dealing in here?”

  He snorted and stared at me with a puzzled grin on his face. “Duh. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

  “I guess not. You know I don’t do that sort of thing.”

  He put his elbows on the bar and leaned toward me. “We make sure it stays low key because we want to keep our image up. People go to the bathrooms or outside to do it. But yeah, the younger corporate generation spends half its time spending money, and the other half blowing their brains out with drugs and screwing. Why? Are you feeling left out?”

  Paul and I met in grammar school and been fast friends ever since. He knew more about me than almost anyone. He was my best friend when I discovered my chameleon abilities. His older brothers had gone the heavy corporate route like their dad, but Paul was more laid back. Manager of a corporate bar was more his style than running the finances on the entire chain. I’d skipped The Pinnacle in Dallas in favor of the mutie bars. It wouldn’t be the same without Paul and Nellie.

  “What do you know about luvdaze?”

  He straightened. “Whoa. Libby, if you want to take a walk on the wild side, you should start with something a little safer. You don’t want to get involved with that stuff. I can score you some weed or coke.”

  “Thanks. If I ever want to scramble my neurons, I’ll let you know. I’m just curious. I had a client whose son is doing luvdaze, and then I saw some news casts about it.”

  His expression changed, from alarmed to concerned. “You wouldn’t be working on something related to luvdaze, would you?”

  “And if I were?”

  “I’d tell you to find something safer, like the heroin gangs in the slums, or sky diving without a parachute. Libby, the people involved with this thing have money, connections, and they don’t mind leaving bodies.”

  “So you do know something about it.”

  He shook his head vigorously. “More than I want to, and I don’t want to learn any more. Lib, I’m warning you. Whatever you’re being paid, it’s not worth it.”

  I sighed. “Paul, I’m going to send someone around to talk with you. Are you free about two tomorrow afternoon?”

  His shoulders slumped. “Yeah. What are you going to look like?”

  With a smile, I said, “Her name is Jasmine Keller. About my height, dark hair, kinda nerdy. She’s going to want you to introduce her to people. I think she’s interested in setting up a supply pipeline to Calgary.”

  “I hope she wears a bullet-proof corset,” Paul said. He leaned forward again. “Libby, watch your damn back. I caught a couple of rumors that the money behind this thing comes from way up the line.”

  He walked away to take a customer’s order. Paul was my main connection into Toronto’s nightlife and underground. I wasn’t sure if he’d know anything useful, but I was glad I’d followed that instinct. I hadn’t considered that people in the corporate world were financing the drug. Criminal hierarchies every bit as rigid and powerful as the corporations that ran the international drug trade. Usually they stayed off each other’s turf.

  After finishing my beer, I took the subway across town to visit an old friend of my dad’s. Dad took me to meet Vincent Overton when I was fifteen. The man was a genius, a former corporate chemist who discovered several major life-saving drugs when he worked for CanPharm Corporation, the largest pharmaceutical company in Canada. His business after retirement took a different direction.

  Vincent didn’t keep regular business hours, and if he had a phone number, I didn’t know it. I showed up and knocked. Sometimes he answered, sometimes he didn’t. If he had a client, he wouldn’t answer. This time, I was in luck.

  “What can I do for you, Miss Nelson?”

  “I need information,” I said, offering a bank card. Vincent took it and charged it a thousand creds. If I needed more information than that bought, he would simply stop talking and hold out his hand.

  “I want to know about luvdaze,” I said.

  “I don’t sell recreational drugs,” he said. “Good day.”

  “No, you misunderstand me. I don’t want the drug, I want to know about it. It appears to be very new and in a completely different chemical class than any previously known drugs. The chemical composition leads me to believe it’s too complex for some kid to be whipping up batches in his garage.”

  A slight smile grew on his face and his eyes lit up. “You are here to purchase kn
owledge?”

  “Yes.”

  For the next hour, he took me through the chemistry and what it would take to make luvdaze. The research I had done after reading Blaine’s dossier turned out to be correct. It wasn’t an easy drug to make, and the equipment necessary was fairly sophisticated.

  Vincent seemed very pleased that I followed most of his explanation. “Do you have any more questions?”

  I held out my card again. He raised his eyebrows, but took the card and scanned it, then waited expectantly.

  “Who is or was pursuing research that might have led to the discovery of such a drug?” I asked. From what I’d learned already, I suspected luvdaze was a failed drug in a research line conducted by either a pharmaceutical company or university researchers working under a grant.

  My question was rewarded with a big smile. “Excellent, Miss Nelson.” He gave me three names—researchers in Switzerland, China and Canada.

  “What is the point of the research?” I asked. “I mean, what disease or condition are they working on?”

  “Von Brandt is working on schizophrenia, Ching works in sports medicine, specifically in areas of increasing stamina. Sheridan is working on enhancing female libido. All three have published papers on work they’ve done with compounds chemically similar to luvdaze.”

  “Chemically similar,” I repeated. “My understanding is that swapping out a benzene ring here and an aldehyde group there can get you a completely different drug with different effects. An analog of a drug that kills cancer cells may have a mode of action that blocks an environmental toxin. Is that correct?”

  “Essentially. A drug may cure the disease you’re targeting but cause undesirable side effects. Minor modifications may eliminate those side effects. On the other hand, a minor modification may give it lethal side effects, such as liver failure.”

  “But a change also may change the primary effect.”

  “Yes. A lot of trial and error goes into such research.”