“I called Sandy at the parole board and got some pretty good info. The guy’s name is Jack Shao. Born in ’78, raised here in L.A. graduated a year ahead of schedule with a B.S. in chemistry, summa cum laude. Then kicked out of the UCLA grad-program a year later. Couldn’t find out why.”
“Wait. He would have graduated in ’02. And Grad-school in ’03 at UCLA?” An interesting possibility occurred to me.
“Yep.”
“Xen got his PhD in ’03.”
“Think they knew each other?”
“Maybe … it’s a big school, but aren’t the super-stars in programs like that pretty well known in University circles?”
“It was like that when I went to school,” she confirmed.
“I’ll have to ask Xen about that when I see him tonight. Go on.”
“Well, Jackie disappears for a year and then gets busted on a minor possession. The case is thrown out for improper search, and his parole officer gets him a job at VeniCorp in ’06. He’s been there ever since.”
I sat there thinking for a bit. “It’s starting to come together, Rachel. God, I love this job.” I looked at her with open admiration on my face. “Nice work, by the way.”
“Don’t be too impressed. It wasn’t that hard. When do you see Xen?”
“Eleven. Grady’s.”
“Want me to come?”
“Not on this one. He’s on the run, and there’s no telling what might happen. However, a job well done deserves a killer dinner. How about the Sunset Grill?”
“You got thrown out of an airplane the last time we went there.”
“But I like the food.”
“I feel like Italian, and I want to get into character. You’re taking me to the Ago.” She smiled mischievously, knowing the Ago to be one of the nicest and most expensive Italian bistros in the city.
“Am I?”
“You are,” she looked at me greedily. “Like you said, you owe me.”
I sighed, resigning to my fate and a $500 dinner tab. “Deal. You’re worth it. But you can’t go like that,” I pointed out, eyeing her up and down. “I don’t have time to get into any fights defending your honor. The way you look, I’m certain someone would want to besmirch it.”
“Besmirch? Me?” she asked, grinning wickedly.
“You know what I mean.”
“I think I do. I’ll go get dressed. You going like that?”
“Don’t I always?”
“One of these days I’m going to get you dressed up. I’ve never seen you in a tuxedo.”
“And you probably never will.”
“It’s a bet.” She practically leapt out of the lounge chair and rushed inside.
***
Uninvited Guests
I sat at the bar in the back room of Grady’s, thinking fondly about my dinner with Rachel. I sipped a cup of tea with ’40s big band music playing in the background. I’d dropped her off at her place around ten after a really wonderful meal, a couple bottles of really good wine, and positively soothing conversation. Without a doubt, Rachel was my favorite person on Earth, and I’d become increasingly more comfortable being around her, especially in the past few months. However, despite enjoying myself as much as I did, something at the back of my mind kept eating at me.
I had a weird feeling about the meeting with Xen all through dinner. I’d learned to trust my instincts early in my existence, so I’d stopped at my loft on the way to Grady’s, trading out my motorcycle for the Chrysler and bringing Mag along. As Marsha had promised, the place was closed down, and there were no cars in the parking lot. I parked the Chrysler in the alley, and the two of us went in through the back door using the keys Marsha had given me. Once in, I unlocked the front and fixed myself a cup of tea.
I told Mag to hide behind one of the sofas closest to the front door and stay there camouflaged unless there was trouble. She wouldn’t move unless I said so. Xen knew I had a cougar and had even seen her a few times, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary to show him her true form yet. Luck favors the prepared mind, and I didn’t want to get caught with my pants down. Besides, if it came down to it, I did trust Xen at least enough to walk through the routine I’d come up with about Magdelain being a genetic mutation of a cougar and how I’d found her during a case years earlier. The story had worked before with Marsha and a few others.
I went behind the bar and poured myself another cup of tea just as the little hand closed in on the eleven. As I sat back down, I heard the doorknob of the back door turn. I leaned way over sideways so I could see the back door. I saw Xen’s face appear and disappear through the barely open door. He was bald and hadn’t been the last time I saw him. The clock showed eleven o’clock sharp. As usual, Xen was right on time.
“It’s okay Xen. It’s just me,” I called out. “Come on in.” I headed towards the back door as he stepped in and closed it quickly behind him. Xen is a not-thick-not-thin five-foot-seven and had taken to my training like a fish to water. He wore black boots, black jeans and a black long-sleeve pullover. I noted dark circles under his eyes; eyes that held fatigue, fear, and something else I’d never seen before—resolved strength. The past week and a half had clearly changed him. We met halfway and gave each other a huge hug.
“It’s good to see you, man,” I said.
“It’s good to be seen,” he replied, slapping me on the back as we released.
“C’mon. I’ll pour you some tea,” I offered.
“Bourbon,” he said like a veteran drinker.
“You don’t drink.”
“After killing a hit man downtown and living on the run for a week, I started. Bourbon,” he repeated firmly.
“Okay.” I stepped behind the bar, got a couple of tumblers and pulled down a bottle of Wild Turkey. I poured two fingers worth into each glass and pushed one over to Xen. He gulped down a finger’s worth, set the glass down and stared at me for a few seconds. I waited for the gasp-cough from the bourbon burning down’s his throat, but he didn’t even flinch.
“What the hell did you get me into?” Xen asked with a taint of anger. He’d obviously pieced together that his troubles began when I’d given him that data.
“I swear, Xen, I didn’t know,” I pleaded. “And I’m only starting to piece things together now.” I gave him an impressed look. “Good work with the faked death, by the way. You scared the hell out of me, you know.”
“Scared the hell out of you? I haven’t slept in a week.”
“I bet.”
“And there’s more. I’d met someone … and she doesn’t know either. I didn’t know if I could trust her.”
“Natalia?”
“Yeah, she’s … how did you?—”
“She’s the one who told me you were dead. Listen, Xen. About Natalia …”
“What?” he asked, suddenly fearful.
The back door opened, and four, thick-built men walked in. Cold murder filled their eyes, and every one of them had eastern-bloc features. Xen and I looked at each other and back at the men without saying a word. A few seconds later, the front door to the parlor opened up, and three more walked in.
“Can you take two?” I whispered to Xen, nodding to the two guys at the front door.
“I’ll bloody well try, but there’s three,” he said with more confidence than I expected.
“You just have to worry about two of them.” He gave me a worried look. “Trust me,” I added. “If they have guns, follow my lead. If not, stay alive and kill them if you can. Get behind the bar,” I added under my breath. I faced the four at the back of the parlor. “Hi!” I said brightly, as if they were old friends I hadn’t seen in years. I stepped around the bar towards them. “The place is closed tonight. You must not have gotten the message.” One of the men stepped up and caught me with a fast right across the chin. No one else moved. I straightened up, running my tongue over my teeth.
“So, it’s going to be that way, hunh?” I concluded, still smiling.
“Bennie DiMarco sends his regards,�
�� the man said with a slight Russian accent. “He paid us extra to take our time in beating you to death.”
The three men at the front door headed for Xen who had stepped back behind the bar. I moved towards the middle of the parlor, and the remaining four carefully moved around me.
“I don’t suppose we could make a deal, could we?” I asked hopefully. “I’m rich.”
The man simply shook his head.
“I was afraid of that.” I sighed tiredly as I positioned myself, putting the one who had clocked me to my right.
“Mag?” I said loudly and clearly. The four men looked at each other, not understanding. “Front door. NOW!” As I heard an ear-splitting snarl, I spun with blinding speed to my right. I drove my elbow as hard as I could into the throat of the man who had spoken. I felt his larynx collapse, crushed completely with the impact, and he flew back through the entrance to the bar. In the same motion I kicked out with my left leg, hammering my boot into another man’s crotch, catching him completely by surprise. He grunted once and staggered back into the hallway towards the back door, bent over and gasping for breath with his hands grasping at his wrecked testicles. Did I mention I don’t fight fair?
The man with the collapsed throat smashed into a tall rack of wineglasses and fell to the floor, holding his throat as he turned blue. A man’s screams filled the room, and there was a horrible snarling sound as Magdelain tore into one of the men who had come in the front door.
The two left on Xen came at him fast, but with Xen behind the bar, only one could really get at him. Xen went into a defensive stance, using the bar as protection. The two left around me kicked at my mid-section. I blocked one kick and grabbed the leg of the second man. I crouched down, spinning as I went. My back leg swept under the legs of the first kicker who tumbled to the ground. Turning, I dragged the captured leg with me, completed a full rotation, and heard a sick popping sound as his knee dislocated. I sent him flying headfirst into one of the large TV monitors beyond the conversation pit. Sparks flew as his head shattered the screen and he slumped to the floor, motionless except for one leg twitching.
I took a quick look behind the bar. Xen was doing okay, mostly blocking the attacks of the first man, but the second had leapt up onto the bar and dropped down behind Xen.
“Xen!” I yelled.
Without looking Xen shot out a back-kick that caught the man in the chest just as he landed on the floor behind the bar. Grunting and staggering back, he tripped over the legs of the still-choking man and fell directly into a rack of wine bottles that shattered as he collapsed on top of my first victim. He was down but not out, and started to get back up, albeit slowly.
The man I had tripped came up cautiously, approaching me with something in his hand. We were both in solid fighting stances, and I had no doubt every one of these guys was a pro. I heard a loud, metallic click as the blade came out of the guy’s cowpuncher, a switchblade of particularly deadly design. I looked at the knife and then at him, a subtle smile on my face.
He held the knife with point outward in line with his thumb. He might be a pro, but I knew immediately that he wasn’t a knife fighter. The good ones hold the blade pointing down, away from their pinky fingers. I shook my head as we closed. I calmly stepped back from the first slash and then the back swing, waiting for my opening. I widened my hands, inviting a stab.
Taking the bait, he came in low and fast, trying to catch me in the belly. My hand moved down in a flash, grabbing his hand in an iron grip. I raised his hand, twisting his arm outward and opening him up. He was already leaning forward, and my knee came up into his belly like a piston, picking him up off the ground and forcing the air out of his lungs. As I looked past the man doubled-over in front of me, I saw the guy I had first kicked in the balls straightening up and pulling out a Makarov from his shoulder holster. He’d finally gotten his wind back and seemed intent on shooting us rather than beating us to death.
I tore the knife away from the man in front of me, spun him around, and using him as a shield, charged full speed at the guy with the pistol. I glanced at Xen and realized he was in trouble behind the bar. One of the killers held him from behind, his arms pinned, while the other worked Xen’s mid-section with fast punches. Then another snarl filled the parlor.
Gunshots rang out as the man fired the Makarov. There were more screams, this time from behind the bar as Mag tore into another one of them. I pressed my living shield into a hail of bullets. At full speed and with every ounce of strength, I smashed the two men together into the back door of the parlor. The eyes of the man with the gun rolled back in his head as he slammed against the steel door. In a fast motion, I slit the throat of my shield, finishing the job the gunman had started, and then buried the switchblade deep into the dazed left eye of the shooter.
Hearing screams and snarls from behind the bar, I spun. I stepped out to see Xen being held firmly by the last man and dragged backwards towards the wall of TV screens. Xen stopped struggling, planted his feet and came up with a heel directly into the crotch of the man holding him. The guy yelped and let go. Xen spun, crouching as he did and caught the guy with a palm-strike in the solar plexus. The man doubled over, helpless. Xen grabbed the guy’s hair in both hands, raised his head up and then brought the guy’s face down hard into an up-coming knee. He grunted as he put everything he had into it. The guy’s face exploded, his nose and cheeks caving in completely. He flew up and back, his feet lifting off the ground, and sailed into the TVs mounted on the wall behind him. He fell to the floor with two monitors following him down, crashing on top of his lifeless body.
The room went silent except for the dripping of wine from a few bottles hanging precariously in the broken rack. Mag came out from behind the bar, her muzzle and claws covered in blood. One of her eyes had swelled shut and she walked with a slight limp. Xen wordlessly walked behind the bar, slammed down his remaining finger of Wild Turkey, and grabbed my half-full glass.
“You okay?” I asked as he stepped away from me. He glared at me over the Wild Turkey as he leaned back against the bar and held his ribs with one hand. I walked up to the bar, exploring Xen’s face. He downed the drink fast, gasping a bit, and shook his head at me.
“I’m pretty goddamn far from okay,” he said, his eyes a bit wild and adrenaline poured through his system.
I looked him over and realized that he’d done more than held his own against two professional killers. “Not bad Xen. Not bad at all,” I said quietly.
I took off my coat and laid it over one of the bar stools. Grabbing the bottle of bourbon, I poured myself a drink and downed it. Then I set the glass down on the bar next to Xen’s.
A shot rang out from the front door, and I heard Mag howl in agony. I spun to see a dark-haired man a bit shorter and thicker than me, wearing a black suit. He held a gun in one hand and a gasoline can in the other. He had a black goatee.
The Russian, I thought, remembering Yvgenny’s warning.
“Impressive, gentlemen,” he said with a harsh Russian accent. I looked at Mag who had collapsed on the floor, panting heavily. Blood oozed from the bullet hole in her side. Rage filled me, the old rage, the one I try to keep bottled up so no one can see what I used to be … what I was created to be. I didn’t care what Xen saw. I stepped away from the bar and moved towards the Russian.
Two more shots filled the gambling parlor, catching me in the chest. I felt the bullets tear through me and heard them shatter a mirror behind the bar. Pain screamed through my body. I coughed up a mouthful of blood and collapsed mid-stride, lying motionless on the floor with my face turned towards Xen, eyes open. Xen’s glass slid from his hand and shattered behind the bar, his eyes wide with terror.
***
Wide Eyed
Shaking slightly from fear and shock, Xen froze as the Russian walked up to the bar and set the gasoline can on top of it. The gun never wavered as he tipped the can over and slid it down the bar, gasoline pouring out and spilling over onto the floor. All Xen could
do was watch. The Russian reached the end of the bar and left the can there to empty out. He stepped back and faced Xen as gasoline fumes filled the air.
“Xen, yes? The chemist?” the assassin asked.
Xen nodded his head almost imperceptibly.
“You are one DiMarco’s thinks dead?”
Another tremor-nod.
“I think you should have stayed dead. Better than this, yes?” He nodded towards the gasoline on the bar.
“How did you know we were here?” Xen asked, finally able to speak.
The Russian smiled confidently.
“Had man on roof across way, waiting for that man.” The Russian pointed a thumb over his shoulder at my motionless form. “Now I not have to pay lookout. You killed him for me.” The assassin nodded to the corpse to Xen’s left with the TVs on top of the body. “My thanks. Maybe I just shoot you and not burn to death. You like this?”
Xen’s eyes grew impossibly wide, but not at the Russian’s question. I’d risen behind the Russian and wiped the blood off my chin.
“You missed me, asshole,” I growled, letting the old me loose. I spat out a mouthful of blood.
It was the Russian’s turn to look scared, and I had a feeling his own eyes grew wide. But he was a professional, after all. He spun around, the gun swinging quickly in a tight arc, but too late. The gun came round directly into my perfectly placed snap kick before the Russian could train it on me. The impact shot the Russian’s arm straight up, and the gun fired harmlessly into the wall and then went flying out of his hand.
I stepped in and hammered my elbow into left side of his jaw. He dropped down onto all fours but didn’t go all the way to the floor. In a flash, he snapped his hand down to his right ankle and pulled out a small Beretta, raising it quickly at me.
I was ready for it and snapped a front kick before he could point it at me. The gun sailed from his hand with a shot, but the bullet went wide, tearing a hole in the carpet and ricocheting off the concrete underneath.
“I figured you had a hideaway.” I smiled like the devil. “You should have waited to pull it.” I breathed heavily and spat out another mouthful of blood, this time on the Russian. “You shot my cat.” I let the fury take control as the Russian rolled back and jumped quickly to his feet. Xen had never seen me like this, had never seen the thing I used to be before coming to Earth. “Now I’m going to take you apart, one piece at a time.”
Chemical Burn Page 18