by A. J. Mayall
“Your family seemed nice when I met them before.”
“They aren’t Grandma Francesca.”
He scowled. “What, she’s a ballbreaker like you?”
“I’ve got nothing on her.”
Jack whistled and followed quickly after her, hands going to his pockets. He tucked his head down as they walked through employee only areas, cutting across hallways and taking a service elevator to the management area.
“Seriously, why are we here?”
“If Phoenix is going to show force, we need to be away from the fallout. The offices aren’t safe.”
“I thought you said if someone went there, Phoenix would know. Spider webs and all that.”
“I’m not scared of the mob showing force, Jack. I don’t want to be at Ground Zero if big, dumb, and hair gel goes pop.”
The duo turned a corner, Suzette coming to an abrupt stop. The momentum carried Jack into nearly running her down, save for Suzette pushing back against him. Suzette took in a deep breath, standing before the door of the Executive Hostess. A moment of hesitation crossed the dark-haired woman’s stature, before she furrowed her brow and rapped on the door in quick succession.
“It’s unlocked, come on in.”
Suzette turned the knob and entered, Jack walking behind her, all smiles.
“Grandma, we have a problem. We need to use the Gerard Suite.”
Francesca’s pleasant smile steeled itself into a stony glare, looking from her granddaughter to her boyfriend.
“This must be Jack. Your father told me about him.”
“Yes, it’s Jack. You know how serious this is. May we use the suite?”
“Is Phoenix…?”
“He’s out of options. This is not his doing.”
“How bad is it?”
“We need to use the Gerard Suite.”
“I heard you!” she snapped, giving the two of them a quick glance once more.
“It’s bad enough that I’m asking for your help.”
“You swear to me that he had no other choice.” She stood and straightened the lapels of her pristine white dinner jacket.
Jack stepped forward. “We have reason to believe Dominic Basseri…”
Francesca’s eyes widened. “The Bastard is back?”
Suzette nodded. “The Bastard is back, and I need the keys to the Gerard Suite.”
Francesca turned on her heels and walked to her desk, hands going and opening drawers, before tossing a set of antique brass keys to her granddaughter.
“Are you sure about this?” Francesca looked between the two of them, before settling her gaze on her granddaughter.
Suzette shook her head, “No, but you taught me to take no chances.”
Jack leaned in and whispered to Suzette’s ear. “What the hell is a Gerard Suite?”
Suzette hissed, elbowing him between the ribs, hard. “Shut up, the adults are speaking.”
“Ow! Hey! Not cool,” Jack growled, causing Francesca to rise and glare at him, with cold, hateful fury.
“You do not growl at my granddaughter, understood?” She looked to Suzette. “You do not harm someone in my presence, either. Now apologize, both of you.”
“Sorry, Suzette.”
“Yeah, me too, Jack.”
Francesca crossed the room, opening the door for them. “Now. Both of you. Out.”
Keys in hand, Suzette headed out, letting Jack out after, before turning to her grandmother. “I’m sorry for bringing this here. I promise you, I’ll make this right.”
“I know you will, but trouble follows you, dear.”
Suzette looked down. “I know.”
“I like the jewelry, though. Silver?”
“Yeah, Jack got it for me.”
Francesca called out to the police officer, “You have good taste. Keep it up and I might forgive that little faux pas. I keep telling Suzette she needs to wear more jewelry and that a little silver would mean she couldn’t keep the boys away.”
Jack nodded and waited for Suzette, who departed with a smile on her face.
“That…was a little more intense than I was expecting,” Jack said in a huff as Suzette took off in a power walk, leaving Jack in her wake.
“Suzette!” he called out, and began running after her.
She stopped and turned, walking toward him, fury in her face. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“Do you expect me to trust you?” she spat, staring him down where he stood. He simply gave a nervous grin and nodded.
“Well, I’d certainly hope so.”
“Then put yourself in my shoes. The corrupt part of the local police force has my boss, and I’m dating their newest member. With bodies in the streets, and my livelihood in danger, this has spilled over into my family life. So, I know you want answers, but right now, you need to follow me. You want The Pack reigned in and the corruption to stop, right?”
Jack nodded eagerly. “You know I do.”
Suzette looked him over and smiled. “Okay, then shut up and do what I say.”
Jack sighed and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw she was already taking off again, and he gave chase.
Phoenix walked into the small conference room. O’Halloran and Bellacino were already seated.
“The hell was that commotion, McGee?” Bellacino yelled through a sneer as he stood. The detective turned his head until that last pop finally occurred.
“That was me giving us some privacy. Now sit your ass down.”
O’Halloran gave Phoenix a look of disgust and went to stand up as well. A concussive force knocked him and Bellacino to the floor, Douglas sustaining a head injury on his way down, yelping like an injured coyote.
“You just signed your death warrant!” O’Halloran spat out, as he felt his nose to see if it had been broken, glad it hadn’t been. His words were met with greater force.
“This is a localized gravity field, gentlemen, four times what you are used to.” Phoenix said, a hand extended toward them, blue-white energy flowing around the tips of his fingers. “Behave, or Daddy will give you fuckers a spanking.”
Donatello reached into his jacket for a pistol; Phoenix further increased the gravity.
“Did I stutter, gentlemen? I am out. Of. Patience. You two are being set up. Stop this bullshit, or I swear I’ll crush both of you to a pulp.”
Douglas and Donatello huffed, breathing becoming increasingly difficult for them as Phoenix approached, waving his free hand and sending the table flying back overhead and into the door behind him.
Douglas looked at the two of them: his bitter rival, and the upstart, and relented. He nodded, holding his hands up, hanging his head. Donatello took half a minute longer before he, too, submitted. The energy folded itself back into nonexistence, the gravity field vanishing in a moment, giving the two Mafiosi a feeling of whiplash through their entire body.
Donatello stood, bracing his bearish body against the wall as he kept an intense gaze on the detective. “You got balls, kid. I’ll give you that.”
Douglas gave a snort and gave a sideways sneer to Donatello, which did not go unnoticed by Phoenix. The detective felt the energy course through him, fueled by his anger at the two of them, bickering like children, killing people and putting the citizens of Rouge Mal, his city, in the crossfire. He flicked his wrist and Douglas felt himself falling toward the ceiling, slamming into it, before falling back all the distance to the floor, a wet pop heard from his right shoulder. The older man began to scream in pain, Donatello backing away from the detective.
“Get up, Douglas.” Phoenix said, flinching at the prone man on the floor.
“My fucking shoulder is dislocated!”
“I said get up, Douglas.”
Phoenix knew he couldn’t ride the anger forever. Eventually, his good nature would get the better of him. If he faltered, he could imitate Suzette. Dislocating Douglas’ arm seemed fitting. He still had plenty of anger to burn through.
He took a moment to take in the room; no windows, no cameras, no witnesses., He had made a mental note when he yelled that the walls sounded like they had been soundproofed. Phoenix smiled wide. He was glad that things were finally starting to go his way, all this time of being worried of using his powers, when embracing the visceral power of his anger yielded results.
Douglas O’Halloran rolled to his left, holding his dislocated right shoulder tightly against his body, a trickle of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. The detective briefly questioned his actions. His mind went back to the dead bodies on the news, the image of a family rushing to a hospital as their youngest had taken a stray bullet. That was the image he needed as he reached down and grabbed the leader of the Irish Mob by his collar and lifted him bodily, backhanding him and glaring at him.
“This isn’t a room where you get mercy, understand? You’ve hurt a lot of people and I’m here still trying to help you get Caroline back, so can the attitude!”
Douglas gritted his teeth as tears welled up, his shoulder already swelling. Donatello kept his mouth shut. He hadn’t survived this long by treading where pit vipers had shown themselves to be. There was a moment of silence between O’Halloran and McGee and then the toughened crime lord finally relented.
“Okay…okay,” he murmured, as he held his right arm.
McGee took the chance to show a moment of mercy. He turned Douglas on his feet, an arm under his arm, the other across the chest before he lifted and pulled back abruptly. The sound was not unlike a roasted chicken being struck with a cleaver; wet, thick, and sickeningly organic. Phoenix released the man and let him fall to the floor to writhe in pain, but with an intact arm.
Donatello spoke up next: “You said we were being set up. I’d like to know what that’s about.” His voice was clipped, but there was a slight waver in his baritone. The show of force before him would rattle anyone without the superpowered bodyguards they were used to.
Phoenix gestured to the table and flicked his wrist; it jumped from the floor as if on command, slamming in place approximately where it had been. Much like the opinion of the redheaded detective in the eyes of the two crime lords, cracks in the surface were apparent.
“Pull up chairs. Donatello, would you help Douglas with his?” Phoenix said, pulling one of the plastic chairs and setting it down to face the two of them, back facing the door.
“We won’t be bothered, I assure you. Even The Pack is finding some trouble getting in.”
Donatello gathered two chairs and set them at the table, seating themselves across from the detective.
“The Bastard is making a play for your turfs,” Phoenix said, making the two Mafiosi look at each other in disbelief.
Douglas winced, leaning his left arm on the table. “You’re talking Basseri? That guy ran with his tail between his legs two years ago. The hell would he want us to kill each other for?”
Donatello rubbed his temples. “Because that’s what he does, you fucking moron. He gets people to do his dirty work for him. Where’d you get this information, McGee?”
Phoenix looked back over his shoulder, hearing pounding on the outside door. “Let’s say I think you have a mole in your organizations. I need to know you two are on board before we move forward. This means you two stop killing each other, got it?”
Douglas rolled his eyes. “If Basseri has my Caroline, I’ll wear his guts for garters. Now, what was your idea?” he spoke, each word seeming final in its own regard. The effort of talking through the pain was getting easier; Phoenix could see the rage right beneath the surface. His attack wouldn’t go without future retribution, and it was something he was willing to deal with.
“We need to draw him out into the open. To do that we need to get him worked up. I’m asking you to stop playing his game.”
Donatello scoffed. “We stop jumping through these hoops, he kills the people we’re jumping through the hoops for. No deal.”
“You got a better plan, Donnie?” Douglas hissed. “I want my daughter back.”
Phoenix groaned as he heard the crashing of bodies against the outside door, walking toward the door leading to the hallway.
“One moment, I need to…”
Phoenix remembered very little of the next moment, just of the door rushing to meet him, of impact and pain, the sound like two buses crashing into each other sending him sprawling to the floor. His senses swirled as the wind knocked out of him. He looked up trying to gather his power before an oversized steel toed boot crashed into his jaw, sending him into near unconsciousness.
“Gentlemen, I think we need to discuss a few things…” growled a fully transformed Sam Maxwell, as The Pack came in behind him.
Phoenix looked up at the lycanthropic form, before Sam looked down, meeting eyes. His left boot rose and slammed into McGee’s face, making the world go black.
The moon was high in the sky over the canyon walls of Rouge Mal as Guess Levicia walked with purpose. She swiped through the various documents on her fliptop, currently in tablet mode. She adjusted the shoulders of her suit before verifying the address on the screen with her location. The locked door of Todd Bennington didn’t take long to pick.
She tapped her Scarface: “Mr. Gemini, are you receiving?”
“Yes, Ms. Levicia.”
“Good, I want there to be record that I swear I heard an animal crying on the other side of this door, and that me breaking and entering is a welfare check on any potential animals in danger.”
“Duly noted, Ms. Levicia.”
She gave a wry smile. The alibi was weak, especially since she knew Todd didn’t have any pets, and the street was silent, save for the occasional gust of cold desert wind.
She held the dummy memo in her jacket pocket, again, her alibi should anything go awry. She turned on the lights and walked silently through the spacious two-story condo, assessing details. Computer left on, a fine layer of dust on the screen. She hiked her leather gloves a bit up at the wrist and dragged a finger through the dust, about two to three weeks of settling, to her estimation. The kitchen was immaculate, save for a few containers of takeout from a local upscale restaurant and the moldy dishes in the sink and dishwasher. She decided to do Todd a courtesy by starting a cycle, having seen the remnants of said leftover on the plates within.
She did a once-through of the house, stopping in the bathroom, turning off a dripping faucet, and in the bedroom where a set of suitcases were set by the bed.
“I think Todd was planning a trip, sir.”
“Do you have any clues as to destination?”
“No, sir. Just these two suitcases.”
She unzipped them and revealed their contents: a variety of men’s and women’s clothing, no toiletries. The clothes had been stuffed in haphazardly.
“Does Mr. Bennington have a girlfriend?”
“We don’t keep records of that, Ms. Levicia. This is something the police should handle.”
“I understand, sir.”
“It’s best if you exit there, promptly.”
“I concur,” she replied, leaving the suitcases open, taking a quick look around once more as she rose, moving from room to room like a shadow before walking to the living room.
“Mr. Gemini, I’m going to look at his computer, first.”
“I don’t think you need to.”
“It’s our computer, sir. AGI property. Maybe there’s something of use, I brought a skeleton key with me.”
She walked to the fliptop sitting on a coffee table, left plugged in to charge. She sat before it, a password screen facing her. She reached into her pocket and removed a thumb drive. She unhooked the power cord and slipped it into the data port, and twisted the top until the LED flashed on.
After a moment of flickering, the password entry disappeared and the desktop was shown.
“I’m in.” She said, brushing her blonde fringe out of her eye for a moment before a few wayward strands found their way in front of her eye again.
“Is the
re anything that might help Mr. McGee find Bennington?”
“Oh, yes. Quite a lot. I’m taking this with me.”
“Ms. Levicia, no need to….” His voice creaked with a hint of nervousness as she tapped the Scarface.
“Mr. Gemini, there device contains specs on many projects across both parts of the company, and private correspondence I simply don’t have the time to peruse. It’s prudent we inform Mr. McGee of Todd’s discoveries. Perhaps he can use it to find your wayward security chief.”
The sound of Reginald Gemini sighing in her ear was consent enough in her mind. She picked up the fliptop and set it under her own, slipping both of them under her arm.
“I did see a name pop up in a few of those emails.”
“What name might that be, Ms. Levicia?”
“Dominic Basseri.”
Guess Levicia locked the door behind her and ardently walked toward her car a half block away. She looked up at the night sky, the smallest hint of a smile crossing her icy face.
She did turn when the front of Todd Bennington’s building exploded outward in a fireball, her eyes widening, a finger clicking on the Scarface.
“We have a problem, Mr. Gemini.”
There was pain. God damn, there was pain. Phoenix found himself bound to a chair, a black hood covering his head. It was a small mercy; he was certain any amount of light would be like a red hot icepick in the brain. He did a quick bodily assessment as he tried to rise out of slumber. Yup, all parts accounted for, if only for the fact most of them were bruised, or potentially broken.
He groaned and tasted the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth; his jaw ached, stretched wide by a rag, preventing the detective from speaking more than choked vowels. He did an assessment of his environment. Absolutely nothing to go on, and with that fact he knew it was dangerous to lash out with his powers. Basseri had done it to him in the past, set him up to use his power with innocents just out of sight. He went limp, defeated. Cuffs and chains around his ankles, his waist, arms, and neck. Yup, this was officially his worst day of the year to date.
He craned his neck to listen for any signs of Maxwell, of Bellacino, of O’Halloran. Nothing.