by W H Lock
Chapter Eleven
Los Angeles, California
Quinn stood up as the maitre'd escorted Gwen to the table. Quinn waited to sit until she slid into her seat, tucking her white dress around her as the maitre’d moved the chair for her. A waiter appeared out of nowhere to place a small stand with a bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne next to the table. He poured both Gwen and Quinn a glass.
Gwen looked around at the garden terrace restaurant in the middle of Los Angele. The trees had been trimmed to grow in towards the restaurant. Large umbrellas had been strategically placed to screen out the buildings of downtown Los Angeles. Unlike their dinner in Vegas, she was wearing a simple white cocktail dress that covered her shoulders.
"What's this about?" Gwen asked. "Do you need to go to Tibet to get the best person you know that can sift colored sand circles or whatever it is they call those designs?"
Quinn looked a little hurt. "They're called Dkyll 'Khors, and no," he said. "I think we've got the right team together. We shouldn't need one. Tomorrow we'll be meeting at the warehouse to break things down. But. I thought tonight." He gestured to the hidden green oasis around them. "Tonight, I think we should just lean back and enjoy life."
Gwen cocked an eyebrow at him and held up the glass of sparkling wine. She took a sip and shrugged. Quinn couldn’t tell if it was an acceptable vintage or she was indifferent to it. She tilted her head and looked at Quinn. He thought she was mulling over just getting up and walking out. To his surprise, she spoke.
"Look, I hired you to do a specific thing," she said. "Did you have some business to discuss or are you just wasting our time?"
Quinn sighed and waved off the waiters approaching from behind Gwen with several appetizers.
"If you are interested in dinner, I'd recommend the seasonal special. They've never let me down before," Quinn said. "But if we're about business. I've got everyone I need. Oscar has a warehouse rented in East LA that will suit our needs. We'll be developing the plan tomorrow."
"I thought you already had a plan. Wasn't that what you told me on the hill? That you were the best thief and you knew just what to do?"
Quinn took a drink. He took a moment to appreciate the effort it had taken to make the wine. "It's a California label, of course. I've never understood the snobbery about them. I mean, sure the French invented it, but the grapes are just as good."
"Quinn, I was told that you were a serious professional. The one guy out of a handful that could do what I needed done, but I'm not feeling confident about our arrangement. Do I need to find someone else?"
"How long do you think I've been at this?" Quinn asked Gwen.
"From your files your first arrest and acquittal, just over ten years," she said.
"Wow, hard to believe it's been ten years already," Quinn said. "But what I've learned is that it takes two, well, three things to make a job a success."
Gwen sighed and said, "And what are those?"
"First; there needs to be a clear vision of what's going to happen. Then you have to make sure everyone knows what's going to happen. Communication in both directions is key. They all have to be involved with every step of the process. The second thing is you have to know your strengths and your limits. Know what it is you can do and what you can't do." Quinn paused to take a drink. He waved to the wait staff.
They hurried in and placed several dishes on the table. Once the couple's glasses had been refilled, the staff retreated to leave them alone. Quinn looked the dishes over, and selected mushrooms that had been sauteed in a garlic butter reduction.
"This is excellent. I wasn't sure the cracked black pepper was going to work, but I am glad to say that I was wrong. These would be fantastic on a baked potato. You should try some!" Quinn stabbed another mushroom with a fork and waved it at Gwen.
She just cocked an eyebrow at him and said, "What's the third thing?"
"What?"
"You said there were three things that a successful team needed. What's that third?"
"Trust," Quinn said simply.
"I have to say that's a bit odd coming from someone who lives outside the bounds of society," Gwen said.
"I like the sound of that, outside the bounds of society." Quinn smiled. "It's got a certain ring to it, you know? But that's why it's so important. When you live outside the rules of what society says you're supposed to do, you have to know you can depend on the people around you. One wrong step, one wrong team member, and it all falls apart."
"You're bringing me to a restaurant that appears to specialize in appetizers so we can build trust?"
"Yes?"
Gwen nodded finished the glass of wine and stood up. "Quinn, I trust you just enough to do the job I've hired you to do. Call me once you have some updates worth discussing." She turned, the hem of her cocktail dress flaring out as she spun.
Quinn watched her leave the restaurant. This was going to be a lot harder than he had thought it was going to be. The head waiter came over and refilled Quinn's glass.
"Well, Ted, if you can get this all bagged up for me. I guess I'll be taking it to go," Quinn said.
"Sure thing, Quinn. Should I also call the burn unit? Cause that was a sick burn."
Quinn laughed and said, "You should probably dial whine one and have them send the wambulance." Quinn jumped up and patted Ted, the head waiter on the shoulder. "Hey, how did your mother like that vacation?"
"She loved it, Quinn. Thanks for hooking that up for her," Ted said. He waved at a few of his staff. They quickly packed up the dishes for Quinn. Ted handed him the bag and said, "Now, don't be a stranger, okay?"
"You know it," Quinn said. The two men hugged briefly.
Chapter Twelve
Quinn stepped into the light and did a quick turn with a high step kick that fell into a Jazz Drop where he fell to the floor in what looked like the splits and then lifted himself back up in time to the beat. The Circle of Cerddoriaeth that Quinn had summoned played a snappy pop tune as it floated along behind him. The mystic circle was one of Quinn's favorite enchantments. He had taken a great deal of time to customize his version of the Circle. Not only did the Circle house most of the song's he had liked over the years, but it was also sensitive to his moods. Which meant that when Quinn was feeling victorious, the Circle played wide sweeping marches filled with brass and string instruments. When he felt like dancing, which was most of the time, the Circle played any number of snappy pop music.
The team turned and looked at their leader as he did a quick two-step. The table had been set up under one light in a dark warehouse. Freddy had made the rounds to the business nearby and used his Vampiric charm to make sure no one was too curious about who and what was going in and out of the building. The only thing the rental agency would remember about the team's time in the building is that they were quiet people and paid their rent on time.
Quinn mimed throwing something over to Eno. "Eno, take it!"
The werewolf ignored the imaginary ball that Quinn had thrown to him and blew his nose instead. The Circle of Cerddoriaeth pulsed and switched to the blatt of a sad trombone. Everyone chuckled.
"Alrighty then," Quinn said with a quick snap of his fingers. The Circle dimmed and the music got quieter. "Let's get started. If you don't know each other by now, feel free to introduce yourselves afterward. I got important shit to talk about. This lady and gentlemen is what we are after."
Quinn moved his hands through a quick set of complex gestures. On command, the light above the table went out. From the center of the table aquamarine of Quinn's magic coalesced and formed an eldritch circle. Runes wrote themselves as rings separated, filling the space with sparkling light and the snapping pop sound of spring wood being thrown on the fire. Briefly, in the air, there was the scent of ivy. From the center of the eldritch circle, the image of a skull rose up into the air.
The skull was yellow with age. The jaw had gone missing some time ago. Several of the teeth from the upper jaw were missing. Cracks ran throug
h the skull. The faces of the team, underlit by the light of the circle, followed the skull as it rose up into the air.
Quinn stepped in close and reached across the circle he had created. He cupped his hand under it and lifted the realistic image up as if he were playing Hamlet about to give the Yorick soliloquy.
"The Skull of Saint Dymphna," Quinn said.
The Circle of Cerddoriaeth floating behind Quinn took that moment played a rim shot. The team burst out laughing. Over the years it had also developed a sense of comedic timing.
"You're not helping!" Quinn dismissed the Circle with a wave of his hand. The musical circle pulsed in what might have been laughter before disappearing. The team laughed again, but this time at Quinn. Quinn sulked at the broken mood, and waved his hands, dismissing the minor circle he had called into existence on the table and turned the lights back on.
Rube did his best to not look impressed, but the shock of what he was experiencing was clear on his face. His green eyes were wide, and the chocolate brown of his skin had gone a little ashen. Karen pulled out a small notebook and jotted a few things down.
"I have one question." Eno blew his nose again and raised his hand, "Who's backing this?"
Quinn nodded and said, "The bankroll wants to remain anonymous for a few reasons, but mostly as a means to insulate them."
"What do they want the skull for," the stuffed up werewolf asked.
"Does it matter? They're paying us to get it."
Eno nodded and settled back.
Quinn gestured again, and the circle reformed on the table. This time the image of a man who appeared to be in his late fifties. "This is the mark. Karen, what can you tell us about him?"
Karen nervously cleared her throat and tucked a lock of her black hair behind her ear. "This is Oswyn Norbridge or as he likes to be called The Great and Powerful Os. His real name is probably Ordell Norbite."
The group chuckled.
Freddy said, "I thought Norbridge was terrible until I heard Norbite. Norbridge is actually a step up."
Everyone laughed again.
Karen nodded. "He likes to tell everyone that he graduated from Warmouth and that he's English," she said to the general amusement of the table.
"What's Warmouth?" Rube said, his southern accent drawing out the vowels.
"It's a fancy magic school in England," Quinn said.
"Well, I guess that makes sense if he's English and all," Rube said as he leaned back in his chair.
"I couldn't find any record of him in their rolls for the past fifty years. He prefers to wear suits styled from just before the First World War. He carries a black and silver cane. It will certainly be enchanted with any number of effects."
Oscar and Quinn, the other two magi in the group, nodded.
"Here in LA, he keeps to himself on his estate out in the hills. He's not involved in any of the Societies that maintain a presence out here. The house was built in the Thirties in the Aztec Revival style."
Oscar leaned forward and said, "The what style?"
Karen cleared her throat again, and her voice took on the tenor of a professor in front of the class. She said, "The Aztec style. You see, back in the early part of the 20th Century, there were a number of different styles being developed based on various indigenous art styles. This house was built along the same layout as the Aztec temples found in Central Mexico. As far as I could discover, it's the only example of the Aztec Revival that is still around."
"Aztecs," Oscar said. "Were they the ones who killed the losing basketball team?"
"You wish that’s all they did," Karen said, "The Aztecs, depending on period, either stripped all your clothing off, painted you blue, and," she held up fingers to count off her points, "either sliced your genitals to spill fertile blood and decapitated you; ripped off all your clothing, painted you blue, sliced your genitals to spill fertile blood and removed your heart; or tied you to a stake, ripped off all your clothing, painted you blue,--"
"I am seeing a real trend with these guys," Quinn said. "Let me guess, sliced open your junk and left you to die in the sun?"
"No," Karen said. "They shoot you to death with arrows. The archers would line the walls of the courtyard and take turns putting one arrow into you at a time. The longer the chosen victim lived, the greater luck it would bring. It was a real point of pride for the temple archers to only hit the extremities."
The group was silent.
"County records that survived a fire and a flood show the house was built in 1928 and sold to an unknown buyer in 1931. It's been in those hands ever since. Which means it's probably been Norbridge all along. Which means he's been around for a long, long time." Karen shook her head. "From what I could find, he's been quiet this whole time. He's got human and ghoul guards. The neighbors haven't complained about him. Well, the two that he has about a mile away. Seems that anyone trying to build too close to him can't get the permits together to do it. He's pretty much alone out there."
Everyone turned and looked at Freddy.
Freddy shrugged and said, "Hey, we all don't know each other, okay? There's not a convention for old fuckers."
Everyone turned back to Quinn.
"Great. What else do we have on him? Any vices? Does he like to gamble? Eno, Freddy, you find anything about him?"
Eno cleared his nose again. He pulled out a small notebook and said, "He's not a part of any of the underground or legal fight scenes. He's not anywhere near the betting tracks. He doesn't run with any of the drug cartels. He's not a presence with the cops. He may as well not exist."
Quinn turned and looked at Oscar.
Oscar shrugged and said, "He doesn't gamble. He doesn't play poker. Blackjack. Or anything involving cards. None of the casinos, legal or otherwise, have heard of him from here to Vegas. Same for prostitutes. Never seen him."
Quinn looked at Oscar with an arched eyebrow and said, “Prostitutes? Really?”
Oscar shrugged again and said, “You never know till you ask, and those girls see a lot of crazy stuff.”
Quinn nodded and said, “Sure, sure. Freddy?"
"There are a few clubs around that cater to my crowd, and he's not known there at all. This guy keeps to himself. He doesn't play around with the club crowd. He doesn't party. The only thing I could find, he has season tickets to the opera. He's also a contributor to several art museums."
"Great, just our luck. We find the one mage that isn't involved in something shady. He loves opera and art. I'm not buying it. Everyone has bad habits. Everyone. Even the Pope. We just need to find his," Quinn said. "We’ll put a pin in that one. What about the wards, Karen. What can you tell me about those?"
She turned to another page in her small notebook and said, "He's running a lot of stuff out there. A lot of it is redundant and not exactly," she paused an cocked her head to the side. "It's not exactly what you'd do now. I mean, that attention thing he's running?"
"Yeah! What's the deal with that?"
"It's something that was really popular back in the Twenties. It's reactive, so it only happens when you're looking at it. They require an active mind focused on the location to trigger. It will divert your attention based on a preset pattern."
Oscar and Quinn nodded to each other. They had both experienced that exact effect when they had looked at the estate from some distance.
"It's cheap to run but easy to get around. That's why no one uses it anymore."
"Easy to get around?" Oscar's doubt was clear on his face.
Karen shrugged. "You have to be looking at it. So, let's say you walk in looking at the ground? Or blindfolded? Or just blind? Or focused on your hand and deliberately thinking about something else. You can just walk right through it."
Oscar looked at her in doubt and said, "That seems a bit easy."
"And that's why no one uses it anymore. Clever idea but easy to get around. And he's got a bunch of other stuff layered in here. Some of it doesn't make much sense. He's got a Ley masking ward running, but th
ere's nothing there. This sort of warding was only set up on a Ley Line nexus point or a Ley Spring, they would hide it with stuff like this. But there's no there there, so it's just weird. I'm surprised how he can afford to run them all."
"What does he have like a magic power bill or something," Rube asked.
Karen nodded and said, "It's something like that. All magic costs, but permanent magics require the build costs and then the upkeep. Unless you tie it to a source, that costs come directly from your body. I don't see how he's doing it out there either. Whatever he's doing, it's a secret."
Oscar looked at Karen and then back at Quinn.
"You look like something important just got said," Quinn said.
"Well," Oscar "That could be something."
"Whatcha got," Quinn said as he spun a chair around and took a seat at the table.
"I blew this off as boogie man stories," Oscar said. "But you guys know about the Old National bank job from back in the Sixties and the Lazard Group job a few years after?"
Quinn and Karen nodded. Eno and Freddy looked at Rube and shrugged. They had no idea what any of that meant.
"Well, word is that this guy might be the one behind both of them and maybe a few others over in Europe."
Quinn smiled and said, "You mean he's a dirty tapper?"
Karen's expression changed to one of sudden understanding and said, "Oh my gosh, yes! That makes so much sense! That's why he's running the obfuscation and the masking like that! He's hiding that he's sitting on a lot of Ley energy, but there's no source. He's a tapper! Wow!"
Rube waited while the three people who seemed to know what that meant smiled and nodded at each other for a bit before he said, "So, what does that mean? He, like, walks around with that fancy stick of his and taps on doors or something?"
The three magi laughed. Quinn nodded at Karen. She pushed the laughter down and became a lecturer one more time.