Into the Shadows (22 page)

Blake got out from the far rear door and came
around the Caddy. With hardly a glance at us, he opened the near
passenger door for his boss. Declan McKenna looked younger than I
expected - late teens or early twenties, tops. Even though he was
on the short side and was dressed well, he still looked like a
scrapper. McKenna wore tan slacks and a matching vest over a brown
shirt, and kept his light blonde hair slicked back. Something about
his posture as he approached made him appear confident and wary at
the same time. With Ragna, it was better to just be wary.

From McKenna's formal greeting, I didn't
think they'd dealt with each other much in the past. Neither he nor
Ragna offered any pleasantries. She turned to me and said, "Mr.
McKenna and I have business to discuss. Stay here until I call for
you." They both turned and walked further out onto the lawn before
I could even nod.

Behind me, Blake said, "I'm glad we could
meet again, Leo." I turned while he kept talking. "I can call you
Leo, right? After all, we did save your life. I think that lends to
informality. Now, unfortunately, Leo, my cohorts and I have decided
that you would be a poor fit into our group. Since you owe us, we
would consider the debt paid if you found a way to exclude yourself
from Mr. McKenna's employ."

My buzzes usually made me mellow, but they
also came with a short fuse. Mine was just lit. "Owe you? Do you
amateurs really think I couldn't have handled Dykowski on my own?
You all better just get used to seeing my pretty face, scars and
all. Your boss wants to hire me - that means you guys are droppin'
the ball somewhere. And if my Lady says I'm working for McKenna,
then that's it, end of discussion. There'll be no 'excluding'
myself, you dumbasses."

"Hmm, we were hoping you had more freewill
with the dog-woman," Blake commented. "I suppose that, like her
other minions, you keep your tail between your legs. It's not too
surprising, really. But because you won't go along easily, you'll
now have to contend with the hierarchy of things."

My blood was up from his insults, but I kept
my tone even. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"What he's talkin' about, man," said the
long-haired guy as he stepped up to me, "is pecking order." He got
to within a foot of me, his wild eyes never leaving mine. "You're
gonna be pecked down right to the fucking bottom, man." He was an
inch taller, but had a lanky build. His long arms flailed out to
his sides while he talked his trash and got in my face. "You bein'
the bitch-woman's little -"

I head-butted him on the bridge of his nose,
and followed it with an elbow to the face. It caught him on the
brow and opened him up. His face was bloody from his nose and the
gash over his eye before he hit the ground. Okay, my attack was
impulsive, but he insulted Ragna. Under different circumstances I'd
agree with him about her being a bitch, but I was supposed to be
her loyal minion. I felt justified. If he'd insulted Viggo, I
would've just shot the prick.

Stocking-cap guy charged and swung with his
weight behind it. I barely had time to jerk my head out of the way,
and at the same time bring my knee up. My reaction time was a
little slow - I should've taken it easy on the booze. I meant to
catch him in the gut and let his momentum drive it home, but my
knee rammed into his thigh instead. I doubt the strike did much
damage, but it made him stumble past me. The unlucky bastard lost
his balance and landed chest-first on Gungnir's fresh mound of
shit.

Ragna bellowed my name in a highly pissed-off
tone. A second later, McKenna yelled at his men. We all froze,
except for the long-haired guy; he was rolling from side to side
holding his face while he moaned.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blake a
few paces back. He had a gun in his hand, but was holding it out to
the side as he looked down nervously at the little dog in front of
him. It was baring its huge, nightmare teeth up at him. That mutt
had to be front-heavy from its mouthful of bone blades; I don't
know how it moved without tipping over all the time.

I looked the other way and saw the
stocking-cap thug still on the ground, but had rolled onto his
side. He was looking with open-mouthed disgust at the crap smeared
down his ruined sweatshirt. I turned and faced Ragna, who was
clearly more composed than McKenna as they were walking back toward
us.

Ragna cussed up at me in what I guessed was a
Norse language, and then in English, said, "You'd better have a
good reason for interrupting my barter,
minion
."

I gestured to the bloody-faced, long-haired
guy. "He insulted you, so I hit him." Then I pointed at the
shit-stained thug, who was getting to his feet. "That one tried to
sucker punch me. I didn't let him."

The scowled brows over Ragna's big eyes
softened. "Oh, I see." She nodded as if that settled it.

That didn't do the trick for McKenna. He
turned to Ragna and said through gritted teeth, "Is that how you
reprimand your newest pet? He's just another wild dog you've added
to your collection! Honestly, elder, your servant attacks my men
and you shrug it off? I'm offended."

She turned her head and glared at him. "I'm
the one who should be offended. Beck simply defended my name and
honor. Your only cause for anger should be that your minions are
insolent and inferior."

McKenna glared back, trying to keep his
temper in check. "I want nothing to do with your new servant - I
can smell trouble on him. Your terms were ridiculous, anyway. This
negotiation is over."

"No, it's not," said a slightly accented
baritone voice from a short distance away.

FLETCHER

A powerful-looking man strode toward us from
across the museum lawn. His shaggy brown hair hung down onto his
shoulders and chest. He had a square jaw and sharp features over a
thick neck. For some reason, he wore dark sunglasses. Since it was
nighttime, I guess he was either really sensitive to light or he
was one of those douchebags that wore shades all the time. Thing
was, he wasn't dressed like a douche; hiking boots, faded black
jeans, and a red and black flannel shirt. He looked more like a
rugged, outdoorsy type. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing thick
and extremely hairy forearms. At that point I didn't know if he was
some sort of hemo bad-ass, but he sure as hell looked like one.

Stopping a few paces from us, the first
person he addressed was the dog-woman. With a slight bow to her, he
said in his deep voice, "Well met, elder Ragna."

Already in a bowed position because of her
warped spine, she gave him a deep nod. "And you, elder Fletcher."
She'd mentioned that name before - Fletcher . . . Jack Fletcher. I
remembered then. He was the leader of the Outsider faction, and,
more importantly to me, the sire of Declan McKenna. Sire, creator,
patron, hemo daddy - whatever they called it.

Fletcher glanced around at us before settling
his attention on McKenna. "Send your minions away," he said in a
low, threatening voice. "Otherwise I will dice them into chunks and
give them to Ragna to feed her dogs." I didn't see any blades on
Fletcher, but it didn't sound like an idle threat.

At McKenna's command, Blake and the
stocking-cap thug picked up their long-haired partner and helped
him back to the car. McKenna straightened his vest and said, "If
you'll excuse me, sire," - hey, I got it right, it was sire - "I
was just leaving."

"And now you're not," Fletcher retorted. I
guessed Scottish for the subtle accent. "There is still a deal to
be made. The actions of your foolish minions have just changed it a
tad. Tell me the terms."

McKenna pursed his lips angrily, and then
answered, "The elder and I had only begun with our haggling. For
the services of Mr. Beck, she demanded $500 a day, and only three
days a week in my employ. Moreover, she also wanted access to a pet
store warehouse, and for me to buy some small inner-city building
and hand over the deed. It's outrageous."

Fletcher's forehead creased in a frown. "Are
you saying, with all of your monies and your big house and your
fancy trinkets, that you can't afford her proposal, Declan?"

"Of course I could, sire, but elder Ragna
asks for too much. But it doesn't matter now - I no longer want her
minion's services." He waved a dismissive hand at me. "He is
unpredictable, and would most likely cause more trouble than he's
worth."

"Ha!" Ragna cackled. "Beck embarrassed your
men, and therefore you. Pride is your only trouble."

"Declan," Fletcher said calmly as he stepped
closer to him, "I don't have the skill for bartering - I always
simply take what I want. With that said, tell me what you would
have countered with if you were still hammering out a deal. Humor
me."

It was a tense few seconds before McKenna
replied. "$100 a day, five days a week of service, plus $40 a week
as a pet food stipend, but the building purchase is off the
table."

"An insult," Ragna hissed. Shit, it insulted
me too. Not that anyone cared.

Fletcher turned to her and said, "A
compromise, then. I offer $300 per shift, four shifts a week. From
that money, you buy your own food supplies. The building you seek
will be yours at the price of a debt owed. Does that sound fair,
elder?"

"Sire," McKenna spoke up before Ragna could
reply, "I don't know why you're haggling. I no longer want a deal
with elder Ragna. I wouldn't agree to pay that much, anyway."

"The negotiation is now mine, childe,"
Fletcher growled. "But since you choose to intrude, I'll include
you in it. While Ragna's debt and Mr. Beck's services go to me, the
costs go to you."

"What! Why?"

Fletcher leaned in toward McKenna. "You have
been dealing with humans for too long, Declan. You've forgotten the
reverence for Civil Ground and proper respect for your elders, no
matter the faction. While you haven't been under my care for
decades, you continue to make it known who your sire is - as a
warning, I assume. Because of that, your actions, and those of your
minions, reflect on me. From what I've seen tonight, I am not
pleased, Declan, and I will have compensation. Or, I could simply
take you to the street and gut you in front of your men."

McKenna was trembling, probably with a mix of
rage and fear. He spun and stomped over to his car. The long-haired
guy was leaning against the trunk of it, holding a rag to his face.
Declan grabbed him by the hair and slammed him down on the
pavement. With a restrained roar, he stood over the already-bloody
minion and punched him twice in the head. The first hit smashed the
guy's face. I heard the bones crunch. On the second hit, McKenna's
fist literally sunk into the poor bastard's skull. The long-haired
guy no longer had a head; it was bloody play dough with bits of
bone in it. What a way to go.

I've seen my share of spilled guts, bloody
body parts, and gross head wounds in combat. That didn't mean I
wanted to see more, so I turned back to face the hemo elders. Fuck,
I needed a drink.

Fletcher said to Ragna, "You've never had the
chance to accept or decline my offer . . ."

"I accept," she relied simply.

"Good; we can meet again in four night's time
at the city zoo to finalize our deal. I'll send a message to your
eatery with the details." He pulled a small pouch out of his pocket
and handed it to her. "Let that be a deposit, or reparation for
tonight's poor company. The choice is yours. Good evening,
elder."

After waiting for the Caddy to leave and
Fletcher to walk out of sight, Ragna opened the pouch and pulled
out a tightly-rolled wad of cash. Then she tossed the pouch to me.
I thought it'd be empty, but it still had some weight to it.

While counting her money, Ragna rhetorically
asked, "Quite the nice turn of events, eh, Beck?"

I wasn't so sure.

DELIVERY

I was psyched to have a few days to myself.
The last couple of them had been pretty fucking busy with fighting
and almost getting shot a couple times and dealing with freaky hemo
shit. I needed a break, a chance to remind myself how the normal,
mundane world worked. I hadn't seen much of that lately.

The next morning, I made a list of things to
do and circled the ones that I wouldn't procrastinate about. First,
I called Gwen and apologized for putting her in a tough spot about
giving me the names of potential clients. I admitted it wasn't
fair, and that I was a complete ass. Then I told her that I'd found
a client and that I was officially moving on from Silas Security.
Gwen wanted details, but I didn't give her any. Hell, I really
didn't have many details to give in the first place. She made me
promise to keep in touch, which I had no problem agreeing to. Out
of everyone there, I'd miss her the most.

That reminded me to make other calls. Cordell
was healing up and would be back at Silas in a week. Diego was
finishing his rehab soon, getting his legs stronger every day.
Keegan and Deb understood that I had to officially quit because I
was accepting a full-time job; I promised to stop in often and
actually buy my own drinks. While I was at it, I called a few
military buddies I hadn't talked to in a while. I was on the phone
for at least half of the day, and didn't feel like it was wasted
time.

Just before dinner that evening, I remembered
the little pouch Ragna let me have. I sat on my couch and dumped
the contents onto the coffee table. There was a thick gold
necklace, three jeweled rings, and seven gold coins of all the same
type and year. One of the rings was a wide silver band set with a
big black onyx stone that I decided to keep. It reminded me of
Viggo, and it fit my pinky finger. As for the rest, I needed to do
some research unless I wanted some jewelry dealer to bend me
over.

I was halfway done with my dinner when there
was a knock at my door. A short Asian guy was on my porch with a
paper bag in his hand. He said, "Delivery" in broken English,
handed it to me and left. Inside the bag was a small container of
cashew chicken, an eggroll, and a piece of receipt paper with a
written note on it:
Behind the restaurant, one hour
. Damn,
there went my carefree evening. Ragna really needed to get a
cellphone.