Brothers: Legacy of the Twice-Dead God (88 page)

“Oh come on!” he exclaimed. “You expect me to
believe that?”

“Don’t really care,” I said, shrugging. His
laughing slowed a little at that.

“Why would you kill your own
grandfather?”

“He was trying to kill me at the time. I
rather felt justified.”

“And I suppose that there weren’t any
witnesses of this grisly family reunion.”

“Few thousand, I think,” I said, turning back
to him. “Unfortunately, Peter had already been hurt and didn’t get
to see that particular act of violence. I would say, though, that
while I agree with you that Peter does pretty much ‘love
everybody,’ I’ve seen him in no less than six fights in the last
month and he hasn’t backed down from any of them yet. In fact, he
only came out poorly in one and that one almost killed him. So I’d
suggest you keep your assertions of cowardice to yourself. They are
unwarranted.” Peter fluttered his eyes and smiled at Dillon, making
him look his way. I don’t think that helped our credibility with
him at all.

Again, he laughed and said, “Why should I…”
He stopped abruptly when he saw the Night Sword a few inches from
his nose.

“Believe me?” I asked, turning the Night
around slowly to show the beauty of the blade. “This is the blade
that did the deed. She and her sisters have been working hard
lately. Probably more than they have in years, but they do seem to
be enjoying themselves.”

“Seth, put that away,” Peter admonished
mildly with a gleam in his eyes. “I apologize, Dillon, but you know
how boys are with their toys.”

I sent Night home the second Dillon looked
away.

“Where are you hiding that?” he asked. “How
did you get past the metal detectors, anyway?”

Peter snorted and said, “You should see what
else he’s hiding in his pants.”

“Peter!” I exclaimed, blushing. Oh, yeah, I
was bright red. Peter just kept snickering.

“Gunrunners, Dillon. We’re paying you for
information on gunrunners,” Peter said, still snickering at me.
“Our history, we already know.”

“Yes,” Dillon said softly, gulping. He tapped
a few keys, clearing away my family history and presenting a long
column of numbers and three different associated currency
figures.

“Sorry, Dillon, but we know about this one
already,” Peter said, shaking his head. “It ends up in a Scottish
account of a Brazilian coffee grower. Laundered quite
effectively.”

“Yes, but did you get the names on the
intermediate accounts?” he asked. “Quite a fascinating little romp
through familiar territory.” Dillon pulled up a flowchart full of
names and amounts in Euros. “These are the amounts retained in the
accounts along with the names associated with them, once you
wheedle through the red tape.”

“Dillon, isn’t that…” Peter started to say
something as he turned to the grinning Dillon.

“Ye-ee-ess,” Dillon said.

“Mind filling me in?” I asked, glancing back
and forth between the two of them.

“He is a prominent London solicitor and
lobbyist,” said Peter. “Quite an influential man across England and
a good part of Europe. His politics are fairly middle of the road
or to the Left. Pro family, God, and country, so long as he’s the
head of the family, he’s God, and he’s the king.”

“Sounds like Harris,” I offered
cheerfully.

Peter grinned. “Who is Rasheed Owens?” he
asked.

“A fight promoter, on the face of it,” said
Dillon. “He owns several training facilities in England and Ireland
and a few across Europe. Reputedly he has ties to Russian mafia as
well as Turkish and, interestingly enough, African
underworlds.”

“Underworlds?” I asked. Yep, I’m king of the
one-word questions tonight.

“He means criminal-type elements, not
Hades-type worlds,” Peter answered, grinning at me. I think he was
more amused about how confused I was making Dillon than how
confused I was actually getting.

“Outside of being on different continents,
why would Africa make it more interesting?” I asked.

“Totally different mindsets,” Dillon said.
“The Africans are more militaristic. Of course, I say that without
knowing exactly to whom those ties lie, being rumors.”

“All right, Dillon,” said Peter, nodding his
head. “This is worth it. I’ll pay for this. I must admit to being
just as interested in how you came across this as why you thought
I’d be interested in it.”

“Good fortune,” said Dillon smiling. He was
going for disarming but Peter wasn’t having it. Peter just stared
at him stoically. “Initially, I didn’t know it was you, okay? It’s
been a tough year and I needed extra cash. I’ve been keeping my
ears open for ways to earn a little money. Gedrun mentioned
something about a Colonel Barkers looking for local talent and it
snowballed from there.”

“Gedrun?” Peter said the name with disgust.
“You’re associating with Gedrun again?”

Dillon spread his hands out to the sky and
said, “This is the only business I have currently running in the
black, Peter. Times are tough.”

“Get a new accountant, Dillon,” Peter said.
“Tomorrow.” He pointed to the big screen on the wall. “How you can
dredge through those numbers and not see how Max is stealing from
you hand over fist is amazing to me.”

“I called him out on that six months ago,” he
responded, sighing heavily. “I should have listened a year and a
half ago, I know. That’s why I’m in this mess to start with,
really. I’d strangle him personally if I could find him. Last I
heard he was somewhere in Portugal with my money, shifting it to
the Bahamas. I’ll find him eventually and steal my money back, if
there’s any left.”

“Just follow the trail of D-cups, acne
medicine, and the odor of burnt coffee,” said Peter. They looked at
each other, shared an “Ewww” and a hearty laugh. While I’ve
intellectually understood the phrase “third wheel,” I now had the
emotional understanding to back that up. Not only did I feel like
it, I felt like a flat third wheel twice the required size, but I
still needed to pay attention.

Dillon handed Peter two cds containing the
information he showed us and more supporting documents. Peter
handed the discs to me and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. I
sent the discs to the Pacthome with the rest of my purchases while
Peter authorized the transfer of funds via his cell phone. He’d set
it up ahead of time so that all he needed was the receiving account
number. The transfer would take a couple of hours considering the
amount and method, but I don’t think Dillon cared as long as the
zeroes arrived.

I watched the bar monitors while Peter and
Dillon exchanged the appropriate information. There was a pattern
to the cycling which I picked up almost immediately without paying
too much attention. I started following the cycle, subconsciously
racing it to the dance floor before it started over at the door,
just wasting time. The picture fuzzed out just a little at the
start of one cycle on a slim man in a leather jacket and jeans,
hands shoved deep in his pockets. Couldn’t see his face through the
fuzz though. I followed him through the cycling camera shots to see
the fuzziness come out of the “shaft” of the entrance to stop at
the rail, just as we had.

Ahem. “Peter, who do you suppose that is?” I
asked nodding toward the monitors and crossing my arms on my chest.
Huh. How do ya like that. Apparently, I was a bit jealous of the
attention Peter was showing Dillon. Or maybe it was Dillon was
showing Peter over me. For whatever the reason I felt the need to
show off the goods. I wasn’t built as well as Ethan or Kieran, but
I’ve had a lot of call to use my upper body strength lately, both
in training and in the field. And I admit I was a bit pleased when
Dillon watched me while Peter and I studied the monitor and he
thought I couldn’t see him. A month ago, I wouldn’t have. With
great power comes a great stroke of the ego.

I have got to get over myself.

Another pair came in about fifteen seconds
behind the first one. “Peter, we have company,” I said. “This can’t
be normal.”

“No, it can’t,” Peter agreed. “Dillon, call
up camera eighteen please and focus it on the rail.”

Dillon moved quickly back around his desk and
typed on his keyboard, a definite disadvantage to an inset system.
The top right monitor changed to show a long range shot of the rail
from across the dance floor. He reached into a small cabinet to his
right and pulled out a handheld computer pad and started touching
and prodding it to life. In a moment, he was standing beside us
with his computer in his palm, already adjusting the camera to show
us a better picture and to follow the man and his tail.

The man moved past the rail to sit at the bar
and order a beer. The tail found a tall bar table recently vacated
and overtook it just as a mob of surfer types seemed destined to
win a beach. Apparently, their fuzziness threatened where the
jeans, white T-shirts, and black leather jackets just look like a
uniform. Of course, there were a lot of uniforms around here, I
thought.

“That’s Ferrin,” I said, finally recognizing
the man at the bar. “What’s he doing here?”

“Meeting us. I’m his ride,” Peter said,
grinning.

“Does Mike know this is a gay bar?” I asked
Peter.

“He’s lived in London for years,” he answered
noncommittally.

“Two more coming in,” said Dillon. “What’s
causing this? And why only on the faces? That’s some pretty cool
gear. Why is this camera getting your friend’s image?”

“It’s across the floor with about twenty
different mirrors angling between it and him,” said Peter. “See if
you can get twenty-four turned on the two at the table.”

Dillon started rapidly tapping on the remote.
One of the blanked screens flared to life and showed a distant part
of the room, a darkened doorway where a few bare-chested men were
slipping furtively behind a dark curtain. The image swiveled away
to the much brighter bacchanalia. He tried several different
commands but the picture never increased beyond a colorful blur.
Dillon shook his head.

“No joy. It’s too far away,” he said. Turning
to Peter, he asked again, “How are they doing this? You said
something about the mirrors. How are mirrors being between the
focal point and the camera affecting the picture? Just by their
presence? That doesn’t make sense, Peter. What’s going on here?”
Dillon was getting aggravated and concerned. There was too much
happening around him that he didn’t understand. Poor guy, I
understood that first hand.

“Dillon,” Peter said in a calm and placating
voice, but still watching the monitors, “I told you a year ago that
there was more in the world than what fit into your mold of
reality. I even showed you a small part of it, remember?”

“That parlour trick?” Dillon snorted out.
“What’s really going on here, Peter?”

“Turn on camera fifty-one, Dillon,” Peter
said quietly, still not taking his eyes off the monitors. He met my
quick glance at him. Peter was worried, both about Ferrin and
Dillon. The second pair of tails met up with the first at the
table. We couldn’t tell what they were doing because we couldn’t
tell exactly where they were all facing, really. A bar server
passed near them and they apparently caught his attention long
enough to order something.

In the meantime, a second blanked monitor had
come to life and yielded a picture of the three of us. Dillon stood
in profile, facing the backside of Peter and me. The lens was wide
enough to show from our knees to above our heads. Or rather, to the
fuzzy area where our heads should be. Dillon gasped.

“How are you doing this?” he asked,
frustrated.

“The same way Seth is holding that sword, the
two cds, and you wouldn’t believe what else,” Peter said. I flashed
Dillon a quick, innocent smile then looked back to the
monitors.

“I see two questions here,” Peter said,
turning to me. “’Does he know he’s being followed?’ And ‘Is he
being followed for something he’s done or because someone knows
he’s with us?’ Two entirely different circumstances.”

“No easy way to tell, either,” I responded.
“If one of us goes down there, we’re caught immediately. Even with
a disguise we suffer from the mannequin problem.”

“Stop!” yelled Dillon. He was not a happy gay
bar owner, all red-faced and confused. “What the hell is going on
here?”

Peter sighed heavily again. “For the last
time, Dillon, get this through that thick skull of yours. There is
more to the universe than you are aware of. Magic exists in the
world. Magicians, witches, and wizards exist. There are seven
examples of mages that do not wish to be identified on cameras
right in front of you. Take the hint.

“Now, make the bottom row of monitors show
the outside of the building all around,” Peter finished while
pointing at the screens. Dillon took a moment to process what Peter
said, then mechanically tapped the remote. The bottom row changed
to outside pictures except that two of them immediately rolled into
interference patterns and never resolved. “Damn,” muttered Peter.
“There’s more of them in the parking garage, then, and in the park,
too.”

“Does Ferrin have a phone?” I asked.

“No, he throws off too much to carry a cell
reliably,” answered Peter. I nodded in understanding while Dillon
shook his head in confusion. We were talking Greek to him. The
thought drew a small chuckle from me. How the tables had turned and
so quickly!

“Why are they bothering hiding from cameras?”
I asked Peter. “Doesn’t that seem out of place a bit to you?”

“Why? What do you mean?” Peter asked.

“Well, the camera picks up an outward
appearance, right?” I said, trying to follow the logic through to
its illogical consequences. I turned toward the camera hidden above
the television behind us. “So if I wanted to hide or just not be
recognized from that camera, all I would have to do is change my
appearance, like so…” I concentrated on making a thin shield around
myself, shifting light ever so slightly to mirror Dillon standing a
few feet away. The monitor changed to show Peter suddenly
surrounded by mirror images of Dillon.