Into the Shadows (26 page)

Night came and settled in, and there was
still no messenger from the dog-woman. The air was getting cold, so
I decided to go back inside. As I sat down and reached for the
remote, I got a call from Viggo. "Your current administrator will
not need you this evening," he said with a gruff tone.

"Is everything alright? Did I do something
wrong?" The last thing I wanted was for my commander to be pissed
at me for . . . well, anything.

"You've done as you should." That simple
statement relieved me. "I have made it clear that you will never be
charged with that type of task again." I got the feeling that Viggo
was staring at Ragna while he talked to me. I heard a dog bark in
the background, and I was sure of it. "You still have an
appointment to keep, but your time is your own until then." He hung
up before I could say thanks. No big deal.

With some of my worries gone and a little
time to myself, I decided to go out. The rest of my evening turned
out to be pretty damn good. Keegan's was fairly busy that night; I
had some drinks, some laughs, and helped close the place up. Things
got better when Tanya came home with me. We went out for brunch the
next day, and it didn't feel awkward at all - friends with
benefits, pure and simple.

While I still had some extra money in my
pocket, I bought a new leather jacket. I got the style that came
down to about mid-thigh so there'd be room for alterations, mainly
straps sewed into the interior that would hold my two new Berettas
with silencers. I wasn't sure what was going to happen at the
meeting with Jack Fletcher that night, but the fiasco with Declan
McKenna's minions proved that anything was possible. I figured I'd
just load for bear and expect trouble.

As it turned out, there was indeed some
trouble. I just wouldn't have guessed that I'd be the cause of
it.

PARK

I pulled up in front of the Chinese
restaurant a few minutes early that night, so I got out and leaned
against the passenger door until Ragna decided to show up. While I
waited, I noticed that I'd parked behind the restaurant's delivery
car. On a whim, I fished the little magnetic tracker bug out of my
glove box and stuck it to the underside of that car's bumper. No
offense to the little delivery guy, but better him than me. If that
somehow made trouble for Ragna, well then . . . I didn't give a
shit.

The hunched dog-woman came around the corner,
and I could almost see the waves of resentment rolling off her. She
was still pissed that not only had her plan for Edward Galloway
been blocked, but then Viggo chewed her ass for the attempt. I felt
smug but didn't let it show, and kept my mind on other things. The
crazy old broad stepped over the line; I wasn't going to feel sorry
for her.

Ragna stared at me until I opened the car
door for her. I obviously knew where the zoo was, but not exactly
where Fletcher wanted us to meet him. For the directions, Ragna
simply threw a dirty map in my lap as I drove. She otherwise didn't
say a single word to me on the way, which was fine by me.

The map was only of the Kansas City Zoo; a
service gate was circled with a marker. A guy in overalls and a zoo
personnel shirt was waiting for us when we pulled up. By way of
invitation, he opened a tall iron pedestrian gate for us. The guy
waited at the gate after Ragna and I walked in. The zoo was dark
but the moon was full, so there wasn't any problem seeing the
surroundings or the wide asphalt path. There were a few big
structures spread out ahead of us - animal housing, I guessed - but
I didn't see anyone.

We stood there in that open, quiet space,
waiting. Ragna eventually turned her head to the right and kept her
gaze fixed in that direction. I followed her eyes and looked at two
supply sheds, separated by a copse of pine trees. After I stared
for a few seconds, I could just make out a figure walking toward
us.

Ducking under a branch, Jack Fletcher stopped
just before pavement met dirt and stood just within the moon's
glow. He was dressed pretty much like the first time I saw him -
untucked flannel shirt, faded jeans, and still wore shades. This
time, though, he was barefoot. His feet were nearly as hairy as his
forearms. I guessed his back must've looked like shag carpet.

With as much spite in her voice as she could
muster, Ragna told me to stay where I was. She made her way over to
Fletcher, and they had a short conversation while exchanging
envelopes. A minute later, she turned to me and hissed, "Get over
here." When I did, she looked up at me and said, "For now, you are
under the control of Mr. Fletcher. You will follow his commands as
you would follow mine. He will give you further directions. I'll be
in the car." With barely a nod at Fletcher, Ragna turned and
shuffled off.

I felt a little awkward, to say the least. I
looked at the elder Outsider, who was near my height. With those
dark shades on, I couldn't gauge his mood nearly as well as normal.
"So, uh," I began clumsily when he continued to just stand there
facing me. "What should I call you, sir?"

"The title 'elder' will suffice," Fletcher
answered with a deep voice. "After you take lady Ragna back to her
domain, continue on to Green Valley Park. Use a map if you must.
Use the north entry and stop at the first covered picnic area. We
will speak more there."

I took that as a dismissal, so I went back to
my car. When I got in, Ragna tossed me a wad of money. "That's your
share of the first week's wages. Nearly half of what I bartered you
for - more than fair." She was attempting to make me feel like an
animal on auction, and she did a damn good job of it. If I were
working for Viggo - as I should've been - there would have been a
sense of meaning and pride. But being ordered around and traded by
random hemos had me feeling less than human. I'd keep taking hits
to my dignity for my commander's sake, but I was starting to see
all other hemos in a bad light.

Ragna demanded, "Now take me home and then
get out of my sight." Yes, a very bad light.

Green Valley Park was a big spread - over two
hundred hilly acres - and in a pretty rough neighborhood. As a kid
I hardly went there with my friends, and never at night. Even then,
it was known for hosting gang parties, drug deals and prostitution.
I had no idea if the criminal activity had eased up since then.

The first shelter was only a hundred yards up
the paved lane from the park entrance. I pulled up near it and saw
Fletcher's silhouette sitting at one of the benches. There were no
other vehicles in sight, so I wondered how the hell he got there so
fast. I got out of my Jeep, buttoned my coat to keep out a chilly
breeze, and walked over to him. It was pitch black under the
shelter roof where none of the moon's glow reached; I could only
see the outlines of him and the sturdy picnic table.

"Take a seat," Fletcher offered, low and
quiet. I sat across from him and waited. From the time he took with
his words and actions, Jack Fletcher seemed to be a patient,
deliberate type. "I do not need you for my protection or for
trivial errands, Mr. Beck. You are here for an altogether different
purpose."

"Yes sir - uh, elder, I'm listening. What
would you like me to do?"

"We shall begin with a simple task," he
replied. "Further down the lane, at the bottom of the next hill,
you will find a large car with occupants. They are trafficking
drugs." That also meant they had guns. I wasn't too thrilled about
where this was going, but then something changed my mind . . . or
rather, had it changed for me.

Fletcher removed his shades. His eyes were
the color of orange lava, simmering and glowing. I studied them
with fascination for a few seconds, and then realized that I
couldn't look away. My focus became those radiant eyes, flecked
with red around the edges of his irises. When the elder spoke, his
words filled my mind. "Those parasites have helped to shape cities
into meccas of fear and greed and pollution. Starting tonight,
starting now, you will be my hand of reckoning. You will drive them
off or lay them low. Do whatever is necessary. Return to me when it
is done."

DEALERS

I felt compelled to follow Fletcher's order.
There was validity in his words, but they weren't what swayed me to
go deliver his vigilante version of justice. I simply was carrying
out a command that I couldn't stop myself from doing. At least I
was given some choice for how to handle the situation.

I got up and started walking along the lane
at a brisk pace, quickly reaching the top of the sloping hill.
Ahead of me was a downhill grade, and then another, lower knoll.
The lane slowly curved to the right, so I took to the grass for a
straighter approach. Near the top of the next rise, I saw the
parking lights of a car at the bottom of the slope. It was sitting
lengthwise on the shoulder where the lane widened before it forked.
There was a tree line to my right, but it sat too far back to be
used for cover. The only objects between me and the car were a
stunted evergreen bush and a mature tree. Not many options.

'Drive them off or lay them low'
,
Fletcher said. Not unlike Ragna, I guess he had his own pet
peeves.

The moonlight didn't give me much of a chance
to employ stealth, especially to get anywhere near the pimped-out
Lincoln fifty yards away. I got on my stomach and slithered a few
yards downhill to see under the tree's bare branches. Through my
scope, looking into the rear and passenger-side windows, I saw
three people. I held still when another car's headlights came into
view from the far fork. It pulled up slowly next to the Lincoln,
their driver's doors almost touching. The transaction was enough
distraction that no one noticed me crawling down to the tree twenty
yards from them.

I stayed flat until the other car drove off
and well out of sight. It was then I made my decision of how to
follow the command. Even though they were scumbag dealers, that
wasn't an excuse to quietly pick them off. I unscrewed the
silencers off the Berettas and stood up behind the tree. I told
myself not to aim for the windows; I didn't want to accidentally
plug one of them in the head. After a deep breath, I took a small
step to the side, still maintaining at least partial cover, and
opened fire with both guns.

The guns were loud and multiple flashes lit
up the night as bullets hit the Lincoln. After two chaotic seconds,
one of the dealers held a gun out of a window and fired back
wildly. The car screeched its tires and pulled away fast. I dropped
the empty Berettas and continued firing with my Glock and little
Luger as they roared down the near lane, soon out of range and
sight. I put over forty rounds into the car; it was a fair bet one
of the dealers got hit. I hoped Fletcher would think that was
enough.

I jogged back to the shelter where Fletcher
still sat. "Quite the barrage, Mr. Beck - I heard it clearly. Were
there any survivors?"

"Yes, elder. I couldn't get close enough for
any detailed work. They managed to drive away."

He stepped out into the moonlight near me and
nodded. "That will suffice for now. I agreed with your lady Ragna
to give you Wednesdays and weekends to be at her disposal, as I
assume you wish to be. Tomorrow night - Tuesday, I believe - we
will meet again here an hour after sunset and discuss further
plans. Bring whatever weapons you have available." Fletcher looked
off for a moment, and then back to me. "Even down in a valley, your
activities may have caught the ear of nearby residents. You should
move along soon. That is all for tonight."

I took a few steps toward my car and then
turned back to ask, "Elder . . . why me? One of your own minions,
if you have them, could do this for you without pay."

"To be plain," he replied, "my own minions
don't carry firearms. They also don't have your training. Ragna
gave me a copy of your dossier; your expertise in certain fields
compliments my goals. And most importantly, Mr. Beck," he said with
a widening grin, "you don't belong to me. If something were to go
wrong, I'm not the one who must answer for it."

"Is - is that fair to my lady Ragna, elder?"
I didn't care if it was, but I had to keep up the pretense.

Still grinning, he said, "No, not in the
least, but she was the one who put your skills up for sale. The
deal has been struck, so I suggest that you don't fuck up. Good
night, Mr. Beck."

PATROL

I didn't sleep well that night and woke in a
surly mood. My conscience wouldn't leave me alone.

There were also some more short dreams about
Viggo, but they weren't clear - not like those vivid ones that
would preset my mood for the day. Since the battle dream and the
burning lady nightmare, I'd only had one more of those vivid ones.
I was him, and at the same time not him, know what I mean? I was
hunting for something - someone - through sewers and shafts. There
were also subway tunnels, so I wasn't in KC. I didn't feel angry or
hungry while I hunted; strangely, it was more like a regretful
duty. I finally found my prey - another hemo, and I was pretty sure
he was another Deviant. Why was I hunting my own kind?

Since I became Viggo's minion, he was a
common fixture in my dreams. He'd make guest appearances in scenes
that really had nothing to do with him. There was one about my team
sneaking through some shitty Afghanistan terrain, and came upon him
sitting in a lawn chair under a beach umbrella out in the barren,
rocky waste. He sort of grinned and silently toasted us with his
big margarita glass.

That night, after shooting at unsuspecting
drug dealers, I dreamt of ordering deaths by firing squad. Viggo's
face was only a vague flicker in the background. When I woke, my
first thought was of what Fletcher wanted me to do next. I wanted
to think that he was after something basically righteous - you
know, removing criminals - but his method seemed heavy-handed at
best. Worst of all was that he used that Jedi mind control Gift,
like Ragna had, and made me carry out his version of justice
whether I wanted to or not. My opinion of hemos wasn't getting any
better.