Sleight (11 page)

“No. Perhaps someday. Harald also was unwilling to associate actively with Naturals. He didn’t trust us or our commitment to the gene pool. And no one in their right mind would trust the Shades, unless they were Shades themselves, and even then....” He held his hands out to the sides, palms up, indicating how unreliable the Shades were.

But his characterizing Mr. G as a social hermit didn’t make sense to me. “Mr. Goodturn is so decent though. He’s always looking out for others. He took care of me when I was in huge trouble. More than once.”

He nodded. “Yes, he’s always been that way. Here is a question for you Benjamin: how old do you think Harald is?”

Caught off guard I was initially unsure of how to answer. Mr. Goodturn looked sixty or seventy. Maybe younger, maybe older. But we had talked about his age-defying knack and the fact that he was actually much older, well over a hundred. “I guess he’s pretty old. Like over a hundred years old.”

“Then here is another part of our discussion that will reveal much to you: Harald is indeed well over one hundred years old. Much older. He was originally known as Morgante, but even that wasn’t his real name, which was Baccio di Bartolo.”

“What?” I didn’t understand what I was hearing. Who
was
the bedridden man down the hall who had been near death for the last month?

“Look into those names on the internet in your leisure. There are photos of paintings done of him that you’ll recognize; they will support what I am saying. Harald stopped aging a long time ago. He was a buffoon, a nocturnal bird hunter, a swordsman, a magician, and dozens of other things. Each a compromise that he had to make to fit in with society and his surroundings; and while he has always had a reputation for being kind and clever and talented, he also suffered unbelievable atrocities during the first two or three hundred years of his life. And in fact, has never completely escaped the ridicule and abuse of lesser minds. I believe it is these things that have made him the way he is. He is truly unique in the world and in my opinion, vital to our loosely connected community. Because there are competitive forces drawing together. New alliances.”

How do you respond to that kind of story? Disbelief? Laughter? I was stunned. I sat there numb.

Kenwoode seemed to recognize that I was overwhelmed.

“Harald, because of his longevity, could provide the cultural anchor and cohesion that is necessary to bring the aberrant community the stability it needs to prosper. You are another.”

My mind snapped back to the conversation at that. “Wait—what?”

Leaning forward, piercing me with his sharp blue eyes he said, “Individuals with your level of attributes only come along once in a great while. Most, because of the seductive nature of power, are lured to the Shade philosophy, or become self-serving rogues. You, with your almost noble behavior, are extremely rare. If I can’t convince Harald to draw us all together, I may look to you.”

I sat there with my mouth hanging open. “Why? You’ve known Mr. G for a long time. He’s been
around
for a long time. Why is this so important now?”

His lips drew into a tight line. “Because my young friend, after centuries of fumbling in the dark, the Shades are uniting. It is the primary reason Harald was trying to reach me before he was injured. The bumbling hoodlums you stumbled upon may be connected to it somehow We need to know. A charismatic leader has risen, who has them focused on a grand, dark goal. A goal we Naturals must prevent them from reaching.”

A large, leaden weight descended into my stomach. “And that would be…?”

“Setting up a criminal culture that will begin its formation by wiping out the entire Natural population, one by one.”

THROWING UP AT the breakfast table is definitely bad manners, but I was tempted to toss my meal. The whole conversation seemed much too heavy considering it wasn’t even ten in the morning. I stared at Kenwoode and waited for him to go on. He was looking at me, assessing. What he had just painted was a picture of me in a light I was very unwilling to consider: being
the one
, the boy who
lived
, the
chosen
one. Pick your literary reference, but a physically disabled kid who was really just trying to get by and not get discovered by the authorities who might very well send him back to the abusive home he had run away from, well that wasn’t my idea of some sort of hero.

He rose stiffly to his feet. “I’ve given you much to consider. It will take you time to reconcile what I’ve told you. In the meantime, you have other issues to attend to if I’m not mistaken.”

Well, yeah, maybe just a few. But there was a topic we hadn’t touched on that made me wonder. What were
his
knacks? And did they give him insight to more about me than I had already told him? Thinking about that made me smile. It was the very distrust he had said had been a barrier to Naturals collaborating in the past. Old tendencies die hard apparently.

“Mr. Kenwoode?”

Turning in my direction he arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Taking a deep breath, I plunged ahead. “What
are
your knacks?”

He looked down and shook his head slightly, “No, that’s for another time. Possibly. I’ve shared more with you than I am wont to do. I’ll keep a few secrets to myself.” Turning away again he walked into the depths of the apartment towards the living quarters, leaving me to ponder what I’d just heard. Seriously? Didn’t I have enough to worry about? I’d wanted information, background a little understanding. I hadn’t been looking for a heavy dose of responsibility and bizarre history.

I got up and started rinsing the dishes he’d left in the sink. Steam from the hot water rose in the chilly morning air. Loading the dishwasher and drying my hands I wiped down the counter and then headed to my room to grab a jacket. It was too cold out for just my hoodie so I threw a down jacket over my sweatshirt and made my way downstairs and out to the street.

I did have stuff to do. Kenwoode had graciously accepted responsibility for Breno, and that left me free to lay out a plan for Tank and Dell. I couldn’t afford to lay a trap near my apartment. Literally too close to home, and any trap that I set shouldn’t result in bringing the police anywhere close to my apartment. That meant research and careful timing to pull it off. The research I’d done the night before while I was losing sleep over Kenwoode’s promised chat. The timing was only partially under my control. I walked past the pawnshop, past my apartment building and ducked into the alley.

I stood in between my building and the abandoned warehouse that flanked the apartments to the north. I hadn’t been in the warehouse since the police had taken me back there to try and get details on the kidnapping. I hadn’t been much help, having been unconscious before I’d been dragged in there and then being knocked out again before the cops found me and Breno. And one-eyed Dell. Looking up at the cracked and broken windows gave me the shivers. I had never found the building all that inviting to begin with, but having been held inside and nearly killed there, I found it even less so. Shaking myself I let out a breath and approached a door about halfway down the alley set flush in the wall. There was no handle or lock visible on the outside but I could feel the deadbolt latch with my knack. Flipping the lock caused the old warped door to pop out a few inches, more than enough for me to pull it open and slip inside.

The interior was dark and seeing was difficult even with morning light trying to get through the dirty windows. I entered a long hallway that led into the main part of the warehouse. The air smelled damp and musty with some other unpleasant odor mixed in. Probably bird crap, or a dead mouse. Old crime scene tape and chalk marks on the floor greeted me as I walked deeper into the dark. Pulling my cell phone and turning on the flash app provided plenty of light that made walking easier, but the harsh white beam cast oddly shaped shadows as I moved forward. There were puddles of water scattered about from roof leaks that had gone unrepaired. When I got to the main floor my light washed over the chairs where we’d all been held. A nest of butterflies rustled around in my stomach. Sweeping the light to the right I found what I’d been looking for: stairs that led up to the metal catwalk that spanned the entire floor of the warehouse all the way to the front windows high overhead.

I’m not afraid of heights, but try climbing some rickety metal stairs in the dark and you might just discover a new anxiety you never knew you had. Ten sweaty minutes later I was where I wanted to be: nestled against one of the broken windows with a perfect view of the sidewalk in front of my apartment building. Now all I had to do was be patient.

I’d spent at least an hour in my perch when my phone vibrated. I wouldn’t say it scared the crap out of me but my startled reaction almost carried me over the railing of the catwalk. It was a text:

Well? Any thoughts about getting together to talk things out?

Justine.

Funny.

Funny because we’d spoken just yesterday and she’d made it clear that the ball was in my court. Girls. I was bored and would have been okay carrying on a text conversation with her but I couldn’t afford to take my eyes off the street and blow my plan. I texted back a response while keeping my eyes on the sidewalk below:

Yes, tonight. 6 @ The Cup?

Her reply was immediate:

How about ur place?

No way, for all kinds of reasons. So...

Goodturn’s pawnshop?

Is that the place next door?

Y

K. CU.

I was glad that my promise to meet again had satisfied her. Juggling the phone in front of me so I could watch and type at the same time would probably send it on a quick flight to the warehouse floor where it would end up in pieces.

Another hour dragged by and I was beginning to think that I was wasting my time when I saw what I’d been waiting for. A familiar figure was making its bowlegged, flippy-haired way across the street. Looking from left to right he hustled over to my building and drifted toward the alley and I lost sight of him. My heart rate started ratcheting up and it was all I could do to hold myself in place. Five minutes later a hulking figure in a bulky rain coat appeared on the opposite side of the street. It moved to a position directly across the street and stopped in a covered doorway. My eyes flicked back and forth from the last spot where I’d seen Dell, to the large shape across the street which was obviously Tank. Although it was hard to make out details, I thought I could see some of the damage to his face from his encounter with Breno.

Twenty minutes went by before Dell reappeared on my side of the street. Tank lumbered out of the doorway he’d been camping in and walked across the street toward the pawnshop.

While Tank was making his way to Goodturn’s, Dell nonchalantly walked over to the apartment building. As he walked up to the entrance I got a decent look at him. The left side of his face was jacked up and the hair on that side was thin and patchy. I’d missed it the day before because he had been facing in the other direction. Breno had done a number on him.

The door to the building was controlled by a keycard lock but Dell walked right up to the door, pulled it open and walked in. A trickle of sweat ran down my back and I made a mental note to tell Kenwoode that we had a security problem.

When Dell disappeared inside, Tank disengaged from his pretend window shopping in front of Goodturn’s and strolled over to the apartment building. The door opened before he reached it and he walked in. As soon as the door closed behind him I quickly made my way back down to the warehouse floor and out to the alley. I ran to the edge of the building near the sidewalk and peered around the corner. They hadn’t come out yet. Moving as quickly as I could I bolted across the street and stood in the same doorway Tank had staked out earlier. I was breathing hard and my heart beat had sped up to the point where I could hear it pounding in my ears. I took several slow, measured breaths to get my nerves under control and tucked my chin into the folds of my jacket to hide my face.

It took longer than I thought it would but they eventually came back out, their body language radiating frustration. Pushing away from my hiding place I started walking away from them. The middle of my back itched and I had to fight the urge to look over my shoulder. This was one of several variables in my plan where I didn’t have any control. Having been upset that neither I nor Breno was in the apartment building would they bite and follow me or would they abort and reload for another day? There was no way to know but I was in it now. Committed. So I kept walking trying to tell myself how lucky I’d been that they had moved on my apartment on the first day that I’d set my trap. Yeah, lucky.

As I made a right at the end of the block and started walking downhill I risked a quick glance over my shoulder and saw them moving quickly toward the intersection on the other side of the street. So far so good. I covered several blocks and felt as though they were getting close, but I couldn’t risk another look behind. I crossed Second Avenue and forced myself to slow down. Taking both hands out of my pockets I continued walking.

In the middle of the block I passed a coffee bar and turned into the alley between it and a restaurant. I could hear footsteps behind me. My heart started thumping hard and I could feel sweat rolling down my sides and in between my shoulder blades. All or nothing. I’d traveled about a third of the way down the alley when I stopped and shook my head, pretending that I had just realized I’d taken a wrong turn. Drawing my knack influence around my hands I spun around.

Tank and Dell were nowhere to be seen. Instead, a man I hadn’t seen in about a month stood there with an irritated look on his face.

“What in the hell are you doing cruising through alleys by yourself?” he asked.