Sleight (37 page)

“Very well, let’s proceed,” Mr. Goodturn said.

Brock yanked the blindfold off Griff’s head.

“I ain’t tellin’ ya nothin’!” Griff spat.

Yeah, I thought, that attitude is going to cost you.

AFTER WE’D WATCHED Mr. G do his thing with Griff and Brin, I looked at my phone. Four in the morning. All of the Shade crew we had captured had been mind-scrubbed and Mr. Goodturn was looking pretty weary. I worried that witnessing the systematic altering of their minds was desensitizing me. I’d stood by as several people were having their minds manipulated, ‘for the better’.

Was it really?

I thought so, but what did that say about me?

We loaded them into the SUV, unconscious, blindfolded, bound and piled like sacks of potatoes. Then Kenwood drove off to make the weirdest Christmas season deliveries ever.

We thought reuniting Sawyer with his sister was fair payment for the risks he’d taken. I texted him to let him know we had her. She was out cold from Mr. G’s work on her and Brock carried her upstairs.

Danton had offered to help drop off the Ethan, Griff and Weller, but Kenwoode had refused. He’d reasoned that it wasn’t prudent to risk jeopardizing Danton’s position on the SPD any more than it had been already. Danton hadn’t argued, so it was just the three of us, stacking chairs and throwing away duct tape. I leaned against the workshop counter, tired, thirsty and hungry. Danton pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, changed his mind and put it away.

“The Winters girl was shot,” he said. “Bullet wounds have to be reported.”

“We have medical expertise available,” said Mr. Goodturn.

“Well at a minimum you took several of them out of circulation,” Danton said.

“Yes, possibly. They may rediscover their knacks, but the inhibitors I installed make that unlikely,” said Mr. Goodturn.

Danton cocked an eyebrow. “How often have you done this?”

It was Mr. G’s turn to raise a brow. “Pardon?”

Rubbing his neck Danton pointed at the stacked folding chairs. “This. Mind-wiping. Taking shady supernatural crooks out of commission.”

Mr. Goodturn ran is hands under his suspenders and his mouth drew into a tight line. “More often than I would care to admit, less than I would have liked. Do you truly wish to know the details? How do you law enforcement folks refer to the connectivity of events and personal knowledge?”

Danton made a half smile. “Plausible deniability?”

“Ah, yes that’s it.”

“All right then. But will you keep me posted?” asked Danton, digging for his cigarettes again.

Mr. Goodturn nodded. “Yes, indeed. Thank you Detective. For your help, your discretion and your timely arrival. It would have been very unfortunate if Irena Weller had escaped.”

“Yeah, well, there’s still the banger to think about though.”

“Ah, yes, but I believe we have some unique leverage there that should prevent our being compromised,” said Mr. G.

“Okay, I’m on my way then. Benny, I’ll see you soon,” said Danton.

I extended my fist and we bumped knuckles. He gave me a wry grin and got into his car.

After he’d left I was itching to get upstairs to check on Justine, but Mr. Goodturn made a tired gesture toward one of the chairs.

Reluctantly I sat down. “Yes, sir?”

Preferring to stand Mr. G adjusted his glasses and stared at the ceiling. “Benjamin, we have so many things left to discuss. I miss our frequent chats. But tonight’s events, Preston’s presence, Constance, your mother, these are things that all fit together in a complicated fabric. I’m reluctant to draw you in further but I’ve regretted your discovering details on your own. What shall we do about that?”

Seemed like a gigantic open ended question. How was I supposed to respond to that? Like anyone I wanted to know everything, but I’d learned that some of that knowledge wasn’t pleasant, and some of it was painful.

“There are only two things I’m worried about right now: Justine being okay is number one. The second is Oso. He took off and although he doesn’t know names, he saw Kenwoode in full gray-giant-mode and he saw Brock too. What’s the leverage you were talking about?”

He nervously snapped a suspender strap against his chest. “You are my boy. You are.”

“Me?” I asked.

“Yes. This Oso has a sentimental disposition toward you. It will influence how he decides to communicate what happened, if he chooses to at all. In addition he is the only member of Madame Weller’s pod with his memories unimpaired. If their network of cells works the way other spy networks operate no one else will even know Oso exists, at least not his specific identity.”

I thought that over for a moment. “Should we try to get in touch with him?”

“We may not need to. He may reach out to you.”

“So I just wait for him to call me?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes.”

“You’re confident that the other Shades won’t reconnect somehow?”

“They wouldn’t know where to begin. We have a failsafe though.”

“There’s the big guy, Isaac, he’s still out there. What about him?” I asked.

“There isn’t much we can do at the moment, but he is neutralized for the moment.”

Griff’s comment that most of them had known each other bothered me. There was something that we were missing. “The bald guy said that most of the group already knew each other. Isaac might be able to connect with other people we haven’t met.”

Grimacing, Mr. Goodturn bobbed his head. “Yes, that would be a problem, but again, we can’t address it at the moment. We’ll have to keep that in mind as we move forward. Irena is the key. She is the leader for her pod. She is the only person we apprehended that is connected to anyone else in the larger network. When she reengages with her personal and professional life her Shade contact will eventually reach out to her. I imbedded one additional suggestion in her mind. When she is contacted, she will call us.”

“And we’ll do what exactly?” I asked.

“Preston and Brock will be watching over her. They will apprehend her contact. With any luck it will be a key person in the Shade network or lead us to one.”

“And?”

“To quote a famous US general, to kill an organization you must cut off the head.”

I FOLLOWED MR. Goodturn upstairs. He had decided that having Brin wake up in a foreign environment would create problems, so he gave her something to keep her under until Sawyer showed up. I wondered why he hadn’t responded to my text. My feelings about him were conflicted. His change of heart meant
something
and I understood how having someone he cared about being in danger could have affected him.

BUT...the fact that he had handled it the way he had instead of trusting us didn’t speak well of his character. And then he had just bailed after the fight in the alley. Live to fight another day? Or was it just plain cowardice?

When we reached the hallway that led to the sleeping quarters Mr. Goodturn turned to me and sighed.

“I’m sorry Miss Winters was hurt Benjamin. You should know that Constance is very skilled, more than the typical general practitioner.”

“I trust her. She looks so much like...” I let my voice trail off, my throat tight.

“You need some rest. And this old man does too,” said Mr. Goodturn, peering up at me through his thick lenses. He touched my arm lightly and turned away, toddling off down the hall.

I watched him close the door to his room. There was a lot we still needed to discuss, but that would have to wait. Shaking off the cobwebs I looked across the hall. The door to Constance’s bedroom suite was open and I hoped that was a good sign. I walked up to the threshold and tapped lightly on the wall. Constance stepped into view and waved me in to her front room.

“Benny, you look very tired,” she said, brushing her hand lightly against my shoulder. Her smile made me feel like I was twelve years old, before all the goofy crap started happening.

“Yeah, I am. Is Justine okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes, but sleeping right now. I gave her a mild sedative to help her rest. Tomorrow she will be much, much better, but very fatigued.”

I looked around the small sitting room. “Is Justine’s stuff close by? I need to grab her phone. I need to text Kayla Greenberg so that she doesn’t go ballistic.”

“She already texted her,” she said. “She said she‘s staying overnight at a friend’s. Very headstrong, your young lady.”

I blushed hard. “She’s not my—”

Putting her hand on my arm she gave it a squeeze. “She loves you Benny.”

“I know,” I said, hanging my head.

Constance gave me a small smile. “I don’t think you do. Oh, I know that you’re aware that she cares for you. But I think she understands the difference between puppy love and the real thing.”

The entire evening was just about to tip me over. I couldn’t respond.

Seeing me struggle Constance smiled. “I take it you don’t feel exactly the same way. That can happen. At a minimum you have a true friend in that young lady.”

“Constance, how can I thank you for everything you’ve done?” My vision was blurred with unshed tears.

In answer she opened her arms. Embracing her I realized that I had forgotten how good it felt to be held by family. It made me feel safe, filling me with a sense of belonging. I gently pulled away and she reached up to kiss my cheek.

“Get some rest Benny. She’ll sleep late into the morning. I’ll watch over her.”

Nodding I turned away quickly so she couldn’t see the tear streaking my cheek. Pulling her door closed behind me I leaned against the wall trying to collect myself.

How was I going to manage to get up and go to school? I thought it might be better to just stay up. If I missed school though, Justine’s absence might somehow get turned into a thing by Kayla. Us both being absent on the same day. And of course, it was a thing.

Sighing I pushed off from the wall and heard footsteps. Brock swung around the corner a second later. Seeing me he chucked his chin and headed in the opposite direction toward the kitchen. Curious, I limped down the hall after him.

He was grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge when I walked in.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” Another nod of his chin.

Two guys making conversation in the wee hours of the morning.

“Where’s Kenwoode?” I asked.

Taking a deep swig from the bottle Brock wiped his mouth on his sleeve and cocked an eyebrow. “Still out.”

“Hey, thanks again. I owe you,” I said.

Leaning his tall frame against the kitchen counter he took another heavy pull off the water bottle and drained it. “There’s a lot of that to go around. I owe Preston. He owes Goodturn. In fact we all owe Goodturn.”

“You all owe Mr. Goodturn?”

He didn’t answer, went to the fridge and pulled out another water bottle. He took off the top and downed half of it. “You did okay kid, but you’re still just a kid.”

I felt my jaw pop and my face got warm. I didn’t say anything.

“If it weren’t for Goodturn, all of us, me, Preston, Constance, would be toast. If not dead, probably wishing we were.”

He took another swig. “We got snared on the East Coast about twenty years ago. Shady government op rounding up Naturals. We were being held in a bunker at an old farmhouse in Massachusetts. He saved us, shut down their operation and erased a lot of their personal mental history. That group probably doesn’t even exist anymore.”

Mr. Goodturn’s past had a lot of dark corners in it. He’d made many of what he called pragmatic decisions. Adult-speak for making choices with the least negative outcomes. The way Brock was talking made me question whether I wanted to know more. My expression must have betrayed what I was thinking. He gave me a hard look.

“Look kid, what we’re into, what we’re dealing with, isn’t clean. There aren’t any aspects of this that are black and white. You either throw in for the greater good, and trust guys who know more than you and me, or you back off. And stay out of the way. Simple.”

“The greater good? Justine got shot. I don’t want my friends getting hurt.” I felt blood rushing to my face.

“You wanna make an omelet—” he sneered.

I spat a curse at him. “Easy for you to say! It wasn’t your friend who got shot. You don’t seem to care about anyone but yourself!”

Crushing the water bottle in his hand he took a step toward me. “Get ahold of yourself boy. I’ve had enough of your whiny bullshit.”

“Come on!” I said, lifting my arms.

He took a step and then hesitated, frowning at me. “Don’t press it kid. I don’t want to do this.”

“What’s your deal?” I said, lowering my arms.

Brock shook himself and threw the water bottle in the trash.

“It’s my other thing,” he growled.

“What other thing?”

“My second aberration. I’m an empath.” He seemed to be trying to get himself under control.

“What?”

Giving his head a quick shake he ran his hand over the back of his neck. “It means that I pick up other people’s emotional state. Like a receiver. Except it’s always on. Wide open. That fight at the waterfront created residual issues. All the anger, fear and whatever else is splashing around seeps into me. Takes a while before it fades.”

It sounded a little like my sensing knack, but with significant problems.

“How do you use that?” I asked before I could stop myself. Sawyer had mentioned that he was sensitive about his knacks.

“I
don’t
. It’s a nuisance. Other than picking up crap when I’m playing cards, or fighting, it’s a pain in the ass.”

“Sorry.” There didn’t seem to be any other response that was appropriate.

He stared at me. “You think I’ve never lost anyone? Never seen a buddy take a hit? And the girl? Why was she there in the first place? You kids. If you’re going to get involved you can’t do it half way.” He rubbed his face with both hands and took a deep breath. “I’m gonna hit the rack.” He looked at me, appraising my rumpled clothes and red eyes.  “You need to decide on where you stand. In or out. Simple.” He stalked out of the kitchen.

In or out.

Actually not simple at all.