The Infiltrators (20 page)

“Hey, handsome,” she began in the
smoothest voice possible, given the circumstances.

“I work at the Honey Trap. Gavin sent
me and Ben over here because he got into a bit of a scrap helping
us out with some creep who was slapping the girls around. He got a
little banged up, and Gavin said to tell you a bath deluxe would be
on the house.”

The tall man looked at Samantha with
cruel, suspicious eyes. “I play poker with Gavin several times a
week. You have any idea what’s gonna happen to you if one word of
what you’re sayin’ turns out to be a lie. I’m gonna slap the teeth
out of you, that’s what. Kasani! This guy ain’t
presentable!”

He huffed.

“Don’t blame me. It’s Gavin’s
errand.”

The man gave her a long, cold
look.

“Come around back. Both of
you!”

Pitkins and Samantha followed the man
around until they came to a door with a large padlock on it. He
fished around for the right key, then inserted it and opened the
lock and then the door.

“Wait just a second. I’ve gotta make
sure there’s one available . . . or maybe make one available,” he
said irritatedly.

Pitkins considered entering without
permission during the five minutes that ensued and was just about
to when the man came back and motioned them inside, all the while
looking around furtively as if they were breaking into a
bank.

He quickly led them up the stairs and
into a room with a bath and then shut the door behind
them.

Pitkins gave a warning look to Samantha
and then dunked his head completely underwater, rubbed his face
vigorously, and then raised his head up, fully expecting her to
have left. She was still there, looking at him
strangely.

“No one would ever come looking for me
if I disappeared. A couple people might care. But look for me?
Ha.”

Pitkins grabbed both of her trembling
hands and looked directly into her eyes.

“I didn’t ask for any of this, but I
know you didn’t either. Help me through this, and I’ll pay you so
handsomely you can leave this place—or even this country—forever.
Understand?”

She nodded, a tear in her
eye.

“Go find Rose for me. If she’s with
someone, see if you can sweet-talk her into coming this way with
this,” Pitkins said, handing her a small bag packed tightly with
gold coins. “If she won’t, let me know immediately. I’ll come
looking for you if you’re gone more than five minutes,” he said,
pointing to his watch.

Pitkins happened to find a shirt lying
on the floor, and while it wouldn’t have been his first pick at a
store, its lack of blood spatter made it irresistibly attractive.
He quickly threw it over his shirt and then spent the rest of the
five minutes crouched by the doorway, sword drawn, ready to
ferociously pounce on anyone entering the room.

Seconds after the five minutes had
expired, and just as Pitkins was getting ready to begin Round Two
of butcher-house diplomacy, Samantha returned.

“I found her, but I’ve drawn some
attention to myself in the process, and Rose is being stubborn,
saying she has to finish with a client first. She said the soonest
she can come is in a half-hour.”

“Take me to her.”

Samantha’s eyes said,
But . . .
, along with a
host of objections, but she bit her tongue, swiveled around, and
walked out into the hallway, Pitkins close behind.

She took him down a long hallway, made
a left turn, and then opened the second door on her
left.

“What the hell?!” said an angry client,
swiveling around. “What am I paying for here anyway?! I get more
privacy in my damn house, and I’ve got five rug rats runnin’
around!!”

Pitkins tossed him a small bag of gold.
“This is for the inconvenience.” The man’s temper appeared to cool
slightly as he took a peek at the contents and especially when he
bit down on a couple of randomly selected coins.

“This is for not saying a word to
anyone,” Pitkins said, tossing another small bag of
gold.

The man’s temper appeared to have
cooled completely. He hoisted up his pants, put his boots on, and
began buttoning his shirt, while saying, “You’re a reasonable
man.”

“One last thing,” Pitkins said, letting
a dagger slide into his right hand.

“This is what you’ll soon see if you
blab a word of this to anyone.”

“It never happened!” the man said
emphatically.

Pitkins’ gut told him the man would
probably wait fifteen minutes before blabbing, but he had no
intention of sticking around that long.

As soon as the door closed behind the
man, Pitkins dropped down to his knees, grabbed Rose’s hands, and
looked right into her eyes.

“Look, I know you don’t know me. I know
you have no reason to trust me. But Rucifus kidnapped my wife
today. If I don’t find her before tomorrow, I fear the only thing
I’ll ever find is . . . .” His voice choked at the end.

“They say you know where she lives.
Please . . . take me to her! I beg you!”

“I’m dead, if I do,” Rose said
matter-of-factly. “And not just dead. Tortured, then
dead.”

“I’ll pay you enough to retire,”
Pitkins said, tossing five gold pouches into her lap.

“The dead can’t spend
money.”

Faster than a rattlesnake strike, a
knife was at her throat.

His erstwhile teary eyes now blazed
with vengeance. “Then choose between a certain death now and a
future death I will do everything in my power to help you
escape.”

The sharp steel against her throat
convinced her. She stood, threw a dress on, tossed the bags of gold
unenthusiastically into a purse, and then said, “Will we be going
out the front?”

“Samantha, lead us out the back. Rose,
stay in front of her. If there’s any fighting, stand aside, but
don’t run, or I’ll kill you.”

Rose sighed again, like a person
unhappy about risking death but almost resigned to it.

Their trek down the hallway was
uneventful all the way to the back exit.

The tall man was standing there with a
smirk on his face.

“Somehow knew this story stunk to high
heaven, but now there’s no doubt. Sir, you can leave if you want.
But you ain’t goin’ nowhere with either of these two
girls.”

Pitkins’ hand shot out like a rock from
a concealed slingshot and struck the man in the throat with his
fore-knuckles and left him wheezing and coughing on the floor while
he and his gals headed down the stairs to Frederick.

“There’ll be no stopping between here
and my horse, so if anyone approaches me, stand back.”

But the approach to Frederick was
uneventful.

Once all three were atop the large
animal, however, a man shouted, “Rose?!!”

Pitkins turned and saw it was another
doorman.

Pitkins dug his knees into Frederick,
and they took off.

Several blocks later, Pitkins brought
Frederick to a halt.

“Samantha, this is as far as you go,”
he said lifting her off. He handed her five small pouches of
gold.

“I owe you more than this, but it’s all
I can give you now.”

“And I suppose I’m supposed to wait for
you to find me to give me the rest?”

“It’ll be easier for you to find me.
Just ask around to find out where the estate of Pitkins and Donive
is located.”

“Pitkins?!
Theee
Pitkins—?”

“Yes. For now, hide yourself. You’ll
probably learn of my outcome in the news.”

Chapter 29

Rose and Pitkins rode a while in
awkward silence, except for an occasional “Left here” and “Take
this one right.”

Then, with solicitude in her voice,
Rose said, “Please . . . just let me get the hell out of here. You
go up that street, and it’s on your left . . . about halfway . . .
should be the only place with guards outside; plus, it’s the
biggest.”

Pitkins slid off the saddle; Rose
looked down at him confused.

He placed several pouches of gold in
her hands.

“But you—”

“I’ll walk. You take Frederick. Watch
over him for me, would ya? You’ll know of my outcome via the
papers. If I live, I ask you return him to me. If I don’t, he’s
yours to keep or to give or sell to someone you think will take
good care of him.”

“You love her, don’t you?”

Pitkins nodded. “Either I leave that
place with her or die.”

Rose gulped. “Not many people would do
that . . . not even for someone they love.”

“Then do they really love?”

Rose gave him a long look that
suggested she’d like to say more.

“Can you do one last thing for me?”
Pitkins asked.

Name it
, she almost said, but a soft “What?” came out.

“You come to me if you’re ever in
danger. For what you’ve done tonight, I’m forever
indebted.”

“What about the police?” Rose asked,
choking back tears at seeing a man walk to his death.

“You kiddin’?” Pitkins asked with a
piercing look.

Rose blushed.

Pitkins grabbed her hand and looked
deep into her eyes, “May Kasani always bless you,” he said and then
turned his back to her and began walking up the street.

As he walked up the street, adrenaline
began to trickle and then flow into veins he had allowed the luxury
of relaxing during their stroll. A hard lesson he had learned in
battle was to the importance of suppressing adrenaline when it
would serve no purpose. Failure to follow this practice could leave
you mauled on the battlefield.

He loosened the sword straps inside
both sleeves, ready to let them drop into the palms of his
hands.

“Halt there, Pitkins; we know it’s
you.”

Pitkins couldn’t see the person yet,
but he immediately determined its origin.

He quickly moved from the open street
to some shrubs alongside it and began moving forward more
stealthily.

“You ain’t getting’ into Rucifus’s
house, and we know that’s where you’re headed, so just come on and
out, and let’s talk.”

Pitkins kept moving forward, clinging
to the bushes.

“DAMN IT TO HECK! Get your butts out
there and find him!”

Scurrying footsteps echoed from boots
striking the cement of the street—the smooth, hard surface serving
as a status symbol that distinguished it from the muddy roads
throughout most of the city.

When Pitkins realized he was going to
be outflanked, he reluctantly broke from cover and headed back to
the street.

“Now that’s more like it!” the voice
rang out. “I ain’t fixin’ to play hide-and-go-seek tonight. Now,
just keep on comin’, and let’s talk.”

Pitkins saw a badge on the chest of the
man barking the orders. The men heeding them looked like
run-of-the-mill thugs.

He was now a mere fifteen feet or so
from Pitkins, and his wolf-like servants were quickly moving around
Pitkins in a circle.

“CALL YOUR MEN BACK!” Pitkins
barked.

“Don’t go any closer, gents,” he said,
and they stopped approaching Pitkins, but did not break the circle
they had formed around him, each about six feet from
Pitkins.

Pitkins kept walking closer to the
deputy.

“Now it’s your turn to halt, and I
advise you do it right quick. I ain’t fixin’ to go toe to toe; I
know a thing about your past. So just you stop right there and
we’ll talk. Otherwise, I let out one whistle, and you’re fit for
dog meat; get my drift?”

Pitkins stopped, about five feet from
the deputy.

“Where’s my wife?” he asked
ominously.

“She’s inside, and not a hair on her
pretty little head’s been hurt. Now, I’m a negotiator here,
and—”