Red Twilight: Long Distence Runners

Chapter 10

The SOP

By the order of their leader, the mercenaries El call comrades calm themselves. Mercs make good assets so long as they can be kept under control and control is in art where he comes from.

Chase, the technician on staff, leads El, Lacerti, and the rest of their company down to his offices. "Let me tell you, Boss. I don't like this job at all. Something about our client is off."

"Noted." El keeps it brief.

"I mean, look at the demographics, one Columbine. OK, we've seen them often, and one New Yorker. What city boy without mob or governmental bankrolling has the revenue to pay your fees?"

"Irrelevant. If you have money, want something moved, and don't want to answer questions, you come to me."

Lacerti pipes in, "Has the cargo hit inventory yet?"

Chase nods as he unlocks his office door. "Yes, sir. It housed just under a thousand pounds of Xiroc brand paper and a dozen garbage bags."

"That's disappointing." Lacerti lowers his head, disgusted. "You know I was hoping it was black market hardware again."

El scoffs. "Like we would ever run out. I think we have more guns in storage right now than Siberia."

Chase jokes, "That's what happens when the majority of your friends are Latin drug lords." Chase walks into the office and starts to boot up his PC. Nile shakes her head off and leans over Chase, looking at the antique of a device.

"Is that a Com-64?" Chase nods in agreement of the statement. "Is that OS. a SCMODS?" Again Chase nods to Nile. "Are you running this thing of a hard line?" One more time he bobs his head. "Your computer is like twenty years out of date. A handheld game has equitable processing power to this POS."

"Well, not many people are giving away computers with the ability to hijack government software," Chase tries to defend himself.

Nile spins to face her siblings as well as El and Lacerti. "I can rebuild this thing and make it a hundred times more efficient if you can bring me some parts." She boldly places her hands on her h.i.p.s, looking almost like a comic book hero.

El looks to his tec. "Is she telling the truth?" Chase hesitates so El makes a call for him. "Right, Nile, Chase will give you whatever you need. Now find me our client."

With speed and grace, Nile rips apart toasters, TVs, and microwaves and begins reassembling in strange-looking ways. She takes a hammer and smashes apart a wall, pulling out phone electrical and even television cable wires. El watches on in intrigue, Chase in horror. Nile's pet monstrosity quickly starts to take shape.

El finds Chase's office claustrophobic and decides to take a seat in the hall outside. The building where Chase had set up shop was once a courthouse and still has most of the furnishings—stained redwood benches, plastic plants in marble planters, and stained glass over the windows; the building is comfortable to say the least.

El sits down hard. He reaches into his b.r.e.a.s.t pocket and withdraws his tape recorder. He lifts his eyes lightly at the sounds of birds outside. Across the way from him, Karin seems to have followed; she sits silent on an identical bench, her hands folded over her l.a.p. Somewhat unsettled, he watches her watch him. The sounds of bird outside becomes louder as do other natural sounds of calming. The drilling and hammering behind them become inaudible. A sweet scent fills the air, and El lowers his head in rest momentarily.

El raises his tape recorder.

"I find myself taking a moment to reflect on myself and the endless miles of road behind me. I loved my mother and hated my father. I hated my home so much so that at fifteen I ran away. Ironic as it is, I use many of the same skill that my father had pushed upon me to find a way to live. I forged myself a identity, crafted a fake SSI, fake birth certificate. My parents hadn't named me David Lay. I made that name up for myself. Why? So I could join the Maurine corp. I wanted nothing more than to be ranked amongst the USMC, the finest group of men to walk on this soil.

"And yet again the thing I hated in my old man became things that were lifesaving in the service. At sixteen, I had the fighting skill to take down men twice my size. I could shoot straighter, run faster, and take more abuse than anyone ever to walk though the recruitment doors or so I was told. I was a regular terminator.

"The service was everything I hoped it would be, but better. For the first time in my life, I felt a real since of camaraderie. For my first six months, I was a stone-faced ghost in the crowds, then came Private Arian E. Presley. A Texan, he had short greasy hair and a vibrant way of talking. God only knows why he chose to talk to me. Arian liked to dance and sing. I remember he took some tools from the station to assemble his own trashcan guitar that he played for your unit more than once.

"Arian as far as I could tell marked the first days of Vietnam, and only a week after his arrival came my first deployment. (Arian's time in the service was short. He was sent home with a hip injury shortly after our arrival over enemy soil. Shot in the back while transporting a wounded comrade.) As for me, my first mission ended with me labeled MIA. I spent time in a Vietcong camp. I spent four weeks submitted to what the cong called torture (easiest four weeks of my life). It wasn't long after that I met Lacerti for the first time as my partner.

"I was chained to a chair at the time with a bag over my head and a car battery hanging from my nut sack. So I couldn't see what was going on around me, only hear it. The sounds all around me were sounding not so different than that of a full-scale assault—artillery fire, mortars exploding, the screams of combat, sounds I have become all too familiar with already. The sounds of bone crushing came not long after, then the sound of a blade cutting stone (that is one that took some time to comprehend) and my jailers being crushed by a splattering weight.

"I am freed from my captivity by what I can only have assumed to be the blunt of an allied strike team. When the bag is removed from my head and my dignity thrown back in my face, I see only the colossus Lacerti standing over me in regale splendor, covered in the pulped remains of his enemies in his left hand. He holds me in his right. He brandishes a seven-foot long blade bounded out of silver and wrapped in leather bandings, a tool that would look fine in the hands of a second-century gladiator.

"He tells me that very moment that 'I am now El' and that 'my father was killed in action.' To this day, I still don't know why, but my response wasn't 'we must return home' or 'how did it happen?' My first words to Lacerti were 'It can wait.' There was work for us there still.

"Why am I so full of anger that I can't feel grief? Why do I feel the pain of loss today and not then? I hated my father. I have told myself that more times than I can count. But I attribute my everything to him. And I loved my mother. That part is no lie. But still I hated her cowardice. My father was wicked, and my mother was weak. Now I live as the testament to all that came before me. By day I am strong. By night . . . who am I?

"Am I a ghost? Am I a memory? A man once said to me that there are three great glories in the world: friends, family, and work."

El is scarcely aware of Karin sitting across from him at this point; he is lost in memories.

"Only have assumed to be the blunt of an allied strike team? Was it a strike team?"

El is sprung back to alertness by Karin's whisper. He stares at her for a long moment, studying her, contemplating possible responses. "I assumed so." "Was it a strike team?" she asks again.

"I didn't see any evidences of a team."

"Lacerti came to your rescue alone. You also never did ask about your father's death, did you?"

El looks aggravated. "My father was a man of honor. He died nobly . . ."

"Your father was the victim of human sacrifice. He was betrayed and murdered by one of his clients. The client walks free . . ."

"Stop it!" El demands, not wanting to know more.

"Lacerti chased him down but could not kill him. You met the killer in fact just the other day."

El has no calm left; his voice is filled with fire, his eyes with rage "What do you mean Lacerti couldn't kill him?"

"Lacerti has encountered this man a half dozen times in the past. He is Lacerti's polar opposite. He is Adam Crow. He is a harbinger to the void and he is a blighter.

Where he walks, oblivion follows."

"Why?!" El commands, placing his hands at Karin's sides.

Karin's eyes drop. "Maybe it's not that he can't. Maybe it's that he won't." El's eyes turn to Karin's neck; thoughts of murder intrude upon his mind. "Ask him yourself," Karin whispers to him. "Ask him 'who killed your father.' Ask him, 'Who is Adam Crow?' He will tell you." El turns away, crying out a whale of frustration.

El storms out to the street in search of his partner. Lacerti has found his way out to the phone switch box with Nile. Nile is down on all fours, her tail up as she is working on rewiring the box; Jude has also followed. He and Lacerti alike have their heads tipped, watching Nile in amus.e.m.e.nt and confusion.

El grabs the giant's arm to twist him about; El is a powerful man but is devoid of the power to perform this task. Lacerti plays along, facing his friend. "You, me, bar now. Move it, Soldier." Lacerti grunts and shrugs, following along.

* * *

El finds his table; it is empty as always. No one but he, his partner, and his father have sat at this table in four decades. El calls out to one of his workers,

"Double, I'm not taking any more calls today, and bring me a tall cold one!" "Russian?" Double asks.

"V.i.r.g.i.n, hard on the ice."

"Anything for you, Colonel?"

Lacerti takes a seat and lifts his head in ponder. "Hmm. Two Shooters, a Cilia, Hot Saki, and keep it coming." Lacerti places his hands on the back of his head and stretches out, waiting to hear what El has to say. "What's on your mind, David?"

"Karin."

"She is cute, isn't she? Thinking it might be time to hang up your keys and leave the driving to a younger lot?" Lacerti smiles at the thought. "You know most of the 'El's' call it quits a bit sooner than you are."

"Shut up! She was talking about Michel Lay."

Lacerti groans uncontrollably. "My former partner."

"My father was labeled KIA? Was that the case? Did he die on a job?"

Lacerti pulls back on his first drink, then snaps for Double to get him a refill. "Your father had a weakness that you do not share. He made a lot of friends and a lot of the wrong kind of friends. And it was one of his own that turned him over to his enemies."

El folds his hands and leans onto the table. "Who? Why?"

"Why now?" Lacerti leans off to one side lax, taking another round of drinks as he waits for El's next remark. "It's been close to thirty years, I think."

"It seem you remember fairly clearly." El's eyes sharpen to a bladed star. "Who is Adam Crow?"

The inquiry is startling to Lacerti; he thinks hard and deep, searching his emotions for an answer. "If you want to know what Adam Crow is, you first must understand where it comes from. That won't be easy."

"Try me."

"El, you are analytical, methodical. You believe in what you can see. You're not fooled by illusions and trickery easily, and that is why I don't expect you to understand what I am going to say. I know that this will shake the foundations of the world as you know it."

"Spare me the theatrics," El orders.

"In a place before time, in a world without memory, there was only 'the Nothing.' The world was perfect in every way. Never was it hot, never was it cold. Nothing steered in the night. For Nothing was all there was, as was Nothing all that is. In this place outside of reality, for reasons unknowable the Nothing began to feel, and its feelings took shape. Within the heart of Nothing, a tree was reared—a tree with two root systems mapping what would become the elemental directions in four-dimensional space.

"Now with feelings in place, dreams soon followed and the dreams manifest into a gardener, a lonely entity, that cared for the tree of elements, and the gardener gave the tree her name, Yggdrasil. The gardener called out to the Nothing and pleaded, 'I am lonely, Mother.' The Nothing saw this to be true and took the blood and the body of the gardener and gave him two brothers.

"Soon from the tree a fruit dropped, and as it fell it become a great serpent. Into the darkness, the serpent would fly, and when it returned from the deeps of the nothing, it returned with an egg. Placing the egg at the heart of Yggdrasil, the egg turned to stone, and when the stone grew around the base of the tree, gravity was born.

"Now the brothers took their names. The gardener become the sources of all light and would be called henceforth onward Laus-deu-O. The youngest brother reached into the earth and became one with the art of creation. His name become Filius-mammon. The last brother saw the fruits in the tree and felt the power of life rising from within, and he became the embodiment of life Sal-la-day-namO. The brothers gave the great serpent a name as well. She is Chaos.

"Chaos flew again into the depths of the Nothing and returned with another egg, and this one she placed within the eye of darkness and the stars were born.

"The brothers reached into the fruits of Yggdrasil and began to extract the essences of existences and reality: water, fire, wind. With each fruit, they grew greater, becoming more like the Nothing. And then they found a human heart within the tree. This power would give the brothers and the great serpent the power to give life, just as the tree created the snake and the Nothing created the gardener. With the power followed a powerful question. 'After we have created life, how do we manage life? Do we give them the power of agency as we have? Do we let them dream? Will they partake of Yggdrasil as we do?' Laus-deu-O asked his brothers.

"'We are not equal to our father, so it is "his way" that the son worsh.i.p.s his father,' Filius-mammon explained.

"'I won't have it,' Sal-la-day-namO commanded.

"Laus-due-O looked at his brother. 'So what would you do?'

"'We will give our children everything we have. They will command fire, they will own the water, walk on the air . . . and we will give them more. We will sleep and they will be the keepers of our home.'

"Mammon was infuriated by this, and he turned his magic on his brother, bathing him in flames. Sal-la-day-namO denied this attack and countered with a wave of light. Mammon wrapped himself in darkness to hide from the light. Their cosmic powers collided meaninglessly for times untold.

"The Nothing was aggravated by their squabbling and called into being three women, judges for the gardener and his brothers. They were the fates; each was one-third of a person but together they could become greater than that of the brothers.

"Bashaba, with black skin and black hair, saw only sin, Timora with skin of gold and hair of silver knew only forgiveness, and Tesselhorn was half of each. She was balanced. The fates passed their first decry. 'Gods may not use their divine influence against one another.' Then after hearing the root of the argument their second 'all intelligent life would be given the opportunity to live with or without divine intervention. The living would have to choose for themselves whether or not to live in the shadows of the gods,' and so it was that man and mankind found their way to earth and thousands of other world like it.

"At first the brothers tried to cheat the fates. They appeared before men in human skins or in the form of the elements. The fates were not amused and passed their third decry. 'The gods will fall subject to the ruling of dominion. They could only walk where they have walked before. Only when invited before a man may they speak to the man, and their magic will only be granted by their worshippers. As for touching the living, that is right out. A god would never again fall subject to material d.e.s.i.r.es.' Sal-la-day-namO found this unacceptable and so discarded his godhood in order to live amongst the beasts and men he loved so deeply.

"The brothers were devastated by the loss of one. Laus-due-O reached into Yggdrasil, calling forth all the strength he could muster, willing into existence hundreds of petty gods and goddesses to fill the void of power left by the lost brother, and then he slept. Maybe he is still sleeping. The petty gods constructed a great glass kingdom in the honor of their father that they called Tamriel.

"Filius-Mammon then alone in Yggdrasil found himself driven to the brink of madness. He confronted the fates, commanding that they had outstretched their limits. The fates cast out the vengeful god. The brothers were then none. Mammon did not sleep, and he did not die. He plotted as only a god could. With time not a concern, he called out to the Nothing and became a part of it once more. The Nothing was tented by Mammon's anger. Mammon became the beast called Cravixs, and the Nothing became two beings—the Alpha and creation on one side, then Omega the void on the other. At last there was a start and end to the universes and time was born."

"Adam Crow is the physical body of the void. He is Filius-Mammon in the flesh.

And he is most responsible for the deaths of your family," Lacerti monologues.

El looks blank for a moment. "I don't believe it."

"I didn't think you would. El, you are taking your first steps into a world far larger and darker than you can imagine. The story doesn't end there either. The battle between night and day was just coming into swing with the fall of Mammon and the birth of Cravixs. Chaos saw what was coming to pass and tried to take measures to minimize the damages. When she noticed the Nothing was ill she ate from Yggdrasil. She then called into being tens of thousands of eggs with which to try to fill the Nothing in hopes that her gift of creation could heal its wound, but she exhausted herself.

"The fates understood what the great snake was attempting to do and so sent out the petty gods to protect the serpents' eggs. But seeing that between them, they had not the power to stop the cancer from spreading, they instead cut out the infected portion, then placed a wall between them to see to it that they could not become one again—"

El cuts him off, "That is just ridiculous." Lacerti has acquired a pile of drinks around him. EL's drink remains untouched. "What is a petty god anyway? And this wall? What was it made out of?" El seems strangely interested.

Lacerti waves for another round of drinks. "Petty gods are elemental. When they're doing their jobs, you don't even see them. They are emotions. They are wind and water. They are changing sessions, hunting animals. They make you age at the right speed, tell you that you're hungry, thirsty, horny. Everything you see in a day is there because the petty gods put them there. Now when one does something they're not supposed to, that is when someone will take notice. When humans burst into flames, that is a petty god playing a joke on someone. Same with if rocks bleed, mirrors don't reflect, and when it snows in the desert.

"As for the wall, it is made up of souls. All the dead from all the worlds awaiting judgment stand as a wall, keeping the worlds apart. But the fates aren't stupid. They thought, What if we need to move between the worlds? How could we do that and leave the wall intact at the same time? So they placed holes in the wall, big enough for them to pass through but not the void, 'the pillars of reality,' a dozen objects on each world that when brought together would allow the fate in or any other god to manifest. Then they assigned messengers, humans and animals that would become the mouthpieces of the gods, allowing them to speak with one another and with us without the need to abandon their native elements.

"That would be where things went irreversibly astray. Cravixs saw that the door swings both ways. When a god moves, he could stick his toe in the door and look on into the other side. This allowed Cravixs to mimic the fates' technology, or whatever you would call it.

"So now there is a evil god strolling about the edges of reality with boundless power. He can do anything that fates could do and more, and for him it doesn't require three casters to summon his power."

El creeps in closer. "So what does it require?"

"The sources of the god's power come from two directions. First there is worship so long as you know a god's true name and call it out. You give the gods permission to access your thoughts and dreams. Dreams have remarkable power. Second, Mana, a river, flows out from beneath the Yggdrasil tree and its water touches all of Chaos's eggs and gives them life. The water penetrates all of us, giving us each a power unique to us all. Man and god alike partake of Mana, all things great and small. When we rest, the water fills us." Lacerti leans in nose to nose with El. "But if you are a blighter like Adam Crow is, you can steal the Mana from others to heal yourself."

"Need one die in order to do this?"

"No, not if you take only a sip of life away from one like in the case of the redheaded biker the other day, but if you take all of it, then your victim ages to death instantly." El is left speechless by the story. "And to that end, I would like to say something. El, we have been together for a long time and I'm thinking soon . . ." El's phone begins to ring, EL holds up his hand in the stop gesture. Lacerti freezes mid-sentence.

"Didn't I say no phone calls, Double?" The voice on the other end explains that Nile has found "the client."

"I understand."

* * *

Jude is joined with Nile and Chase in the computer room. Nile leans forward, her forearms on her crossed legs. "Chase, who is El?"

Chase removes one of his pairs of glasses and wipes them on his over shirt. "That depends on who you're asking. I think El is a lunatic. Ten years ago he sprung me from prison. He offered me a new life as what you see today. In exchange for my freedom I was asked to forget my identity."

Jude looks at him. "Why were you incarcerated to begin with?"

"I did something stupid. I played a little joke on Manhattan Island. Some of my high school buddies and I remotely shut down the power grid and threatened to do the same thing to the water filtration plant if the governor didn't pay us five—$550,000. We were bluffing. The filtration plant was interlocked. We needed to shut it down from the inside. The governor sent a goddamn headhunter after us. School boys like me talk a good talk, but we are no match for Special Ops—against. One of my friends got a bullet in the ear. Another got his hand shot off. I pissed myself and surrendered without a fight. A week or two later, here comes El saying,

'Come with me if you want to live.' Now here I am. I gun for hire."

"Great story, bro." Nile slaps him on the arm playfully. Chase cringes.

"As for complete assholes, I'm not the only one here. Ask Cobra where he came from if you dare."

Jude scratches one of his ears, then turns to focus on Chase once more "When you put it that way, I would rather ask you."

"Did you read that Jenifer Taller story in the paper a handful of yours back? If you did . . ." Chase nudges his head off to the side. "He's that guy."

Nile grips Jude by the arm as she leans in to explain, "Three-time s.e.x offender Richard Enrick escapes from prison during a power outage in the dead of winter. He runs barefooted fifteen miles to a suburban household where he breaks down the door and adds murder and child molestation to his riot act. Cops show up to pick him up in the middle of the act. Somehow neither he nor the cop car ever find their way back to the station."

El and Lacerti show up and interrupt the storytelling. "Stop scaring the kid," El orders. "What did you find?"

Nile spins in several circles in her chair. "Officer Dwight Reddog Egget with the NY security enforcer's office. I also found his criminal record, credit card number, and home address."

Chase looks up at El, disappointed, knowing well he couldn't have done half of that in the allotted time. "We also came up with his driver's license number and SSI."

"He is in Harlem, New York," Nile adds.

"Outstanding!" El compliments. "But how?" "I hijacked the department of welfare's data base." "The DOW has that much intel?" El asks.

"No, but once I had his name, it wasn't that hard of a trick to look up banking records."

El ponders for only a moment as to his next action. "What about the Cuban?"

Chase shakes his head. "Haven't found 'em yet."

"Lacerti, grab our provisions, meet me at the garage." El departs swiftly.

* * *

El stands at the mouth of the garage; Lacerti steps up moments later, carrying a backpack and two army class duffle bags. El looks down for a moment and stares at the miscellaneous bag. "What's in there?"

"My box lunch."

"Afraid we'll run out of salted nut rolls?" It's clearly a joke. "Anyway, what should we drive today?"

Lacerti looks about the hundreds of cars and truck in storage. "How about the 350?"

"We're going to Harlem. I think an armed forces emergency rescue vehicle may look out of place."

"H1?"

"Counting on us coming under ballistics fire?" El sounds appalled. "I was thinking more like the Caddy."

"I don't want to ride in the trunk."

"I see your point. Wind Star maybe."

"It's Harlem, not Palm Springs. Besides we haven't changed the SCU since the

Detroit job."

El nods. "You're right. Let's take the Ram."

The two nod together, choosing to drive a half-ton utility truck with topper.

* * *

The drive is short which the two have made hundreds of times together. They stop halfway to change into their combat gear, hiding their armor and weapons under their street clothing. El comes to a stop half a block from their destination.

He rubs his eyes and groans furiously.

Lacerti reaches over and takes his arm. "El?"

"I'm all right. It's that same head pain I've been having since we left the bar." El looks around the streets of the community they're in. There is a caged-in basketball course with eight young men playing a game on it, and a car set up on cedar blocks with an old man in overalls under it, working. There seems to be a man on his front steps with a hibachi, handing out hot dogs to passersby. "Lacerti, look around and tell me what do you see."

"Looks like a tight place. It's going to be hard to hit this guy without being seen. What is your plan?"

El rubs his neck, thinking. "I think I'll have to go with the 'devil in gray' routine."

"I thought you didn't like that game, psychological warfare and all."

"I don't. But once I'm in, I figure I have around ten minutes to pull this off before cops start showing up and we're looking at a bloodbath. I don't want to have to blast my way out of here like last time."

Lacerti nods again and grunts. His eyes roll off to the side, and he points at a conveniences store. "The tall glass of water at the till with the knitted cap, isn't that our target?"

El grabs a pair of binoculars from the backseat and looks where Lacerti points. This time it is El that grunts in agreement. "It looks that way. I'll go off ahead and set things up. Set the radio to walkie-talkie. I'll send you two clicks every five minutes as in 'all clear.' If I fail to check in, you know what to do." EL jumps out of the truck, throwing the goggles in back once more. He pauses a moment, thinking he has heard an alien sound at that very moment but shakes himself off, continuing on his way.

Lacerti calls out a reminder to him, "Game time."

El agrees in echo, "Game time." The friends part ways in preparation for the grisly work ahead. Lacerti makes his way behind their target's den, El for the fire escape to the rusty-looking building.

* * *

Dwight's house is modest; he is a simple man with simple interests. His kitchen is small with no fancy tools—just the necessities: a grill, a pile of pans, and some cooking oil. By the look of things, he eats noodles for most of his meals. He has a trash can that is of the ilk you would see in a toolroom. His living room consists of a TV that looks like it was fished out of a garbage dumpster and a couch to match. He has no dining room. Hanging from the walls are a number of sports memorabilia; El's assumes he likes hockey.

El arrives at the fourth-floor suite with a short time to set up. El takes a knife from his coat and sets it on the kitchen counter in easy view, then coats the bathtub with liquid soap. At last, he reaches into his inner pocket, taking a moment to make certain his gloves are firmly attached to his hands, and withdraws a four-foot length of titanium cable tied around a set of hon-bo (two-foot long sticks smoothened and fire treated, used as a farming interment during the Chin dynasty). El coils the wire around itself, forming a loop. He hides behind the door to the bedroom, gripping this wire in both hands.

Dwight walks in, discarding his sweater; his eyes lock onto the knife on the counter. El peers at him through a crack in the door; he looks unnaturally jittery. Dwight crawls along the wall to his bedroom, feeling around on his belt for his sidearm as if he were unaware he wasn't carrying it. Dwight isn't a step and a half into the room before El ties the wire around his neck. Dwight gasps and falls to his knees, grabbing at the cable adhered to his esophagus. He gags as the wire easily cuts into the sides of his tender throat, sending a thin stream of blood down his sides.

"Howdy, Mr. Dog?" El taunts his prisoner. "Do you know what titanium cable is?" El starts to pull him backward. Dwight's feet kick at the ground, following El's movement, struggling not to let the wire cut any deeper. "It is a fabulous tool really. Musicians use it to create one of the most high-pitched and delicate sounds you will ever hear." He kicks open the bathroom door. "Stone masons also call on the same tool to cut clay more cleanly than any other tool on earth possibly can. Even the CIA and Black Ops have found uses for it. It's light weight and thin enough that you can hide it within the inner lining of your boots. One could saw through led pipes if need be." El loops the wire around the shower head. He tugs hard on the wire to force Dwight to stand tall.

El slaps him on the c.h.e.s.t. "You look a bit uncomfortable. Let me give you a hand." He slides two thin wedges of wood around his neck; it slightly relieves the pressure, allowing him to breathe normally. El jumps up and seats himself on the sink in the room. "What do you weigh? 210, 225? Give or take."

Dwight locks his knees and holds himself as still as possible, noticing the bathtub glazed with soap. "200 flat."

El draws his Jackal. "That's bullshit, but it doesn't matter. A group of contract killers during the age of the Hun carried serrated iron rope, not so dissimilar from the one around your neck. They called their weapon Tet-Sie-Ga. It was meant to be used to break away their opponents' armor. But it was found if say sixty or more pounds of force was applied, it would cut apart bone and flesh. If the head was struck, it would only require twenty pounds of force and it would slide between vertebras, slicing off the head. Truly, it is far cleaner than using a traditional hemp rope. So watch your footing."

"What's going on here, man?"

"We are going to play a game. You are going to sing me a song about s.e.x, money, and betrayal." EL c.o.c.ks his gun. "If you sing off-key, I'll let you know."

Shock and fright have robbed Dwight of his breath; he points and whimpers, "if this is a game, then there needs to be a way for both players to win. There needs to be rules, right?"

"There are always rules: if you scream, you lose, if you touch that wire over your head, you lose, and of course if you die, you lose . . ."

"How do I not lose?"

"I start asking questions. if you answer all of them before time runs out, You win."

"how many do I need to answer?"

"Timer has already started, Mr. Dog. Let's begin." EL attaches a suppresser to his Jackal. "First question: Have you ever had any kids, Mr. Dog?"

In a panic he yells out, "Yes!"

El fires his Jackal into the upper-right corner of the room, spilling debris into the room. "You are wrong twice, Mr. Dog. You have no children nor have you ever had any children. If you do not understand the question, ask for clarification. Question two: before today have you ever seen the weapon I am now holding in my left hand?"

"Juan Sanchez! That is the gun he bought at the art fair last spring. He gave it to you."

"Correct. Third question: Why are the two of us here and not at the extraction point previously discussed?" Dwight starts to waver in places slightly. "Mind your footing. Try to remember that you're on the heavy end of 'chop your own head off.' Thank you."

"The computer doctor Karingson hid in the back of the truck. He came looking

for it."

"Correct . . ." El's eyes change slightly; he narrows he gaze trying to decide if he heard what he thought he heard. "Karingson?"

"The head of Research and Development at the tower. He made some new computer. He asked Juan and I to hide it. Then he came hunting us down. But it wasn't him. It was someone wearing his skin."

El jumps to his feet. He holds the gun forward threateningly; his eyes look like stone, his hand steady and true. El is a killer, Dwight knows it; he has seen this more than once. "You're not going to shoot me, are you?"

"Why not? I have shot lots of people." El c.o.c.ks the hammer; resolution fuels his d.e.s.i.r.ers. But then El becomes dizzy; his gun becomes heavy and his vision foggy. El starts to strafe, trying to find his balance.

Dwight starts yelling, "Take it easy, man. Calm down!" He starts shouting nonsense, trying to get the attention of anyone that might be nearby.

El sheathes his gun. He unties Dwight's bonds, but does not let him go. He takes Dwight by the neck pulling up on the scruff that he does not have, nearly carrying him in one hand. "You're coming with me, Dog." EL thrusts him out of the apartment and down the fire escape, then on to the street, making his way back to Lacerti, shoving Dwight every step.

El opens the trunk of his truck; he lifts and thrusts against Dwight, rolling him over the lip of the trunk and throwing him in. "Bones round. Open the door you die.

Touch the windows you die, it's a 120 mile to my favorite gas station. Remain still tell then, you get a prize."

Lacerti looks at El, a mildly shocked look on his face. "What?"

"Lacerti, I think I discovered the sources of my headaches." EL walks around to the rear passenger side door. El grabs Karin by the ankles and drags her out onto the street. "I assume you knew about this." Lacerti grunts in protest. He is clearly attempting to mislead El. EL reaches for his Jackal. Karin lies on the ground arms outstretched overhead, knees up, slightly dazed. El breathes heavily for a moment before the sound of sirens in the distance helps him come to consciousness. "Get back in the car."

* * *

Fleeing from the scene of a crime is a matter of speed and discretion; looking like you belong where you are is critical, and looking like you're running is a surefire way of getting caught. Move slow; don't look around. Don't attract attention to yourself; find ways to stay out of sight. The easiest way to do that is to be part of a crowd. You can outrun a man, not a radio. Changing the plates of your car on the fly might be a possibility, and so long as you're not carrying cargo, changing cars is not an unacceptable option.

El chuckles to himself at the simplicity of their escape. Why can't every job go this well? he finds himself thinking. He turns his eyes to the rearview mirror. "Karin, why did you follow us?"

Her voice resonates from the backseat. "You are thinking about fighting Adam Crow. I can help you."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"She is omnipotent, or at least close to," Lacerti replies.

"Omnipotent! That, my friend, implies an information source just a bit more powerful than Google," EL scoffs.

"David, I need to talk to you. My friend, we need to stop . . ." Lacerti begins.

"Stop, we still have three hundred miles to drive before sundown."

"No, I mean we can't keep going much longer. I'm tired, El, so are you. It's time for you to retire, and it's time for me to go home." "Home?" El asks.

"El, I am a god, well, 25 percent at least that's what Crow meant when he called me a 'Demi'. That being the case I am only allowed to sleep on the ground I was born. I need to leave for Sparta, Greece. Soon."

El sighs heavy-heartedly. "Then there is one thing left for us to do together, assuming I don't think you're full of crap. I want revenge."

"You do want to fight Adam Crow?"

"Can you beat him?"

Lacerti covers his eyes with one hand, thinking. "No," he whispers.

Karin whispers to El, "I can."

Lacerti continues, "Not so long as he has his Avatar."

El comments back on a delayed reaction, "Did you just say that you're a god?"

Lacerti nods. "Well, not completely. Truth be told, Karin's blood is cleaner than mine."

"And you didn't bring this up earlier?"

Lacerti just shrugs. "I really don't see what difference that makes."

"What does it mean to be a god?"

Karin whispers to him, "What does it mean to be human?"

The insistent sound causes El to reach up and rub the side of his head as if swatting at a fly. "Will you stop that?!"

The conversation is interrupted by the flashing of light in the rearview mirror. A sheriff on a motorcycle comes up alongside them, waving them off to the side of the road. El comes to a stop, lowering one hand to the side of his chair. Down by the handbrake, he has hidden what the air force used to call "the ladies' pistol." A small handgun easily concealable within the palm of one's hand, it carries only a single low caliber bullet.

A hairy-looking cop strolls up to the driver side window; he has shaggy hair and a handlebar moustache. He is wearing reflective sunglasses and is chewing strawberry-flavored gum loudly. He knocks on the glass twice, then slaps the side of the car to get El's attention. "Howdy, Andy?" the cop greets El.

Howdy Andy? El thinks. "The safe phrase," this was one of the ideas of El's father. El's father was a recluse and innovative man. Many of his ideas were unpopular amongst the others, but the word of the driver was law. In the twenty years El's father was in charge of the guild, a good deal of underhanded contracts were written, amongst them being a large some of law students, cops, and lawyers being unofficially welcomed into the company. This part-timers were paid to erase criminal records and keep names off the news and out of papers. They identified each other using codes. This man isn't here for any reason other than looking for an advance on his next paycheck.

The sheriff reaches into his pocket and holds up his ID. It reads Larz Lynch. El has seen this ID before; it's a fake. El doesn't know this man personally, but he knows his type. Larz and his ilk aren't like the disciplined solders he has trained; they are more like pickpockets that have a pact with one another. El hides his ladies' pistol up his sleeve and opens the glove box; he reaches in and pulls out an envelope. "Good afternoon, Larz." El hands over the letter.

"I'll tell you, Andy, it has been a hell of a week." He picks up the letter and hides it in his pocket. "I just got a call from a buddy of mine saying he found a goddamned graveyard hidden in the bas.e.m.e.nt of a f.u.c.k.i.n.g bar."

"Is that so?"

"I can scarcely believe some of the things that I've been hearing as of late . . ." Larz starts to ramble; El fails to hear it all. El's attention is drawn to the mass number of uncontrollable circ.u.mstances around him: Karin in the backseat, Dwight in the trunk. A man that likes to ramble complicates things a good deal, and El hates not being in control.

Larz's eyes turn to the backseat. Time slows for El as he looks at the math: The overwhelming majority of law enforcers only have six week of combat training. Their training also largely reflects drilling. If Larz is the cookie cutter cop he appears, there are a number of things that are likely to be true: First, Larz's gun has a locking device attached to it to prevent it from falling out of its scabbard or being grabbed from front; second, before he draws his gun he will take a step backward. If he is a sharp shooter, he will unlock his gun before back-stepping. He will lift his gun and brace it on his forearm or with his palm. Third, he is going to take three seconds to observe his surroundings before lifting his weapon if there is no visible danger and will offer three warnings before opening fire, if he were a by-the-books type; if not it's a quick-draw competition, Larz's training versus El's experiences. Larz will be dead before he has time to take aim.

"What in the name of Sam's hell is that?" Larz points at the blanked-over Karin's head.

"I found an injured dog. I'm taking it to the shelter on Continteen Boulevard." El lowers his hand slightly, letting his gun hide in his palm; a flick of the wrist and he is ready to fight.

"Show me," Larz demands.

El and Lacerti share a glance. Lacerti nods; El shakes his head. Lacerti reaches for the blanket. Anxiety runs high for El; things are getting complicated. El doesn't like complications. Karin's voice echoes in El's ear; El struggles not to respond. "He won't see me."

With a flick of his wrist, Lacerti unveils a tiny pink-nosed coyote that only Larz can see. Larz laughs. "That's no dog. That's a dingo." Larz slaps the roof of the truck several times. "You wily sons of bitches, get the hell out of here."

El looks back into the backseat as they start to drive again. "I expect an explanation all of this."

* * *

After arriving back at home, El deposits "Mr. Dog" at the garrison to begin training for his new life, then takes Karin to a hidden room behind his bar. It's a tiny room with little more than a table, two chairs, and a mirror in it.

"A friend told me once that if God doesn't pick up the phone when you call you should try the devil," El explains, locking the door.

"what would you like to talk about, El?" Karin's voice whispers.

El spins his chair backward and sits, instructing her to do the same. "Frankly I want to know everything. Like why since I met you has time seemingly been running in reverse?"

"Time's not moving backward, David."

El places his gun on the table. "Say David again and I start taking your digits!"

"I haven't really said anything."

"I noticed!" El rubs his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger. "Every time you don't say something, I get a hard burning sensation behind my eyes."

"So then how should I start?"

El puts one leg up on the table, resting. "How about with, how does it work?"

Karin sets her hands on her l.a.p, fiddling with her skirt. "I make copies of people when I touch them. No, it's not just their memories. It's more like their mind as a whole. I can see their dreams as they're dreaming them. I can feel your feelings. Your every thought thereafter passes through me before entering into you. Yes, it becomes continuous. Lacerti is inside me as we speak. I know what he is doing. I know what he is thinking. Yes, there are limitations. I am bared to my form. What that entails is that I am a girl. However strange I look, I will always be a girl.

Also, I am five feet tall and can simply not mimic the actions of a eight-foot tall man. Just because I know how to do something doesn't mean that I can physically perform." Karin is answering questions before El has time to ask them. "When you touched me at Dwight's house, I copied you too. That part I can't control. So long as skin touches fur, it happens. You're right, there are other ways too, but this is how the strongest link occurs. I can simply establish a mind link as we call it, but that is difficult to maintain. That's what lets me whisper to your mind. I can't create thoughts, and no, I can't control your action. Not completely anyway. I don't know how to do that. I've never tried."

El sits, mouth dr.a.p.ed open in complete disbelief of what he is hearing. The water cooler behind him bubbles, and a cup floats over, setting itself before El. El reaches down to take a drink and manages to choke out the words, "Thank you."

"You want to know more about what we are. I can tell you that none of the others are like me. Why? Because unlike Jude or Nile, I was born. I have a mother who gave live birth to me, and more so, I know her name. Tail Vixon gave birth to me at the biological equivalent of twelve years old. In truth, it was closer to five physical years. As for my father, well, I'm sorry to say I have touched no one that knows the name of the man responsible for me. Why didn't Tail know? I'm sorry to say she simple didn't. No, Tail isn't a goddess, and she didn't give emasculated birth. She gave birth the same way as everyone. How would she not know who she was with? Her memories were altered the experience simple removed from her mind. How? The same way Jude and Nile were given artificial memories norcohypnotic-subjection—birth through dreams.

"Jude is a computer, so is Nile. Nile is a relations program. Her function is to analyze data and arraign it in an easily understood format. Jude was made as a composition tool. He supposedly collects information and stores it. It is unclear as to whether or not he is fully functional. The two of them also have a hidden periodical. A self-maintenance and reproduction commands. It has only been proven functional in Tail. The others seem to be suffering from fragmentation. They need Tail to give them the completed program. Have no fear, Tail is safe. And there for, you are seeing the beginning of a new race."

El shakes his head of trying to numb the pain of the mind link. "Will you please stop that?"

"As far as I know, I can't talk."

"At least stop reading my mind. It's very rude. Tell me, what is Lacerti hiding?"

"Honestly? Nothing, it's not a matter of hiding. It is a failure to ask the correct questions."

"Then what do you know about the man that killed my father?"

"Nothing that you don't already. I know that you plan to fight him, or is 'it' the correct adjective ?"

"They're both right. Can we beat him, assuming he really is a god or whatever?"

"If it is three on one, Lacerti's strength, my mind, and your courage? Yes. And yes I will fight. Why? Because I can."

"I told you to stop reading my mind."

"I'm deeply sorry."

El sits up for the better part of two days, letting Karin tell him of all forms of things—the nature of good and evil, philosophies of life and death, the strange world that we chose not to see. It doesn't take long for El to put his gun away and simply lean in, absorbing the mass amounts of information.

At last El stands. "Come on." Karin looks mildly disoriented. "I have a phone call to make, and we need to get ready for work."

"A phone call?"

"I know a guy at the James Randy Academy that I think might be holding some cash for me."

"You're not going to put me on display like a sideshow beast."

Years ago, the James Randy Academy for Higher Learning offered the world a challenge. Show up at the headmaster's office and make whatever supernatural claim you want: read someone's mind, raise the dead, spin straw into gold or whatever you can think of. Perform your trick for the headmaster, then again under the observation of the Joint Sciences department, and if your trick works under that scrutiny, you get to go home with one million dollars. No one has claimed the reword yet.

"What's wrong? Can't think of any charities that would appreciate a cash gift?" It's clearly a joke.

* * *

El takes Karin and Lacerti to begin preparations for what is likely to be their last mission—a quest for vengeance, a quest to undo the dishonor of a past life, and ultimately a quest for pride. Karin is given armor to wear under her dress much like the Kevlar vest the others wear, and Lacerti provides her with a set of tonfa (weighted short staves) and a Chinese short sword. El offers her his Jackal; she refuses. Lacerti adds a heavy cleaving sword to his artillery. El brings a string of fragmentation bombs and some choice hand-cannons to supplement his arms in addition to all the ammo he can fit in his pockets. The three are ready for war.