Edge of Dawn (15 page)

No wider than a beer truck, no taller than a lamppost,
Richard thought. All five of them met near the door of the house.

“You sure know how to make an entrance,” Johnny said in his laconic way.

Johnny made the introductions. “Pastor Jacobs,” he said, indicating the pudgy man. He nodded at the cold-eyed man, “Deacon Medford.” The last was Brother Sutherland.

Jacobs thrust out his hand.

Richard almost reflexively took it but then noticed that Medford was staring intently at the hilt with recognition in his eyes, and Richard realized moving his right hand away from the hilt was not a good idea. The toothy smile on Jacobs's face slipped, and he eventually dropped his hand.

“Mr. Titchen was inspired by your actions,” Jacobs said. “He's offered to fund a private school here.”

Richard glanced at Johnny. “Don't do it.”

“Who are you to tell these good people what they can and cannot accept?” Medford snapped.

Richard ignored them and kept talking to Calder
ó
n. “They're tied in with Titchen.” He looked back at Jacobs. “Where is he?”

Johnny answered, “He's left, but not before he upped your ante. He'll do everything you said you'd do, and build us a school and buy us a fire truck—”

“Don't be a greedy fool!”

Richard whirled at the remark. The old man, Joe, stood behind him. He was glaring at Johnny. Calder
ó
n looked pissed.

“What do we care which of these rich assholes pays us off?”

“Because Titchen is an evil asshole,” Richard argued.

“I got something to show from Titchen. With you it's just been talk so far. He brought us computers for the kids—”

Ice water seemed to run down Richard's spine. None of the kids outside playing … All of them in the main house …

“They're in the main house, aren't they?”

Johnny's expression was all the answer he needed. “Get out of my way.” Richard was startled by the sound of his own voice. He was practically growling.

The four other men exchanged glances. There was a small amount of space between Medford and the gorilla. Richard darted through it and felt the goon's hand clutch at the back of his suit coat.

“Hey!” Calder
ó
n shouted.

Richard was inside. The brightly colored Gaia computers were on the battered sofa and the table, a few were on chairs, all abandoned when the helicopter had arrived. The kids were grouped at the windows. Medford, Jacobs, the goon, Johnny, and Joe were right behind him. Richard drew the sword.

“He knows!” Medford yelled as Richard lunged at the nearest computer. A wild discordant screeching mixed with the humming chord of the drawn sword.

“Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ!” Johnny was gabbling.

The tip of the sword tapped at the computer, and it dissolved into stinking sludge. The inhuman sounds became deafening. The kids were screaming.

“Jimmy, why have you got a gun?” Jacobs babbled at the big man, Sutherland.

The preacher looked confused and terrified, and Richard realized Jacobs had been a dupe. The minister moved toward the goon, effectively blocking his shot. Richard seized the opportunity and threw himself into a shoulder roll that brought him almost to Sutherland's feet. He flipped up the blade of the sword, hitting the big man in the groin. He collapsed convulsing to the floor, his finger tightening spasmodically on the trigger. The gun roared, and Jacobs let out a startled little cough. Blood bloomed on his white shirt where it was pulled taut over his round belly.

“Get out of here!” Johnny screamed at the kids. They bolted through the front door in a mad stampede.

Joe hobbled toward a cabinet. Medford shot him in the back. The Chumash man collapsed with a cry, hands clawing, trying to reach the source of pain. Medford had Johnny by the throat and was holding the pistol to the man's temple.

“Drop the sword, paladin,” he said.

Calder
ó
n's eyes made it clear he wanted Richard to ignore that command. But Richard held up his free hand in a placating gesture and dropped onto one knee to lay the sword on the floor.

“And the gun in your shoulder rig.” Richard complied. “Now kick them over to me.”

Richard started to rise. As he did, he drew the .38 from its ankle holster, jerked it up, hoped luck was with him, and fired. A dark hole appeared in Medford's forehead. He toppled backward as blood began to trace a pattern down his face.

Thirty. I'm getting way too good at this.

Johnny ran to the old man. Looked up at Richard, shook his head.

Rage took him. Richard strode over to where Jacobs lay gasping on the floor. The preacher whimpered as he stared at the blade.

“Don't kill me. Don't hurt me. Don't kill me. I didn't—” Jacobs started to cry.

Richard stared down into Jacobs's frightened, pleading brown eyes, tears running over his cheeks and snot glistening on his upper lip. His rage dissolved into sick shame. Kneeling, Richard pulled out his handkerchief, ripped open the minister's shirt, and jammed the makeshift bandage into the bullet hole. Jacobs screamed. It trickled away into agonized moans.

“I'm sorry,” Richard said softly to Jacobs, “but I have to.” He laid the sword on Jacobs's shoulder. The preacher went into violent convulsions that almost bent his back into a circle.

Richard began moving through the room, touching and destroying each of the computers. The stink was becoming unbearable, and he tried breathing through his mouth. He jerked his chin at the unconscious thug. “Get him restrained, and here's your story,” he said to Calder
ó
n. “These crazy white eyes came down because they were angry at you about the subdivision. They started shooting. You shot back.” He tossed his .38 snubby to Calder
ó
n. “This is yours in case they run ballistics, but I bet they won't. The cops will have a story that works.” Richard destroyed the final computer. He sheathed the sword and returned the hilt to its holster. “Now I'm out of here.” Richard headed for the door.

“Wait. What the fuck is that thing? What the fuck is going on? Who are you?”

“You know who I am—”

Calder
ó
n threw out his arms in a frantic, frustrated gesture. “I mean
what
the fuck
are
you?”

“Look, I'll explain everything later. Right now you need to call for an ambulance and then call the cops. In fact somebody probably already has, with all the gunfire.”

“You want to not have been here,” Calder
ó
n said.

“You got it in one.”

Johnny nudged the unconscious goon's wrists with his toe. “He isn't gonna support the story, or the preacher, and you landed a helicopter.”

“I expect you have enough clout to make sure that doesn't get mentioned, and I'm going to have an alibi.” Richard looked down at the unconscious men. “Also, often when the reaction is violent, they experience memory loss. We can hope that will happen here. They're going to have worse problems when they wake up. Like a murder rap. Oh, and fire the snubby once so you'll have residue on your hand. Just in case they check.”

“You're putting a lot of faith in things breaking just right.”

“Sometimes that's all we've got. Now I've got to go.” Richard opened the door, and he could hear the distant wail of sirens.

Johnny's hand fell heavy and warm onto his shoulder. “Thanks.”

Richard just nodded and ran down the steps and toward the helicopter.

The old woman had the gaggle of kids gathered close around her near the wall of a trailer. Adults were milling around in confusion. Behind him, Richard heard the sharp retort of another shot being fired. He reached the helicopter and stared up into the alarmed eyes of his pilot.

“Get us in the air,” Richard ordered.

“There was shooting, shouldn't we wait for—” Richard fished his badge out of his suit jacket pocket and flashed it at the pilot. “Oh.”

Scrambling into the passenger seat, Richard buckled in and pulled on the helmet, and they rose into the sky on a pillar of dust. As they headed north, Richard wondered if Johnny was a good liar. Would the community pull together and follow his lead? Would Jacobs and Brother Sutherland remember and finger him? Richard had one thing going for him—police departments tended not to care what happened in marginalized communities. On the other hand, white men had been shot by a minority. Richard feared that Johnny might need very good representation. He'd call Pamela as soon as they landed. His wandering thoughts had brought him around to Lumina … and
Kenzo.

Richard jerked up his wrist to check his watch. It was quarter to ten, and they were forty minutes from L.A. Sick with anxiety, Richard watched the roofs of the suburban sprawl that extended from Orange County almost to Santa Barbara go crawling past.

*   *   *

It was ten forty-five by the time he pulled into the parking lot at the office building. Richard had called Amy from the road, told her to tell Kenzo, “
I'm on my way. Hang on, I'll be there soon.
”

“He's really pissed” had been the whispered response.

Richard never made it to the office. He met Kenzo in the lobby. The Japanese man stood at the glass doors, staring out at Wilshire Boulevard, tapping his foot and checking his watch.

“Kenzo,” Richard panted.

“I have a taxi coming” was the terse reply. The words were a thin veneer over bubbling anger.

Normally Richard would have wilted at that tone, but he had been through a firefight, killed a man and seen another killed, and his impulse control had taken a hike. He turned to face the security guard and said, “When the cab arrives, tell the driver he's not needed. Give him this for his trouble.” Richard handed the bemused guard a twenty.

“How dare you!” Kenzo said, crossing the room in three agitated steps.

“Yes, sir,” the guard said. “Is that … blood, sir?”

The guard's hesitant question jolted Richard. He looked down and realized his left cuff was stained with blood. Kenzo was staring at the knee of his gray trousers. There was more blood there. He must have knelt in it when he did first aid on Jacobs.

“I will second the question! Is it blood?” Kenzo demanded.

“Yes.”

A complex mix of emotions made up of both repulsion and fascination flickered across the CFO's thin face. “What have you done?”

Richard was damned if he was going to justify himself or his actions. “My job,” he snapped. “Shall we go up to the office?” He gestured at the elevators.

The rent-a-cop was staring at him, wide-eyed. Richard pulled out his shield, flipped back the cover, and showed it to him. The guard stepped back behind his little desk.

It was only after they were in the elevator that Kenzo spoke. “Has anyone died?”

“Yes, two people.”

“Killed by you.”

“I only shot one, and if it makes you feel better, he was a bad guy.”

“You are the head of Lumina Enterprises.” The words came out as an explosion.

“Yes.
I
am the head of Lumina Enterprises.”

They measured looks that were matched in hostility and determination. The elevator doors opened before either had backed down. Richard stalked out and led the way to the office.

“Amy, hold my calls,” he ordered as they passed her desk and went into the inner office. Richard held the door for Kenzo, then firmly closed it behind him.

“Okay, get it off your chest,” Richard said.

“You owe me an apology,” Kenzo said. He then folded his arms across his chest and stared at Richard, his gaze dark and implacable.

“That's it?”

“What more do you wish me to say? The onus is on you for your heedless and immature behavior.”

An ever-tightening band of pain closed on Richard's forehead, and he heard another male voice, this one unaccented, the timbre deeper, which had always given it the ring of authority. His father's voice. Offering critique in words almost identical to Fujasaki's. Reaction to the shoot-out had weakened the bonds of control. Fury tore them to shreds.

“I saved a man's life this morning. Yesterday I ended a threat that could have brought monsters into this world. Your time and, frankly, your wounded pride are immaterial when measured against those acts. You are a bean counter. Your
only
purpose is to crunch numbers so
I
can do
my
job. Now say you're sorry and get the fuck out of my face because I have things to do.” Richard stood, listening to the blood pounding in his ears, feeling the rage-induced tremors begin to subside.

The older man had blanched, but he recovered his composure and said stiffly, “I will tender my resignation.”

“No. Not right now. I'm too stressed and pissed, and you're too pissed for either of us to make a reasoned decision. Now let's get back to New Mexico. I've had enough of California.”

*   *   *

Grenier didn't think a direct call to Alexander Titchen was the way to go. He could have, because once upon a time they had been allies in an attempt at world domination. Titchen had donated to Grenier's church and his broadcast company. Grenier had reciprocated with instruction in how to contact the Old Ones and all matters magical. On a more mundane level, Grenier had helped provide the names of senators and representatives who would be open to the legal form of bribery that existed in modern American politics.

Those days were long past, and since he technically worked for the other side now, Grenier knew he wouldn't be trusted by Titchen, and he bloody well knew he couldn't trust Titchen. But he needed to erode Richard's support among his officers. The best way to do that was to make him spend a king's ransom acquiring Gaia.