Embracing the Shadows (9 page)

Skala's response was interrupted by Viggo,
who said to us, "As there is no obviously no reception here, I must
go see if an informant has been able to gather any further
information. I shall return shortly." He walked over to a dark
alcove and was gone a second later.

I turned back around, and into Skala's
unnerving stare. "We both have my sire foremost in our minds and
hearts," he stated in a low and quiet tone. "For that alone, I will
reserve further judgment. Do not, however, think that performing
simple chores and staying out of the way will alter my view. I am
not your enemy, Mr. Beck, but I am not your friend, either. I hope
that satisfies your curiosity." Not waiting for a reply, he pulled
the book back in front of him and lowered his head.

With that conversation obviously over, I went
over to where Skin sat and watched a replay of the tape with 'me'
in it. The time counter on it showed 2:16 a.m. of May 2nd. The
camera angle showed a nearly empty cargo area. Light spilled out of
an office window on the left side, giving a dim glow to a wide
swath of the warehouse floor. A vague silhouette was back in that
office, unmoving, apparently waiting. I couldn't tell if it was
McKenna or not.

The roll-up receiving door on the far end of
the warehouse lifted a few seconds later. A figure stepped in with
a body on his shoulder. He toted the dead weight over to a
four-foot square crate and dropped it in, and then did the same for
another body laying just outside. When the suspected murderer was
done sealing the crate, he seemed to nod to the silhouette and
walked out.

The camera quality was grainy, but the guy
looked a lot like me. Not exactly, but close. When he crossed
through the light, I could see he wore the same style of leather
coat as me. He also had the same facial hair, haircut and scars
that I did. Someone went out of his way to make himself look like
me. "So that's supposed to be me, huh?" I asked myself out
loud.

"Bollocks!" Skin said, sitting next to me.
"The man on the screen has a different posture and walking gait,
plus he doesn't have your arm strength. The structure of his jaw is
a tad off, and his hands are paler than yours. There are other
small signs, but no, kid, that ain't you. As for him," Skin reran
the video and pointed at the silhouette, "I'm fairly sure someone
manipulated some pixels. I don't think there is anyone in that
office at all - a clever ruse to pinch ol' Declan McKenna in the
process."

"So who was the guy carrying the bodies?"

Skin shrugged and turned back to the two
monitors in front of him. "That may take a wee bit to figure out,
considering that I can even find a match from all of your master's
security clips."

I flinched when Viggo unexpectedly spoke from
directly behind me. Fuck, he was sneaky; I didn't even know he was
back down there with us. "Miss Solomon has learned that the
dissolution of business arrangements between Mr. Everett and Realm
Management was caused by an undermining offer by Trade Solutions
Import/Export. I happen to know that Mr. McKenna does enjoy
thwarting the Doyenne's endeavors however he can."

Skin swiveled in his chair to face Viggo. "So
Le Meur had Everett iced and set up ol' Declan and your minion here
- both being right pains in her arse - to take the fall. I have to
give her credit; well played."

"Have you found any possible matches yet,
Scanlon?" Viggo asked.

Skin shook his head with a small frown. "I've
yet to determine who she used for the dirty deed. There was no
forced entry, so it had to be someone versed in bypassing security
systems. It's either that, or your Beck impersonator had some
help."

We all took a moment to consider the
possibilities. From Skin's line of work, I bet he knew all sorts of
career criminal types. It could've been one of them, but I doubted
it; what self-respecting Adept would use a lowlife for the job? The
help could've also come from an Adept's minion who had those kinds
of skills. Lastly, Le Meur could have hired or forced another hemo
to be an unseen accomplice, one who had a lot of experience in that
kind of work. I glanced at Skin for a second, and then let that
idea go.

"One thing at a time," Viggo said.
"Concentrate on who the man in the tape could be." He then put a
hand on my shoulder. "I will return you to your home now, Leo.
You'll need your rest, for tomorrow may prove to be quite
eventful."

INNOCENT

The first thing I did when I woke up was
check the hemo-net for any new notes in the Planner file. Viggo had
deleted all the old shit and wrote one new message. Apparently,
Skin had come up with a short list of possible matches. I was given
one name and more info about him than I needed, all thanks to
Natalie and her IRS files. The guy was an 'asst. mgr. of facility
security ' at Realm. I was told to "secure subject ASAP and hold in
a Deviant location for eventual questioning".

I shoved some dry goods through the slot into
Phillip's room, fed Thunder, and then started making preparations.
The Realm guy worked third shift, so I planned on him being asleep
when I got there about noon. Banging on the door enough to wake him
up, or using a crowbar to gain entry were both really noisy - and
therefore really bad - ideas. I also sucked at picking locks, so
there was only one option left.

Hello, internet, almighty mentor of future
criminals. I watched a YouTube video on how to make and use a
bump-key for getting through a deadbolt. I used the tools up in the
dusty assembly room to make a spare key from my old house to look
just like the one in the video. Two lock tests later, I was
satisfied.

Under an umbrella to keep the heavy mist off
me, I walked a mile or so to a gas station and called a cab from
there. I gave the driver the address when he showed up and gave a
good tip when he dropped me off. As I walked through the parking
lot of the guy's complex, I realized I had mixed feelings about
what was going to happen to him. If I was sure he was the guy who
set me up, he'd be on the wrong end of my pent-up anger before I
turned him over to Viggo. If he wasn't, though, then the poor
bastard didn't deserve the day ahead of him. But hey, life sucks -
wear a cup.

The bump-key worked like a charm on the first
quick try. Natalie's info told me the guy filed single on his taxes
and no one else used his address for theirs, so there was a good
chance he lived alone. Inside the apartment, it was roomy, clean
and quiet. As suspected, my target was lightly snoring in his
bed.

I stood at the foot of his bed and nudged it.
When his eyes crept open, the first thing he saw was a pistol with
a silencer pointed at him. "Hello, Mr. Finch," I said evenly.
"You're about to have a bad day."

To his credit, he stayed calm. Propping
himself up on the bed, Finch asked, "What do you want?"

Next to a dresser was a chair with clothes
thrown on it. I grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and
tossed them to him. "Put those on," I ordered. I swept the other
clothes off the chair, sat down and said, "I'm gonna start with the
rules. If there's a gun under your pillow and you go for it, I will
shoot you in a place that causes lingering, pants-crapping agony.
If you . . . Look, there are a lot of other reasons why I'd shoot
you, but only one reason why I won't. Do you get what I'm
saying?"

"Yeah, I get it," he slowly replied while
pulling the t-shirt over his head.

"Lay on your bed, on your stomach, facing
me." When he complied, I asked, "Do you know why I paid you a
visit, Mr. Finch?" He shook his head. "You might have trouble
remembering, but were you recently ordered to do some work at a
warehouse? Oh, and before you answer, I should mention that if I
think you're lying to me, I will turn your groin to gristle. I'm a
very good shot."

That statement added fear to the wariness and
anger in his eyes. "A warehouse? No, I work in the same building
every night. I swear."

I had my fair share of reading the
expressions of unreliable Afghani informers, so I knew some of the
tell-tale signs. I studied Finch for a second and then said,
"Fortunately, I believe you. Unfortunately, I'm not the only person
you need to convince."

Keeping my 9mm trained on him, I got up and
moved the pillows. No gun. I then pulled a cover off one of the
pillows, stuffed it in my pocket, and told Finch to slip some shoes
on. I took his keys and wallet off the dresser, and then let him
take a piss - bathroom door open, of course - before we left. I'm a
nice guy like that.

I stayed ten feet behind Finch on the way to
his car. He was surprised I knew which one it was; I told him that
I had more info on him than he'd be comfortable telling his own
mother . . . whose address I also had, by the way. He drove. I sat
in the backseat and navigated. We pulled up behind an abandoned
building in a desolate neighborhood. After we got out, I bound his
wrists behind his back with a spool of thin wire and put the
pillowcase over his head. Once I got him in the backseat and told
him to lay down, we were on the road again.

Eight long hours later, Mr. Finch and I were
in a small, condemned apartment building not far from where I took
over driving his car. The place was listed on the hemo map file as
a Deviant hideaway, stocked with a few basic and hidden supplies.
Finch was blindfolded, secured to a support beam, and had duct tape
over his mouth most of the time. I didn't like doing that to an
innocent guy.

Viggo came up the rickety stairs fifteen
minutes after I called him. He motioned for us to speak in another
room. "I do not know if you are good at judging a person's
character," he said. "Nonetheless, give me your impression of Mr.
Finch. Speak plainly, Leo; we are pressed for time this
evening."

"I really don't think Finch is our guy, sir.
He obviously works for the wrong people, but I don't think he's a
minion. I talked to him a little bit, and I'm pretty good at
sniffing out bullshit. He's not a bad guy."

Nodding, Viggo replied, "I will keep that in
mind when he is questioned. As much as I trust you, we can take no
chances. You should go find a way back home now; Mr. Finch's
vehicle will need to stay here."

"You, uh, don't want me to stay, sir?"

"I don't think you would want to. While I
have numerous Gifts, I cannot alter memories or perceive lies with
penetrating insight. Elder Ragna does have those Gifts, and she
will arrive here soon. I doubt you wish to spend more time with
her. Moreover, you will need to make yourself ready in whatever
attire you deem appropriate; the Open Gathering is later tonight,
and we are going to attend."

TOOL

I had a blast getting home. No cab was gonna
come to the neighborhood I was in, so I had to hoof it over a mile
to a safer area. The heavy rain came with gusty winds, rendering my
umbrella all but useless. Because of my drowned-dog appearance, I
had to prove to the taxi driver that I had money before he'd let me
in. I had him stop a few blocks from my place and didn't give much
of a tip. I had to use my keys for the first time to get in; I
fumbled with 'em in the rain while Thunder watched from the
window.

An hour later I had a meal in my belly,
business casual clothes on, and a drink in my hand. A text from the
ShadoWorks number told me to be ready by eleven. I had twenty
minutes to burn. Thunder was keeping me company in the office, so I
decided to give another shot at keeping his gaze. A few minutes
into it, Thunder looked out into the hallway and then hopped into
my lap. I looked down at him and then back to the doorway. Viggo
was standing there with my ancestor's metal goblet in his hand.

"It is difficult to catch a cat unaware," he
said conversationally. "You don't seem very surprised, either."

"Uh, no sir. Some of my latest dreams
involving you have been about you showing up unexpectedly or just
lurking in a dark spot. I'm getting used to it."

Viggo shrugged. "As I understand it, a minion
who shares strong affinities with his lord will have glimpses in
his sleep of a past not his own. You and I were once warriors, and
we both hold similar values in high regard. I am therefore not
surprised that I am the occasional focus of your dreams." He sat
down across the desk from me and changed the topic. "You should
know some things before we go."

"Yes sir, I was wondering about a few
things."

"I thought you might be." He set the goblet
in front of me and continued. "To begin with, you were correct -
Mr. Finch was not the culprit. Ragna erased today's events from his
mind. I drove him back to his apartment, put him back in bed, and
placed a spilled bottle of sleeping pills on his bedside table. Mr.
Finch will rationalize a reasonable excuse from there; the human
mind is amazingly adaptive."

"Alright, great, I'm glad I was right about
that. Then, uh, if Finch wasn't the imposter, who was?" I picked up
the ornate goblet. It was half full, and the dark liquid inside
carried the aroma of secrets and power and Jack Daniels. I downed
it all at once.

Viggo absently gazed out the window behind
me. His thick brows came down into a scowl, and flowing strips of
shadow began to blur his form when he said, "Edward Galloway. He
could have cut his hair to any shorter fashion; it would return to
its original length the following night. Cheap Halloween kits can
make believable scar tissue, and appear even more realistic from a
short distance."

"That motherfucker," I growled. Ragna had the
right idea when she wanted Galloway taken out, but I didn't want to
admit that out loud . . . or even at all.

"Mr. Galloway was the tool, and I believe
there was a hand that used him. Most certainly an Adept. I strongly
suspect Emmeline Le Meur, although there is no proof to support my
claim."