G.H.O.S.T. Teams: Book 1 - Magic (10 page)

I decided that I really hated it when he called me Mr. Chang. I got the impression that he was going to do it whenever he felt like he had to put me in my place. As if formality was where he retreated when he needed to discipline someone. I really wanted to argue with him, but there seemed very little point. Dutton made it clear that he was in charge, and carrying out any further dissention here would just undermine everything we were trying to accomplish. The team needed to work together, and my bickering wasn’t helping. So I took the high road, and just let him have his moment.

“You’re probably right. But it doesn’t sound like you will need me for any of that stuff back at HQ right?” I asked.

“There will be some paperwork that needs to be filled out, specifically your report on the events here. But there is nothing that will urgently require your attention, why do you ask?” Freddy questioned.

“I was just thinking that maybe I would hang out for a bit, in case Lazarus shows. I can also keep an eye out for anyone else suspicious arriving,” I smiled.

“It seems unnecessary. But if you feel that would be prudent, I will allow it,” Freddy said, “Please contact us should any new information come to light.”

“Will do,” I replied.

Freddy then jumped into the van and Danny waved at me before he followed. Kara asked if I needed anything and I waved her off. Erika told me to be careful before she got into the van. Timothy leaned out the window as they started pulling away.

“Catch you later B-man,” he said.

“Stay out of trouble,” I smiled.

He gave me two thumbs up and a smile that was more serious than he intended. I guess he appreciated me not yelling at him earlier. The kid was green, but if he was willing to listen, then there was hope for him yet. It was hard not to love his enthusiasm.

I watched the van drive off and found myself kind of shocked at how easily they left me behind. Maybe I had been giving off more of an attitude than I realized. Or perhaps they were more uncomfortable at the loss of life than they were letting on. A concern for another time I guess. For now I took a quick look around at my surroundings. Erika had swept the area so I doubted that she missed anything, but as a matter of habit I felt like I should take a look. I wandered around the back before heading down the side of the building towards the front. I didn’t want to enter via the back door that the obvious “Feds” had exited through. While I was back there, out of sight, I figured I would take care of a ride for later. I lightly touched the leather band on my wrist and thought of my friend.

 
“Hey Vlad, what ya doing?”

“Boss, is that a trick question?”
his voice sarcastically replied in my head.

I couldn’t help but laugh. It probably was pretty dumb to ask my car, which was parked in my garage, what he was doing. I actually used to worry about him getting bored just sitting around all day. I offered to install a TV in the garage so that he would have something to do. But Vlad assured me that he preferred to engage in the favorite pastime of all dragons, napping. So in order to make him more comfortable, I coated the floor of my garage with gold. He mocked me when I did it, but I think that he appreciated it.

“Okay, dumb question. Sorry to wake you pal but I’m going to need a ride. You ready to take those fancy wheels for a spin?”

“Boss, you know that you don’t have to ask me twice. But you are aware that the sun is out, right?”
he asked.

“Yes, I am aware of that smart ass,” I laughed, “I’m not in a hurry so wait for sundown,” I told him.

I don’t want you to think that Vlad was some kind of a vampiric spirit or something. The sun didn’t have any adverse affect on him or anything of that nature. It was just that a car, driving itself around, tended to draw attention. His windows could be tinted enough to make it almost unnoticeable at night, but in the middle of the day, people could tell that no one was inside. If he tinted his windows any darker, they would be in violation of the law, and while I wasn’t worried about a ticket, it would give the cops an excuse to pull Vlad over. So in order to prevent the world from finding out that my car was alive, I did my best to limit his solo driving to the nighttime hours.
  

“
Will do
,” he replied.

“I’ll let you get back to your busy schedule now,” I said.

“
Beauty sleep can be time consuming
,” Vlad said seriously.

“Shut up Vlad,” I laughed.

“See you at dawn Boss,”
he laughed.

“Okay pal, see you then.”

“Vlad out,”
he broke the contact.

As an added bonus, I didn’t have to tell him where I was. Due to his link to the bracer on my arm, Vlad can find me pretty much anywhere. Although how he manages to input that information into the car’s GPS system, I couldn’t tell you. But somehow he makes it all work together and manages to show up where I need him.
 

I headed for the front door of the bar and hoped that they had some decent food. It was going to be several hours before Vlad arrived and I was starting to get hungry. The pain in my shoulder had subsided greatly thanks to the spell Kara cast, and I knew that getting food into my system would make it even better. My body always craves sustenance after an injury. So I stepped into the Cold War Bar and hoped that they had comfy seats.

As I stepped inside the bar, the cozy feel of the place immediately struck me. It was a large space that utilized the strategic placement of lighting and architectural features to make it feel very intimate. The kind of place where you could be sitting right in the middle of the room and still feel like you had some privacy. This was a drinker’s bar, the kind of spot where people enjoyed the taste of their beverage more than the sensation of intoxication. It was not a social scene or a party hangout, but rather a bar where you could be alone with your thoughts and drink in peace. As I wasn’t much of a drinker, I was planning to enjoy the ambiance with a soda.

The main bar dominated the left side of the room. Completely made of wood, it was a solid and sturdy looking thing, as if it had been put in place and allowed to take root. The wall behind it was mirrored and covered in bottles and glasses and various other tools of the drink making trade. Well-worn and comfy looking stools sat in front of the bar, lined up like little wooden soldiers guarding its borders. Tables were strategically placed around the various wooden support beams that filled the middle of the room, while booths were tucked neatly against the right wall. The seating was specifically laid out in order to enhance the privacy effect that I spoke of earlier.

In the far back was a mini game room of sorts, a waist-high half wall giving it a sense of separation from the rest of the bar. There were two large pool tables and a couple of dartboards stuck on the wall. In the right corner I could see the entrances to the restrooms and in the middle of the back wall was the emergency exit. It appeared to be the door from which the Sorcerers stepped out of earlier. The only other thing of note was a door in the rear left corner that read private. I assumed that it was a back office or a storage room.

I walked up to the bar and took a seat. The barkeep was an older white man who appeared to be in his mid fifties. His head was shinny bald on top, with well-groomed short gray hair on the sides. He had a thick nose, narrow lips and a square jaw. His weathered skin was tight across his face, setting very defined lines to his features. He wore a blue long sleeve collared shirt, the top three buttons of which were open enough to show his white undershirt. Rolled up sleeves revealed well-defined forearms and the lower half of what appeared to be a Special Forces tattoo.

It was clear that he kept himself in impeccable shape and I had a feeling that it was for more than just the ability to shake a mean margarita. Everything about his posture gave the impression that he was paying me no mind, but I knew better. This was not the kind of man who missed much. He had noticed me the second I came through that front door. From his stance and the way that he moved behind the bar, I could tell that he knew how to handle himself. He looked over at me and gave the practiced smile of a man who doesn’t want you to know that he can kill you in fifty different ways. It was hard not to like the guy.
  

“First time here,” he stated.

It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement. I got the impression that he never forgot a face. I was about to say something about that when he spoke up again.

“What can I get ya?” he asked.

“Let’s see, how about a…” I started.

“A Coke,” he interrupted, “you don’t strike me as a drinker. Although with that shoulder injury, I would recommend something a little stronger. How about a bourbon, we have an extensive selection,” he smiled, never taking his eyes off of mine.

“The Coke’s fine, thanks. To be honest I was actually hoping to speak with the owner. Any chance…”

This time I stopped myself. Stillness overtook his whole body. He held his smile and to the casual observer, I’m sure that he would look exactly as he had a moment before. But I caught the slightest tension in his arm, his hand shifting unseen behind the bar. If I were a betting man, I would say that he just wrapped his fingers around a gun.

“The boss isn’t in right now, can I ask why you’re calling?” he questioned.

The smile on his face remained, but his entire demeanor was shifting. It was becoming increasingly clear that this man was paid to do a job, the least of which included mixing drinks. It would seem that this Mr. Lazarus takes his privacy and security very seriously. It boded well for his survival if I was right and there were more bad guys waiting in the wings. But for now, it put me in a rather precarious position.

I glanced at the wall behind the bar, noting the mirror that ran its length, mostly obscured behind all of the bottles. I wondered if it was one-way? Could he be on the other side of it right now, watching this exchange? It’s probably what I would be doing in his situation. I kept my expression calm, my body movements passive as to not agitate the situation any further.

“I’m afraid it’s a private matter,” I smiled.

“I see. Well I’m afraid that the bossman is not big on surprise visitors. Besides, I haven’t seen him in a while. He doesn’t come in here very often,” he said.

I could tell that he was lying, but now didn’t seem the right time to call him on it. As he spoke his hand never wavered or shook. The muscles in his arm were ready to pull the weapon out the second he perceived me as a threat. Because I enjoy letting the movies be my guide to the real world, I imagined that he was holding a sawed off shotgun. Needless to say, I had no intention of giving him an excuse to use it on me. The tone of my voice remained calm and I kept my hands on top of the bar in plain view.

“So I’m going to guess that it’s a shotgun,” I smiled, “and if it stops you from using it on me, I’ll be happy to slowly reach into my pocket and produce my ID.”

A small smile curled at the edges of his mouth. Professionals always seem to appreciate meeting someone who can recognize their talent. And perhaps I was even accurate on the weapon.

“Does your ID have ‘trustworthy’ stamped across it or something,” he joked.

I shook my head, “No, but it is attached to a badge.”

“Badges can be faked,” he said like a man who knew.

“True,” I agreed, “Which means there is only one thing left to do.”

His body tensed slightly, “And what’s that?”

“Show you the secret handshake. That should prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am one of the good guys,” I smiled.

He held steady for a moment, looking deep into my eyes, and then as if he couldn’t contain it any longer, he let out a throaty chuckle. Yet even through the laughter, he maintained his steady grip on the weapon. Once he stopped laughing, he held my gaze for a few more moments, contemplation running across his face. Then he released the weapon and took a couple of steps over towards the soda gun.

“How about I get you that Coke and we’ll go from there,” he smiled.

Part of me was actually surprised that he released the weapon so easily. I guess he felt like he was a pretty good judge of character and whatever the test, I passed. I congratulated myself on being likable and tore into the bowl of mixed nuts while I waited for my Coke. In the time that it took him to bring my drink over, I managed to empty the bowl. He put my Coke down and refilled the bowl from a large container behind the bar. I picked up my glass and tipped it his way, a non-verbal thank you, before taking a sip. He laid the now full bowl of nuts on the counter and before he turned away, I inquired about a real meal.

“Any chance that you serve food here?”

He looked me over for a minute before answering. I think he was deciding just how much he liked me.

“We don’t do much in the way of meals around here, especially this early. But I got some stuff behind the bar, I could make you a turkey sandwich if you want,” he offered.

“Turkey, my favorite,” I smiled.

“You and the boss. He says it helps him function,” he laughed.

I didn’t understand the comment, so I didn’t respond. At this point I was just so happy that someone agreed to feed me that even I was willing to shut up. As I said, getting injured gives me a huge case of the munchies. I watched him make my sandwich, my mouth salivating as he walked it over to me. It occurred to me that this particular meal function was a little above and beyond his bartender duties, so I felt it was only polite that I introduce myself.

“I really appreciate the sandwich bro. I’m Bruce by the way, Bruce Chang.”

He gave me a friendly smile, which faded slowly at the mention of my last name. It was not an unexpected reaction. Most people assume that I am using a false name. As a white guy named Chang, I had spent a lifetime dealing with this.
 

“Chang?” he questioned.

“Yeah, the name throws most people off. I was adopted. My dad was Chinese.”

He gave me a funny look, “So he’s not Chinese anymore?”