“Why do you keep looking at people who are carrying food from the convenience stores or the restaurants?” she asked with genuine interest. “I can understand wondering about people who are shopping at the only grocery store on this block. If someone comes out with a lot of microwave food and they look like they usually dine in four- or five-star locations; that would be obvious.”
“Alfi is, at his core, a spoiled brat,” the Sandman explained. “He's not out getting attention and he's not at his comfortable home. He doesn't even get the worshipful affection of his mistress. Alfi is going to be hating that and getting worse the longer it lasts. He likely planned on being rich and plotting which airport to depart the country from by now. The deal's put off. He has to stay low for much longer than expected. Follow so far?”
Nightshade nodded, bidding him to continue.
“So, he's going to want as much attention and finery as he can get to quell not getting what he wants, when he expected it.” The Sandman continued as he scanned the people and vehicles. “He's used to a certain level of comfort, a lot of luxuries, and the man loves good Italian food. And of course, attention from a woman, especially one he can be a little rough with. That will make him feel powerful again.”
“So, we're looking for beautiful women who charge by the hour, big screen TVs for rent being delivered, large deliveries of booze and possibly Italian food all going to the same location?” she proposed.
“Something like that, yes,” he agreed with a chuckle.
Nightshade was beginning to lose confidence in their ability to find any leads at this location. People were blurring in her mind into a large ant colony, moving about, picking up this and that, all in a hurry. If you weren't one of the ants, however, it all seemed pretty pointless, and certainly no help in the investigation.
“I just spotted Raman ‘The Finger’ Tarducia and his favorite pal going into the Italian eatery,” the Sandman said, interrupting her hazy thoughts.
Tarducia, nicknamed ‘The Finger’ for having an itchy trigger finger and who would rather shoot anyone than be bothered for anything, was Alfi's primary enforcer. He looked like a high school football coach gone to pot and pissed about it. He also had a bad comb-over that could not be missed or imitated.
The other constant about Tarducia was his choice of partner: A skinny, twitchy man of the same approximate age, mid-fifties, with thinning blonde hair, bulging eyes, and a “hy-yuk” style of laughing that should have been lost at puberty. The man was nicknamed ‘The Pill’ because he left a bitter taste in anyone's mouth- except Tarducia, it seemed - and because everything he claimed was difficult to swallow. He loved to ramble on about the people he killed, the women he'd had, and the fortunes he'd spent. The Pill also preferred shooting people to dealing with them.
She shook her head and asked, “The real Italian eatery, or the national chain sub shop with cardboard crust pizza?” She paused, and then half-joked, “Oh, now I'm hungry.”
“Now I know what to get for lunch tomorrow. Got a favorite dish from there?” he teased.
She pulled out the small binoculars that he had given her before they left the lair from the utility belt similar to his own, also a gift. He apologized for the lack of goodies, promising to fill the compartments after she decided what she wanted to be equipped with.
“I'll tell you later. They went in...” She adjusted the focus on the small lenses and found the two men inside the eatery. “They're at the counter and joking with Sal's sous chef.”
“They placed a large order,” the Sandman added. “Since they stood at the counter, sous chef Johnny has been cracking the whip over the rest of the kitchen staff's head. I've counted seven dishes being prepped since they first talked to Johnny. No one else has walked in to place an order since they arrived.”
“Did you see where they came from?” she asked.
“No. We wait until they leave and follow. If they get into a car, we'll tag and follow it.” He sat back a little. “Do you want to change positions? I can see into the shop window without the need of binoculars. Now that I know where to keep my eyes, it won't matter if I move.”
“No, I'm fine.” She smiled. “I'm getting used to the gadgets and these infrared sunglasses. Always fun to have cool toys.”
“Just remember that the stun grenades have a five-second fuse,” warned the Sandman. “It may seem like a short wait, but if you miscalculate? Well, it can be bad.”
“Five seconds, huh?” she mused. “Where did you learn all this?”
It probably wasn't the most opportune time to ask him such a question, but it sort of just popped out.
“School of hard knocks, ringing ears, and temporary blindness. Also, a minor in ‘how to get shot by making foolish combat mistakes’ when I first started,” he replied.
“Care to share?”
“About a month after I first started going out, I wound up in a storage facility with a dealer who was shooting at me,” he confessed. “I threw the grenade, landing it exactly where I wanted it to be. It didn't go off.”
“Instead of realizing that only two seconds had passed, I stepped out to get closer to my target. Because he was still in position, he shot me in the stomach. Then the grenade went off, blinding and deafening us both.” The Sandman grunted. “Since he was right beside the blast, he was disoriented longer than I was. But I had to drag myself away to hide. He got away after he came to.”
Selia knew about gut-wounds. She suspected, though, spears were a lot more forgiving than bullets that shattered, but not by much.
“You were lucky,” she murmured. “How badly were you hurt?”
“Oh, not that bad, but it was only the second time I'd been shot. Kevlar stops most handgun bullets, but the impact isn't dampened down that much. I imagine getting mule-kicked in the stomach is about as pleasant as that felt.”
She snorted. Of course he'd been wearing Kevlar. Maybe eventually she'd get used to that article of clothing, especially since she was currently wearing a low-cut Kevlar top herself.
“I'm glad it wasn't that bad,” she said.
“Thanks.” He paused and glanced at her briefly as he said, “Which reminds me. If you continue to wear that outfit, you'd better hope you don't run into any gunwomen. They'll shoot you in the cleavage just out of breast envy.”
Selia snickered. “Yeah, well, it's beneficial towards the gunmen.” Glancing over, she added with a wink, “And torturing you.”
“That it is,” he agreed.
Still looking through the binoculars, she watched the Finger and the Pill receive three large bags and start for the front entrance of Sal's.
“They're coming out,” she said at the same moment as the Sandman. She glanced over at him, and she suspected he was smiling under his mask as widely as she was under hers.
The two men exited the establishment and turned right. As she went to stow away her binoculars in one of the belt's compartments, the Sandman was already on the move. She caught up with him as they moved to the adjacent roof.
The Finger and the Pill walked up the steps of the second set of apartments. As Nightshade looked to the Sandman to ask him about how they were going to figure out which apartment the pair was going into, she noticed he had brought a new piece of equipment.
It looked like something between a small paintball gun and tranquilizer gun. The Sandman sighted down the barrel and squeezed the trigger. There was a quick “thump” of compressed air being released. The Finger yelped out and spun around on Pill.
Pill was ahead of him, opening the door. Finger looked around, still holding the bags of Italian cuisine. Pill spoke to him, and the Finger replied, but their voices were lost in the distance and neighborhood noise. Finger turned away from Pill, talking to him over his shoulder. Pill looked at the back of Finger's expensive suit, smiled cruelly and said something. Finger spun around and said something to Pill. Pill nodded.
“Fucking kids!” Finger shouted loud enough to be heard on the rooftop. He looked ba
ck and forth down the street, seeming to be looking for a culprit. Pill said something, the leering, cruel smile even wider on his narrow face. Finger's face went red, and he turned to the man. Pushing past Pill, Finger shouted “Asshole!” which provoked Pill into laughing merrily. The pair disappeared into the building and the door was shut.
Nightshade looked at the Sandman.
“You're wondering what I did,” he said without looking at her. He was holstering the odd device with his right hand and reaching into a belt compartment with his left. “I shot him with a paintball filled with transparent, mildly radioactive fluid. It looks like a wet spot after it hits. So now Finger looks like he had a bit of trouble with his bowels. It would look like his bladder, but if I shot him in the front, there's no way he wouldn't drop all that food.”
His left hand came up with a small device. He turned it on, and the screen flashed with a small arrow pointing towards the apartment complex. “And now we can track him, or at least his pants, to whatever apartment they're at.”
It took five minutes to leave the roof they were on, scale the first building in the complex attached to the apartments where their intended prey was located and make their way to the proper roof. The Sandman and Nightshade slowly descended the fire escape.
He had the small tracking device out, and they followed its prompts until they reached the third floor, when it told them they needed to go left. At the second window, the Sandman nodded, and put the device away. Using a small metal tool, he unlocked the window, and they slipped inside.
Finding themselves in the bathroom, the duo pulled out their silent weapons. Selia had her swords but chose to arm herself with steel batons that matched the Sandman's. The infrared lenses they now both wore did not show any significant heat sources nearby, so they eased the door open and moved into the hallway.
A single person came into the hallway as they emerged. A young woman, possibly in her early twenties, though barely out of high school. She wore a silk shirt and micro skirt. Both looked to have been hastily put on. The black heels she wore were scuffed and had dried droplets of fluid on them. She walked with her head down, her gate unsteady. As she wobbled toward them, seeming to be either intoxicated or sore, or both, the Sandman came forward and around her. His arms snaked around her neck and mouth as he began moving her toward the bathroom. In the ten seconds it took him to bring her to the door, which Nightshade opened, the young woman had lost consciousness. The Sandman took care to lay the woman down gently on the tile floor of the bathroom, and locked the bathroom door, leaving her safely inside.
The duo moved down the hallway in the direction the woman had come from. They spotted a male lying casually in one bedroom, apparently naked beneath the covers, his eyes closed as he smoked a cigarette. Nightshade came up on him swiftly, clubbing him across the temple with the baton in her right hand. He slumped, slack-jawed in the bed. She picked up the lit cigarette from his now-unresponsive fingers and put it in the ashtray that was on the nightstand. The man wasn't Alfi, nor was he the Finger or Pill. Searching her memory, she recognized him as Alfi's driver, whose name she didn't know. Looking at the Sandman, she shook her head at him. He nodded and indicated that they move further down the hallway.
They passed another bedroom, which was empty. The end of the hallway opened into what must have been the living room. The sound of a television playing some violent movie could be heard, and below that, the use of forks and knives. At least one person was in there.
The Sandman gestured to the other end of the hall, where a kitchen area and one more door could be seen. They hadn't checked that end yet. He used hand gestures to indicate he would check them out, and she should remain here, in case whoever was in the living room decided to take a trip down the hall while the Sandman was investigating.
She nodded and pressed her body to the wall so she could watch him as he investigated.
It didn't take the Sandman more than two minutes to come back and indicate there was no one in the kitchen or behind the last door. Nodding her understanding, she hefted her batons and they stepped into the living room.
The living room was bigger than the bedrooms and furnished with a wrap-around couch and a glass coffee table. The television was at least sixty-two inches and apparently equipped for 3D viewing. Finger and the Pill sat comfortably on the couch, eating Italian food from the large assortment spread out on the glass table. Both wore 3D glasses, of the variety that cost at least a hundred dollars each. They weren't immediately aware of their intruders. They were preoccupied with whatever movie was playing and the explosions that sounded from the speakers. The volume was turned up all the way.
Glancing at the Sandman, Nightshade noticed his mask stretching around the mouth in what was probably a smile. He knelt, slamming the baton in his left hand against the floor. It collapsed efficiently; the sound masked by the movie playing out some widespread destruction. The Sandman rose, switching the batons in his hands. The right hand now held the closed baton, making it just under twelve inches in length. He pulled his arm back, paused, and threw it at the couch.
The baton pinwheeled through the air and smashed into Finger's head, dead-center and right above his ears. The man grunted and sagged on the couch. The fork and plate dropped from his hands, spilling ravioli and garlic bread onto his pants and the carpeted floor. Pill didn’t notice.
Trying not to giggle, Nightshade looked at the Sandman. He gestured, gentlemanly, for her to take out Pill. She thought about how she would do it, and then acted.
Moving with stealthy ease, Nightshade got right up beside the Pill. She sat next to him on the couch. When Pill looked over to see what the unexplained settling in the couch was, she smashed his left knee with her baton. He squawked in pain and tried to go for something inside his jacket. Nightshade pivoted off the couch, spun, and brought her other baton around in a fast arc. The baton smashed into the area of jacket where Pill's hand had gone. There was a satisfying crunch, and Pill shuddered before vomiting his dinner all over his lap.
The Sandman was beside her in an instant, grabbing Pill by his unsoiled lapel and pulling him off the couch. The man tried to stand and bring his undamaged hand around to choke or grapple Nightshade. The Sandman promptly smashed Pill's uninjured knee. Pill collapsed, gurgling as he tried to gasp. The Sandman dragged him from the room, down the hall and released him when they arrived in the kitchen.
“So, now that you've been on the receiving end of your own methods, do you feel some sympathy for all the kneecaps you've broken?” the Sandman asked the Pill. “How about those people with broken or missing fingers?”
“Go fuck yourself,” Pill gasped out.
“Now, that's just rude. You still have one functioning hand, after all,” the Sandman remarked jovially. “You want to keep that? I'm curious what kind of workman's compensation Alfi's going to offer you.”
“Pity he isn't here, you could ask him yourself before he kills you,” retorted Pill.
“Yes, it's a shame he isn't here, because now you have to tell me,” replied the Sandman. He pushed his foot down on one of Pill's injured knees. “Where is Alfi at? In this building?”
“Not telling you anything, mama's boy,” Pill said with a groan.
“Maybe you think I won't kill you,” the Sandman reflected. “Perhaps you figure dying would be the easiest way out of the pain. But I'm not even close to being finished with you. You see, I watched a lot of spy movies, and I loved that TV show with the linear time frame.”
The Sandman stepped back and started pulling knives and other kitchen utensils out of drawers, considering them. “You know the one. The good guy is a sweet and loving parent and good to his wife, but get him in a room with a terrorist and he goes psycho? I always thought he went too easy.”
“You aren't impressing me with this shit,” Pill said defiantly. “You sound more like that wimpy captain on the my least favorite Star Trek show.”
“See, now that you've insulted Archer, I'm gonna have to m
ake you suffer more,” the Sandman declared, holding up an ice pick in one hand and a large corkscrew in the other. “If you meant the reboot movie, you suffer even more. Chris Pine rocked the Kirk role, you Philistine.”
“Oh, the hell with this!” Nightshade roared.
Pill looked startled and looked at her, as if he hadn’t even realized she'd been there. She grabbed the ice pick from the Sandman as Pill tried to sit up and swing at her with his usable hand.
She promptly impaled the pick through his palm. She then nailed the hand to the floor.
Rising, Nightshade kicked Pill's legs apart, striking each injured knee with the tip of one boot. Pill yelped in pain. She knelt between his legs and pulled the glove off her right hand. Holding it palm up over his crotch, she asked him a question.
“How do you like your balls, Pill?” Fire ignited in her open palm. Blue flames danced six inches above her fingers. Pill's eyes, already bug-like, looked ready to burst from his skull. “Original recipe or extra crispy?”
“He's staying in the loft apartment two buildings over! Top floor!” Pill screeched. “He's got the rest of his crew with him, and sometimes that scary bitch! We take breaks from guard duty in this apartment! Anything else you want to know?”
“I think I'll shrivel your balls anyway because I don't like you,” Nightshade declared casually.
“Hey! No! He's got the flash drive on him! No copies were made! He's paranoid about it! I'm cooperating! I'm cooperating!”
The Sandman coughed, and Nightshade suspected it was to cover an impulse to laugh. However, she nodded as if he had given her a signal and extinguished the flame. She got up and walked over to the fridge. Opening it, she found her favorite brand of bottled water in addition to numerous bottles of wine and twelve packs of beer. She pulled an unopened water bottle, turned away from Pill's sight, and pulled the scarf down before taking a long, satisfying drink.
Taking The Night (Nightshade series Book 1) Page 19
