Rescue Mission

by Linda Jordan

  The van smelled stuffy, and full of unwashed bodies. Damon cracked a window, letting in the warm air of spring. The road was now completely gravel and just a bit wider than one lane. Damon didn’t recognize anything.

  How long had it been since he’d been outside the Zoo? He couldn’t remember. Years? Decades? Probably the latter. Not since he was in his twenties. Before he’d sworn service to Morrigu.

  Before then he’d drifted in and out of the Zoo. An orphan at 12, he’d been moved in with another family. They were deeply religious. He wasn’t, and couldn’t accept their deity being forced on him. So he’d run away to the Zoo. Joined a gang. Then switched to another gang. Ran with them for a while. Got sick of it all and left the Zoo. At twenty he’d tried to live in another village. To learn a trade. He wasn’t any good at anything except fighting and he was still filled with so much anger. He went back to the Zoo, met Morrigu and his fate was sealed.

  Even though he felt tired. He was getting too old to always be fighting. And Morrigu was headed for another war, perhaps two. At least she was avoiding one with the villagers.

  The van passed through a hedge of blackberries and glossy-leaved bushes. There was only a foot on each side of the vehicle. It made Damon edgy. There was nowhere to turn around and run.

  He glanced across the aisle. The woman was looking at him. He noticed she wore a large silver pendant in the form of a raven with Celtic knotwork. Something about it looked familiar.

  “Do I know you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I know you.”

  “Where?”

  “Back when you used to run with Scarecrow. I was with Blackjack. We used to fight a lot.”

  He looked at her more closely. Then he remembered. Her eyes and a knife flashing.

  “You gave me this,” he said, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a long ridged scar that ran the length of his forearm to his knuckles.

  “I guess I did,” she said.

  “We’ve both changed a lot over the years.”

  “Yes.”

  “You got out of the Zoo.”

  “I was lucky. I didn’t leave as smoke from ashes.”

  The Zoo had always burned their own and let the wind scatter the ashes where it would.

  “Obviously, I’m still there,” he said.

  The van pulled up into a gravel turnaround overgrown with knee-high grasses and Eamon stopped the van, ready to exit the turn around. The road went no farther. Beyond large boulders, there was a footpath. A muddy footpath.

  Eamon opened the door and said, “End of the line.”

  The four villagers got out and Damon carried the older woman out. He set her down and said, “Put your arm around my shoulder, I’ll help you to your home.”

  “You’ve done enough,” she said.

  “I might as well. The other guards are coming to bring all your weapons. And some wine.”

  “You don’t trust us?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Eamon doesn’t trust anyone around his vehicles. Doesn’t want anyone to shoot them up.”

  She laughed.

  “What’s your name,” he asked.

  “Cady.”

  “Cady. I don’t remember ever hearing that name before, from when I was younger.”

  “I called myself Raven back then.”

  “Raven, I do remember hearing that. You were new to Blackjack’s tribe. You were fierce.”

  “Still am,” she glared at him. “I didn’t stay with Blackjack long. After that I kept shifting to different gangs. Then fled altogether.”

  Three of the villagers were walking along the muddy path. Evangeline walked with them, talking to one of the men. She wore knee high black boots with no heels. The blond woman took Cady’s other arm, putting it around her shoulder.

  “I think I’ve got a pair of crutches that might fit you,” the blond woman said. “We can stop by my place.”

  Between the two of them, they got her to the center of the village to be welcomed at the point of several guns.

  The guards and Eamon came behind, with the weapons and a cart carrying the five cases of wine.

  “It’s okay,” said the tall Asian woman.

  “Who do these men belong to?” asked a tall man, holding a rifle.

  “They work for Morrigu,” she said. “She talked Roosevelt into releasing us.”

  “Is that who beat up Sam?” he asked.

  Two of the other villagers were yelling, but Damon couldn’t make out their words. He understood their intent though. They were angry.

  This could go really wrong.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “We need to get Cady to her house. She’s been seen to by a doctor, but she needs to lie down.”

  He nodded to Eamon, to continue the peacemaking.

  Eamon was gifted at diplomacy.

  “We come in peace, returning your people. Roosevelt has admitted he was in the wrong to take your people prisoner. That’s a big step for him, I think. He had us bring five cases of his best wine as an apology.”

  “Why didn’t he come himself,” someone yelled.

  “Because you’d shoot him,” said Eamon.

  “That we would,” yelled someone else. The crowd laughed and weapons were lowered.

  Damon took a deep breath.

  Cady said, “My house is that way.” She pointed towards the other side of the crowd.

  “I think we should take you home, and then I’ll go to my place and get the crutches,” said the blond woman.

  “Good idea,” said Damon. “I think she needs to rest.”

  They moved through the crowd, who parted for them. Then past the center of the village, down a path. The village felt like none he’d been in before. It looked ramshackle, but he heard children laughing and singing. Adults laughed. There were animals everywhere. Chickens, cats, dogs. He heard goats, but didn’t see them.

  When he was a child, the village he’d lived in was joyless, gray and dismal. Everyone struggled. The other village he’d tried to fit into as a young man had been very rigid. He hadn’t belonged in either one of those places.

  In this village everyone looked well fed, healthy and fairly happy. Was it just the time difference, or was it just this place?

  They walked past several houses and came to a small one. A huge black streak of cat shot into the house through a small door as they entered the clearing. Damon jumped in response.

  Cady laughed. “Well, Monster’s okay.”

  There were flowers everywhere here. Trees with pink blossoms and herbs growing in the ground. Damon had never seen any place like this. It looked like what paradise should look like.

  The blond woman pulled the wooden door open with one hand and the three of them clumsily moved sideways through the door. The blond woman led them to the back of the small building, to a simple small bed with an iron frame.

  How could anyone live in such a cramped space? Damon was used to living in Morrigu’s warehouse, in a spacious room. Sparsely decorated with his narrow bed, a rack to hang clothes on and a small wooden table and wood chair. He didn’t spend much time there. Morrigu kept him too busy.

  How different Cady’s life must be. A tiny house, a cat and a garden. How did she make her living? In the villages he was familiar with, people bartered to stay alive, or depended on their families. He didn’t see much around here to barter with. The whole village looked to be full of gardens. Cady hadn’t mentioned a family, but she’d left the Zoo long enough ago. She might have a family.

  The blond woman helped Cady on to the bed and asked, “Can I get you some food? A cup of tea?

  “Some tea would be good,” said Cady.

  The blond woman moved past him and went into the kitchen area.

  “Are you going to be all right here?” asked Damon. “On your own?”

  “Once Sharine brings me some crutches, I will.”

  Damon wanted to linger. He liked Cady. She was quick and smart. Strong and good company. When was the last time he’d simply s
at and spoke with someone and enjoyed it? Well, no use going down that road. He’d chosen his path.

  He should get back. Morrigu would need his help planning the trap for her competitors.

  “I should go,” said Damon. “Make sure the others aren’t causing trouble.”

  “Thank you for bringing us home,” said Cady.

  The blond woman said nothing, her lips tight. As if to say that if Roosevelt hadn’t taken their friend prisoner, it wouldn’t have been necessary.

  “It was the right thing to do,” said Damon.

  “Yes, but that rarely happens in the Zoo. In my experience.”

  “Things have changed a bit since your time there,” said Damon.

  “Not that much.”

  He nodded.

  “If you ever want to leave,” said Cady, “you know where we are.”

  He laughed.

  “And how would I fit in here?” he asked, smiling.

  “You must be able to do something useful,” said Cady.

  “I’d never be able to leave Morrigu,” he said, sadly. “Not alive anyway.”

  He could smell mint, from the tea.

  “If you believe you can’t, then you can’t,” said Cady. “You’re already defeated.”

  “True,” he said. “I’ll think about it.”

  He walked out the door and down the path to the main part of the village, feeling like he was closing a door. One he didn’t want to close.

  Focus.

  Eamon and the others were clustered together, talking to two of the villagers. Their voices were calm, but Damon sensed Eamon’s tension. Could read it in the way the man stood, ready to fight if need be. The other guards didn’t look any more calm. Evangeline stood next to Eamon, watching and listening. Alert and ready for anything. Just like she always seemed to be.

  He walked up to the group and said, “I’m ready to go.”

  Eamon nodded and said, “Nice talking to you folks. We’ll take into advisement your warning.”

  “Do that,” said the biggest guy with red hair and beard.

  Damon looked at Eamon, who nodded and began to walk quickly back to the van. The crowd of villagers seemed to have dispersed, but he saw light glinting off a gun barrel behind a large tree. And another from around the side of a building.

  They kept rapidly walking, Damon breathing deeply, trying to relax and stay as alert as possible. Ready to run.

  Eamon hopped in the van and got it running. Everyone else hurried on board and took a seat. Eamon sped off down the gravel road. Damon heaved a deep sigh.

  “What was the warning” asked Damon.

  “Don’t come back,” said Eamon.

  “Not likely,” Damon said.

  “I didn’t think so, either.”

  Damon sat back in his seat and began mulling over possible traps for the Picasso thieves.

  6

  Evangeline

  Evangeline stood off to the side of Roosevelt in the conference room. She wore stretchy tight black pants with a loose green shirt over a tank top and her holster. Around her thigh, was a sheathed knife. And her black boots. Her hair braided, as usual. She’d been considering shaving it all off. That was before she’d moved up here where it was cold all the time. She hadn’t been warm since leaving Texas. She barely remembered Florida, but longed for the glorious heat and ease of her childhood.

  The conference room was just a plain room in the top of the wine warehouse. Painted a drab gray color. Just like the skies here in this part of the world. She missed the sun. The room was furnished with a functional metal table and four metal folding chairs. Two of which barely held the bulk of Roosevelt and Young Roosevelt, who was old enough to be her grandfather.

  The man was short, where his father was tall. Round and flabby, where his father was thick and muscular. But Young Roosevelt was quick-witted and sharp, on the surface. His father hid those skills beneath a layer of good-natured relaxation and joviality. Young Roosevelt was lighter skinned, much lighter. Leading Evangeline to think his mother might have been much, much lighter. She had never been mentioned by Roosevelt. Not once.

  Roosevelt wore loose black pants and a deep purple shirt. Over those, he had on a black kaftan with red and gold braid at the cuffs and edges. He looked royal. Young Roosevelt wore a tailored black suit with tiny white stripes. What did they call that? He wore a black t-shirt beneath it and white shoes which stood out and looked rather silly.

  She shifted her weight around a bit. She could see through an open window to down on the warehouse floor. Men were moving cases of wine, loading them onto a dolly to ready for shipping. She could hear the bottles clacking together within their boxes as each case was moved.

  “Do you really need a bodyguard with me?” asked Young Roosevelt.

  “She follows me everywhere, it’s her job,” said Roosevelt, as if just now noticing her.

  “Get her a chair then,” said the younger.

  Roosevelt said to Evangeline, “Pull up a chair.” He gestured to an empty chair at the table.

  She quietly sat down in the hard, cold chair, feeling self-conscious. She didn’t pull her chair up to the table. Sitting now, she could feel how much the bottoms of her feet hurt.

  Her feet were swollen inside the tall black boots. The food she ate here was not agreeing with her. She should speak to the cook. Ask if she could get things her body liked. Less carbs, more protein and vegetables. There was hardly a vegetable on Roosevelt’s tables.

  “Relax,” said Roosevelt, to her. “Rest. You’ll need to be at your peak this afternoon. We’re meeting with Morrigu again.”

  Evangeline took a deep breath and tried to slump in the chair. Her body didn’t do relax. Not well, anyway. Sometimes, she wished it would. Then again, an easier life wouldn’t fit her.

  Young Roosevelt asked, “Why did you involve Morrigu in this, if you don’t trust her?”

  “Money. I don’t have enough to take on the Eastside by myself. Art and jewelry are much more profitable than drugs and alcohol.”

  “So why didn’t you take those, let her have the drugs and alcohol, way back when you split things up?” asked Young Roosevelt.

  “She has the knowledge to deal with art and jewelry. I don’t.”

  Young Roosevelt shrugged, sighed and said, “Okay, so we hit Morietti first. Why?”

  “His territory is on the north edge of the Eastside. If we hit the strongest one, Collins, then we’d be boxed in on three sides by our enemies.” Roosevelt pointed to a map that lay on the table in front of them. Each territory was outlined by a red pen and labeled with the name of who controlled it.

  “What if the others band together though? They’d be stronger than just Collins. If we come in here, we drive a wedge through them. And take out the strongest of them. That might lead some of the others to cave, just out of fear. Offer them a decent deal, rather than have them fight you.”

  “But I can’t ever trust them,” said Roosevelt, taking a long draw on the beer that sat in front of him.

  Evangeline could smell the bitter alcohol from where she sat.

  “You don’t have to trust them,” said Young Roosevelt. “You need to get power over them and keep it that way.”

  “Ah, my son. Those are the old ways, I’m not sure they work anymore.”

  “Well, you do it by gaining their trust and making them love you. Make them want to serve you and reward them well for their trust.”

  “That’s not how I work,” said Roosevelt.

  “You do that with your people,” said Young Roosevelt.

  “These are not my people.”

  “Once you conquer them, they’re yours,” said the younger, shrugging his shoulders.

  Evangeline doubted that. It took more than conquering someone to gain their unwavering devotion. Still, Roosevelt did have a kind of charisma. He might be able to turn it to gaining people’s trust. He’d gained her trust, despite Evangeline’s oath to work only for women. She didn’t trust many men. Didn’t f
ully trust Roosevelt either, although she felt a loyalty to him. He’d been honest with her in a way most employers weren’t. At least if he’d been lying, she hadn’t yet discovered it.

  “I’ll think about this,” said Roosevelt. “Take it to Morrigu this afternoon and get her opinion.”

  “Why?” asked Young Roosevelt.

  “We need to tie her to this war. The more she’s invested in it, the easier it will be to get the money, and her army.”

  “She won’t want to take over? War Goddess and all.”

  “Not with pre-planning. Her wars were always more wild, free for all, kind of wars.”

  “I still don’t think you should trust her. Getting her more involved will mean less control for you.”

  Evangeline watched Young Roosevelt. He was the heir of his father’s empire, but appeared to be in no hurry to take over. Was that a ruse or was it really who he was? Roosevelt hadn’t mentioned that she needed to be on guard against him. Still, men had killed their fathers for much less than the power and wealth elder Roosevelt had.

  Evangeline followed Roosevelt around the rest of the morning. She ate a rollup with chicken and greens in the empty hallway outside his room, while waiting for him to dress. Then she rode with him in the electric car to Morrigu’s “palace.”

  The little black car drove itself between the two warehouses. There was only the one row of leather covered seats, to fit the two of them. They were wide and spacious, for a small car. Riding between the warehouse seemed silly on one hand. On the other, it meant Roosevelt could move quickly if there was trouble. Not many people knew the car could also fly short distances. The car looked cute and harmless. Not one that someone like him would usually use, thus it was useful camouflage. For public appearances, he used the sedan, which was bulletproof.

  This time, Roosevelt and Morrigu met in a small room inside her warehouse, instead of the grand entry hall like before. The walls were realistic murals, painted like the trunks of trees, complete with bushes, birds and animal’s eyes. The ceiling was a blue sky with a few clouds. The floor was painted brown with a stone path that led to the seating area of four chairs and a low table overflowing with pastries and fruit. Fancy teacups with saucers and a teapot sat on one end of the table.