“Who’s calling 911?” Harry asked. Ten people behind the barrier raised their cell phones in unison. They had all placed the calls when the fighting began, and were still on line, keeping dispatchers updated on the situation as it unfolded.
“Tell ’em we’ve got an injured woman here,” Harry said. He peeled back the edge of her jacket with no little trepidation. Like the others, he had seen the sword pierce through the shoulder of the woman who now lay before him, and the thought of what he was about to see gave him pause. Gritting his teeth, he took in a breath, then raised his face to smile at Monster.
“She’s gonna be okay, but I need you to look over that way,” he said, pointing toward the end of the mall. “See if you can see Firedrake over there, okay?’
“Yeah, okay,” Monster agreed, nodding. He turned to watch for his brother.
Having diverted the booster, Harry opened the jacket fully to view the injured shoulder. A gasp of shock was ripped from his throat in response to what he had exposed.
Drake forced Retribution away from him, standing to his full height and squaring his shoulders as he glared at the man. Blood, sweat and water from the overhead sprinklers were combined to turn the man’s flesh an odd shade of pink, and the image sent an involuntary shudder down Drake’s spine.
“This ends now,” Retribution said flatly. He brought his hands together, cracking his knuckles loudly as he stared at Drake.
“Gonna talk me to death, slick?”
“Gonna finish what I started back in Seattle.”
“Yeah. That’ll happen. Look, just give up now and we can all go away happy. Well, I’ll be happy. You’ll just be going away.”
The joke was enough. Retribution launched himself at Drake, drawing back his powerful right hand even as his optic beams led the way. Drake accepted the hits from the beams, shaking off the now-underpowered attack as easily as if it had been a punch from a norm. The moving fist, however, had decent energy to it. He turned to his right, swaying his upper body backward to let the fist pass by without connecting. A massive emerald paw reached out and gripped the wrist of the man, holding it steady as he slashed a knife-hand blow onto the top of the forearm. His elbow crashed into Retribution’s mouth as a follow-up. As the man pulled back to escape, Drake turned with him and drove his left hand palm-first into the man’s chest with all the strength he could muster. The impact echoed from the nearest wall and Retribution dropped to the ground, huffing loudly as he desperately sought to get air back into his lungs.
Drake never gave him the chance to continue. Stepping back a pace, he brought his leg up in a blur, the massive instep of his foot crashing into the man’s chin and rocketing his head backward. Retribution’s eyes rolled back even before his body landed on the floor. Rolling him over, Drake quickly strapped a pair of durite cuffs onto the booster before stepping back and taking in a deep breath.
“Monster,” he whispered, shaking his head. He turned back into the mall proper, making his way toward the last place he had seen his brother.
“What the hell?” Harry Callahan whispered aloud. He had clearly seen the sword as it hit Sala in the shoulder and he expected the woman’s jacket to be fairly filled with blood. The miniscule amount he found did not immediately compute. It was not until he saw the exposed metal inside her jumpsuit that it began to make sense.
“Some kind of cyber…” he muttered to himself, quickly snapping the jacket closed. He looked around to see if anyone had observed the same thing he had, but no one had been too eager to get close to the injury. He slipped the covering garment back a bit once again, as if trying to confirm to himself what he had already seen.
“No free peeks,” Sala murmured, eyelids fluttering open though the orbs within them were glassy. “And if you cop a feel…”
“No, ma’am!” Harry said automatically, the words blurted out in a rush. His face reddened for a second before he saw the flicker of a smile that drifted across her features before she passed out yet again. He chuckled quietly.
“Hey, Monster,” he began, looking up. The big booster was gone, running toward the somewhat worse-for-wear form of his brother.
Drake was making his way slowly across the floor of the mall, but his pace quickened a bit when he saw the approaching figure of Monster. A smile spread his lips, exposing bloody, broken teeth. He spread his arms wide, wrapping them around the running hulk as he had done earlier that day outside the safehouse. The impact made him groan, but he held his ground.
“Where’s Sala?” he asked.
“She was hurt, Francis, and I took her to Harry and he’s trying to make her better but I’m scared ’cause she’s bleeding and that mean lady hurt her bad and she’s —”
“Easy, easy,” Drake soothed, placing a restraining hand on the heavy shoulder of the youth. “Let’s go take a look, okay?”
As they began a slow walk back toward the raised stage, a dozen pairs of booted feet came around the corner in a rush. Drake turned to look down the muzzles of a dozen automatic rifles held by men in black SWAT armor. They all had the word ’POLICE’ emblazoned across their chests in giant white letters, and each wore a heavy helmet.
“Police!” several of them shouted. “Everybody freeze!”
“Oh, yeah. Now you get here,” Drake quipped, keeping his hands in sight. He gestured with his chin toward the unconscious form of Retribution. “Sorry about the mess. Saw that guy trying to boost an iPod and I just had to stop him.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“So I haul in a wanted fugitive, stop another one from dragging him off to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what, and I get two weeks without pay and a write-up in my jacket? Nice to see our government at work,” Drake said, making a face at Hart.
From her position across the heavy desk, the Director shook her head slowly. “The issue of your capture of Retribution is not on the table. What is being discussed is your total disregard for security measures where your brother is concerned.”
“Come on. The kid had a ball out there.”
“You violated every single protocol we have established for his safety when you took him to a public mall.”
“Not true,” Drake corrected, raising an index finger to draw her attention.
“What do you mean, ‘not true’?” Hart asked.
“I took his assigned bodyguard along for the ride.”
“Which, as I am certain you are aware, has placed her job in jeopardy.”
“Yeah, but she was there. So that’s one rule I didn’t break.”
“What?”
“You said I broke every protocol. I just showed you that there is one I didn’t break.”
“Congratulations, Agent. You missed one,” Hart said dryly.
“Yeah, but think about this: If there’s one you thought I violated, and I didn’t, what’s the chances that the others you think I did break are just mistakes in your way of looking at them? Huh? Bet you didn’t consider that.”
Hart settled back in her chair, doing her best to conceal the beginnings of a smile. “That has got to be the most convoluted way of looking at this situation that I have ever seen,” she said.
“Yeah? Is it working?”
“Not in the least.”
“Yeah, well, shit. Had to try, right? Anyway, Monster’s fine. He had a great time, made a new friend, and got to see what life is like on the outside of his little cage.”
“Yes, well, let’s address those comments, shall we?” Hart prompted, lifting a sheaf of papers nearly six inches thick. Numerous colored tabs stuck out at odd angles from them. “First, ‘he had a great time’. Chris is named here as the subject who threw Retribution through the front of a music store, causing an estimated twenty-four thousand dollars in damage. Damages which we must repay.”
“That place was stocked with crap anyway,” Drake said, waving a hand as if dismissing it entirely. “All pop and fluff. No substance. Check their inventory and I bet you won‘t find one thing from Dylan, The Beatles, or Hendr
ix.”
“We have security camera footage, as well as no less than sixty-two separate images caught on cell phone cameras, of your brother being manhandled by the woman you identified as ‘Thrash’.”
“And he got some back on her, too. Or didn’t your security cameras pick that up?”
“He was, according to the statement given by his security officer, referred to ‘in derogatory terms as regards his learning abilities’ by the same woman.”
“And she got an ass-whipping for saying it. Are you going somewhere with all this?”
“I am showing that your descriptions of the event might be a little colored by your own sense of self-preservation,” Hart said. “Moving to point number two. You stated he ‘made a new friend’.”
“Great guy. He’s my number one fan,” Drake replied, grinning.
“Quite possibly your only one,” Hart countered. “As to this ‘new friend’, we have had to swear him into secrecy on numerous matters as to what he witnessed. We placed him in a surveillance program until his clearances could be verified.”
“Wow. Guess you didn’t want to just kill him or erase his mind or something.”
“That was discussed. It was determined that due to the high visibility associated with this incident and the subject’s knowledge base, he could be of use to the government in a non-combatant position.”
“So he got a new job? Great. Where’s the problem?”
“The expense involved in creating the position, as well as funding it and the security clearance operations is quite high, Agent.”
“Yeah, well, you can take the two weeks you’re docking me and apply it where it’s needed.”
“Thirdly, you stated that Monster got to see life ‘outside of his little cage’,” Hart continued, remaining businesslike even in the face of Drake’s particular mix of sarcasm and bile. “Please note that your brother is in protective custody not only for his own sake but that of the public. As has been shown by the incident at the mall, he can and does represent a danger to those around him. Through his own lack of understanding of his abilities and strengths, he could cause irreparable damage.”
Drake sat up straight in his chair, leaning forward slightly as his lips peeled back from his teeth. “If that’s some fancy way of saying he’s too stupid to know what he’s doing…” he began, letting the words trail off. Hart looked at him, unmoved.
“There is a difference, Agent, between stupidity and ignorance. Your brother is ignorant of the havoc he could so easily wreak, simply because he cannot comprehend the level of power with which he has been gifted. You, on the other hand, are showing considerable stupidity if you believe that your threatening manner will have any effect whatsoever on the outcome of this meeting.”
“Whatever. Look, here’s the deal. I did what I did, you wrote me up, we all go away now. Right?”
“It’s not quite that simple.”
“What’s not simple?” Drake asked, rolling his eyes and spreading his arms. “How much more simple could it be?”
“We have to consider moving Christopher.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Actually, yes, we do. You have compromised his safety simply by being seen in public with him, not to mention the people that overheard one or the other of you saying he was your brother or vice versa. The safehouse to which he has been assigned is designed perfectly to be used in the manner it has been, but it is not built to withstand a siege by angry boosters looking to get to him to exact revenge on you or on the Department as a whole.”
“The place he’s at is just fine! You got a problem, you work it out with me. Start moving him around again, and he‘s gonna get all weirded out, just like he did the last time.”
“Perhaps if you had been a little more cognizant of the rules and what you were doing…”
“You can take your rules, lady, and you can shove ‘em straight up your ‘cognizant’,” Drake snorted. “You try to take Monster out of that home and there’s gonna come a storm, you know what I mean?”
“Once more, you resort to threats. Why can you not simply see that there is a bigger picture here?”
“I’ve seen the picture. Only thing is, the brush y’all are using is painting me into a corner. As for threats, you started it.”
“How exactly do you figure that?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe when you threatened to move Monster. Maybe when you threatened to fire Sala for going along - which was her job, by the way. How about when you threatened to kill Harry Callahan, but just thought it was too high-visibility? Come on, Hart. You think I shouldn’t react like this? What? I look like some scared little schoolboy, about to take his punishment without spitting it back in your face? That’s bullshit, and you know it. Fact is, this whole damned witch hunt you’ve got going on is bullshit. You’re looking for a fall guy for this whole thing? Fine. I’m it, but don’t expect me to take it lying down!”
“Your punishment was given to me to administer, Agent Drake. I was to decide the severity, and I believe I not only took the high road from a moral standpoint, but that I erred on the side of my employee. Note that it has been almost a week since you began your vacation. I extended your time off by another week. Perhaps if you look at things that way?”
Drake snorted and shook his head. “I couldn’t care less about my down time. I’ve got, what, a thousand-plus hours of leave saved up? You think the time is what concerns me? You’re talking about upsetting the only stability Monster’s known since you took him away from me.”
“Since I took him? Look back carefully before you say something entirely without merit. Custody of your brother was taken over by the courts. He was to be handed over into the care of an overworked and underpaid Child Welfare system who would have had no way to deal with him short of keeping him comatose. I stepped in and put him somewhere safe. You should be thanking me instead of cursing my actions.”
“Seems to me,” Drake drawled after her outburst, “that when folks start telling you how grateful you should be to them, they’re either about to say you owe them or they’re trying to cover up for something. Leastways, that’s been my experience with it.”
It was Hart’s turn to shake her head. She looked down at the stack of papers for a moment. “Think what you will, Agent. The facts are here, in black and white. The situation is what it is. You did this, and you have to answer for your actions.”
Drake snarled, a sound that began deep in his chest and ended as a terrifying sound ripping past jagged teeth. Hands big enough to strangle cattle clenched into fists with a tension that made his knuckles crack. He spoke, and his words were accompanied by a tremor in his neck muscles. “I told you, slick, that I was perfectly willing to do just that! I’ll take what you throw at me, but you leave everyone else out of it!”
Hart looked at him for a moment, and the room took on a hint of lavender scent that would have been impossible for a human to detect. Drake’s nostrils flared at the fluctuation in the room’s overall makeup. He could feel the subtle emotional shift toward calm that came with it. Hawking, he spat a gobbet of smoking phlegm onto the desktop. It carried a sharp, chemical odor that raked at the nostrils, easily overpowering the faint traces of her ability.
“That’s for your ideas and your damned pheromones,” he declared, standing from his chair and moving toward the door. As he did, his wings fanned the air to carry the acrid smell directly into Hart’s face. He jerked the door open without waiting to be dismissed.
“You’re losing it, Hart,” he called over his shoulder, the words spoken loudly for the benefit of all who waited outside the office. “The day you have to use your pheromones to control your Agents is the day you need to pack up your shit.”
Gripping the doorknob with his tail, Drake slammed the portal closed behind him and walked out of the waiting room. From her position in one of the hard chairs, Neon threw him a wink from one of her glowing eyes in response to his actions. He grinned, feeling a bit better after the vent
ing of frustration, although he knew that Hart would take it out on him later in some backhanded manner.
Shaking off any concern over what she would or could do to him at a later date, Drake wound his way through the labyrinthine corridors of the Justice building. He paused occasionally to exchange words of greeting or simple high-five gestures to comrades from years back. After a few more twists in the hallways, he arrived at a door that opened with little more than a push from his hand. The knob was missing, torn away in one of his rages and never replaced. The small brass nameplate on the desk read, “F. Drake”.
He picked up the pile of mail that lay in his inbox, throwing the majority of the messages one after another into the trash without reading them. Some few of them looked interesting, and he set those aside for further perusal. His tail darted forth as he examined the shiny pages of a catalog, the barbed tip tapping against the ‘on’ switch of the computer he had been assigned.
“Buncha crap,” he muttered, disdainfully tossing the catalog into the bin with the rest of his trash.
The chair before his desk was a simple stool, designed to comfortably accommodate his wings and tail should he ever decide to use the thing. Like most of the office, it was dusty. It was rare that he ever even set foot in the tiny cubicle, as most of his time was spent in pursuit of whatever booster had wound up on the wrong side of the ever-expanding number of laws designed to deal with the Emerged.
Drake straddled the stool, lowering himself to a position from which he could examine the monitor. He flicked at the keys with the tips of his claws, entering a name and pass code from memory. Departmental e-mails flooded the screen, and a single glance at the four-digit number of unread missives was more than enough to make him realize that he did not care whether or not they were ever read.
“You supposed to be in here, Drake? Heard you were suspended,” declared a voice from the doorway. Drake turned, a choice curse dying on his lips when he saw the speaker.
Standing framed in the open portal, and wearing a business suit in lieu of his more recognizable uniform, was the bulky form of Angelo Salvatore.
Firedrake - Volume Two Page 17
