by Scott Sigler
“He wanted to,” Fred said. “But to his credit, he didn’t. He was very uncomfortable, but he accepted me.”
She stopped laughing. “He did?”
“I was as surprised as you are now,” Fred said. “I put on a really poofy show, figuring he’d take off and I wouldn’t have to take his case.”
She turned her head a little, squinted at him. “So he stayed, so what? If you didn’t want to take his case, why did you?”
Fred shrugged. “There’s something about him, Jeanine. He didn’t like me because I was gay, but he kind of realized he didn’t actually know any gay people, and he gave it a shot. He was just so... open about it.”
“Huh,” she said. “That’s hard to believe. But if you say he did it, I believe you.”
“You should,” Fred said. “That’s the reason you’re not in that cell. He’s the reason.”
Fred’s index finger vibrated. He lifted his hand, held it palm-up, let the display appear a few inches above his skin.
It read: INCOMING CALL REQUEST FROM QUENTIN BARNES.
“Speak of the devil,” Fred said. “It’s your bother.”
She instantly started shaking her head. “You promised!”
“Relax,” Fred said. “He doesn’t know about you. He’s just calling me.” Fred walked behind his desk.
Jeanine took a few small steps back. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to answer my client’s call.”
“But you promised!”
Fred sat in his desk chair. “I promised not to tell him about you until you were ready, I didn’t promise to ignore my business. Just stay to the right side of the desk, and he won’t see you. Okay?”
She stared at him, then looked down. She moved to the right side of the desk. She nodded.
Fred made a tossing motion, as if to throw the palm-up display onto the desk. The white desktop flashed, then an image of Quentin Barnes appeared. He was sitting next to a man in his late forties, a man with the weathered face of the working class. He looked small sitting next to Quentin, but only because Quentin was a seven-foot-tall, four-hundred-pound walking tank. Obviously, the man would tower over Fred.
“Quentin,” Fred said. “What’s up? I don’t have a status update for you, or I would have sent word. I’m just getting ready to travel again. I’ve got a lead on your sister. I’m afraid I don’t have information on your father, though.”
“That’s okay,” Quentin said. “You can stop looking for him.”
For once, Quentin Barnes didn’t look all intense and moody. He looked happy. Hell, aside from the giant’s body and the huge muscles, he looked like a kid — a kid that suddenly didn’t want to know about his father anymore?
Fred looked at the man sitting next to Quentin and felt a sinking feeling.
“Come again?”
“I found him,” Quentin said. “I found my father.” He smiled and pointed to his right, to a man chewing away on a mouth full of sandwich. The man raised the sandwich in greeting.
That sinking feeling sank even further. “Quentin, who is that?”
“My dad. Cillian Carbonaro.”
It was all Fred could do to not look to his right, to Jeanine, but he saw her out of the corner of his eye — she was slowly shaking her head.
Fred focused on the conversation at hand. “And you found him?”
“Yes! Well, no, Gredok did. He called in a bunch of favors. Somehow Gredok tracked him down.”
Jeanine stepped a little in front of the desk, so Fred could see her without looking away from the holodisplay. With exaggerated gestures, she mouthed the words not our father.
In an instant, Fred understood what had happened. Gredok... Goolie... Bobby Brobst — Goolie had grabbed the information on Quentin’s family and delivered it to Gredok. Gredok had used that to create a fake father, one that Quentin clearly believed was real. But for what purpose?
Fred looked at the chewing man. “Quentin, you’re telling me that is your father?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s Cillian Carbonaro.”
“In the flesh,” Quentin said.
The man finally swallowed down his mouthful. “Pleased to meet you, Mister Gonzaga. Quentin is quite fond of you.”
He’s fond of the detective who let this happen? We’ll see how long that lasts when the truth comes out.
“How nice,” Fred said.
“I don’t mean fond-fond,” Cillian said. “I know you’re... uh... gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
Quentin’s smile faded. “Dad,” he said. “You should stop talking now.”
The man laughed uncomfortably, then took another oversized bite of his sandwich.
Fred couldn’t believe Gredok’s audacity. The crime lord would stop at nothing. Quentin had hired Fred to find the truth, and Gredok had hijacked that truth to tell a crushing lie. Gredok had the upper hand, and that was Fred’s fault — and in the end, Quentin would be the one to get hurt.
“Quentin,” Fred said, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’re happy for me.”
He had to make Quentin see the obvious. But if he came out and told Quentin the man was a fake, Quentin would want to know how Fred knew that — and Fred couldn’t say because your sister I’m keeping from you just told me so.
Fred stared at Jeanine. She shook her head: even now she didn’t want to be known to Quentin.
Fred focused on his client. “No, that’s not what I mean. I told you sentients were following me when I was on Micovi searching for information. I think those sentients may have worked for Gredok.”
“So?”
Fred again looked at the man sitting next to Quentin. He didn’t show a shred of suspicion or concern. Whoever he was, he was damn good — a better actor than Fred by far. Fred had to make Quentin doubt the man was his father, but Quentin didn’t want to doubt.
“So,” Fred said, “Gredok’s goons took all my information.”
“Well, what difference does it make, Fred? So they took your information. You got paid for your time, and if that information helped them find my dad, then everyone wins, right?”
At that moment, Fred wanted to shoot Gredok right in his little black-furred face. Fred couldn’t do a damn thing. If Jeanine wouldn’t reveal herself to Quentin, Quentin wouldn’t be the wiser.
Fred nodded. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“Are you pissed that Gredok got the job done?”
“Something like that,” Fred said. “You, uh, you run a genetics test?”
Quentin nodded. “We did. This is my dad, Fred. Mission accomplished. I just wanted to let you know.”
Fred did not like to lose, but at the moment there was no question that he had.
“So... I should stop looking for him, then?”
Quentin laughed. “Uh, yeah. Keep looking for my sister though, okay? Same rates?”
Fred fought the urge to look up at Jeanine again.
“Sure,” he said. “Happy to keep at it.”
“Great.” Quentin smiled, that mesmerizing, genuine smile he had when in the rare moments when he let his guard down. “Fred, I know you didn’t find him and all that, but now he’s here. If your information did lead to Gredok finding my dad, then I can’t thank you enough. Can you come up and meet him? Some of the team is coming over tonight to hang out.”
Fred finally smiled. It looked forced. “Thanks for the offer, but I fly out in an hour.”
“Looking for my sister?”
Fred nodded.
“Where are you going?”
“I’d rather not say,” Fred said. “Seems my activities and accomplishments are of far too much interest to unknown parties. I’ll let you know when I get back.”
Fred broke the connection. He looked up at Jeanine.
“Thanks for the assist,” he said. “I really appreciate it.”
She started to say something, then stopped. She looked down. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Help him,” Fred said. “So you don’t know Quentin, so what — he’s your flesh and blood. He’s being used, manipulated. How can you not want to help?”
She thought on his words. He saw the look in her eyes slowly change, from one of doubt, fear and regret to one of anger, one that promised someone was going to pay — the same look that Fred had seen many times in Quentin’s eyes. The resemblance was spooky: not just the shape and color of the eyes, but the emotions they revealed.
Maybe there was another reason Jeanine feared violence. Maybe because she had dished out some of her own.
“You’re right,” she said. “He’s my baby brother. I won’t let anyone mess with his head like that.”
“So can I call him back?”
Jeanine shook her head. “No. I want to do it in person.”
“But we can just call him,” Fred said. “We can—”
“In person,” she said. “A Carbonaro handles things face to face. If we call Quentin now, and he’s on his ship with this... impostor... what do you think my brother would do?”
Fred hadn’t thought of that. Quentin Barnes, a world-class athlete, seven feet tall, nearly four hundred pounds and with serious rage-control issues...
“He might kill him,” Fred said.
She nodded. “Exactly. So I need to be there. It’s kind of a test, I guess — to see if Quentin can control his temper.”
“Just because you’re there doesn’t mean he won’t flip out,” Fred said.
“I know. But maybe if I’m there, I can help.”
She wasn’t ready to start a relationship with her brother, but at the same time she didn’t want to just dump this information on him and leave him hanging.
“Okay,” Fred said. “We can make that happen. The Krakens are on a bye week. I’ll get us a shuttle, we’ll see if we can catch him on the Hypatia.”
“There’s more,” Jeanine said. “Who is the one who set this up?”
“Gredok the Splithead.”
“Then he needs to be there, too.”
Fred sat down in his desk chair. He put his hands on the desktop, feeling the smooth, cool surface beneath his skin.
“Five minutes ago you weren’t ready to show your face to your brother,” he said. “Now you want to not only reveal to him he has a fake father, but you want to be in the same room with a murdering gangster that made it happen?”
She stared. Then, slowly, she nodded. “That’s right. And that’s the only way it’s going to happen.”
“Gredok isn’t all that fond of me, Jeanine. I’ve had run-ins with him before.”
“What kind of run-ins?”
“The kind that mean he’d like to see me dead.”
She walked to the desk. She leaned on it, her hair hanging down. That look in her eyes, that Quentin look, hadn’t changed.
“My brother hired you to do a job,” she said. “You want to complete that job? You do it my way. Besides, are you afraid of this Gredok?”
“No,” Fred said. “I’m terrified of him.”
She smiled. “Sure, but I can tell by that look on your face that you probably wouldn’t mind making him look bad.”
Did she know him that well already, or did she just have that same knack as her brother, that ability to see a person’s true nature? Either way, she was right. Gredok had won this game — unless Fred was the one who revealed it all to Quentin.
“Okay,” Fred said. He held up a finger. “But first, I have to find out when they’ll all be together. That could take a little time. And second, when we do this, you do what I say when I say it. I’m the general, you’re the foot soldier.”
She stood and crossed her arms. “I can take care of myself.”
“Normally, I’m sure you can, but Gredok isn’t normal. Neither are the people that work for him. That’s the deal, Jeanine — you give me your word that you’ll do what I say when I say it and you won’t question me.”
Her eyes narrowed. Clearly, this woman didn’t like anyone telling her what do to. Finally, she nodded and held out her hand.
“Done,” she said. “You have a deal.”
Fred looked at her offered hand, realizing that he’d been in this same spot when he’d shaken Quentin’s. Like sister, like brother.
He shook. “All right,” he said. “Let’s get started.”
Chapter 28: Torba
Fred shouldered a platter of food so big he had to tilt his head to the right to carry it. His fake beard itched, but that didn’t bother him — it was showtime. The kitchen of Torba the Hungry’s bustled with activity. Bustled with intensity was a better way to describe it; there were only five guests in a restaurant that normally seated over a hundred, but they were very, very important guests.
Two weeks had passed since the call from Quentin. Fred had put that time to work, tracking down Gredok’s intentions, landing them temporary jobs at the restaurant. They’d spent a week working here, preparing for this moment.
He leaned close to Jeanine, who was struggling to balance her own heaping platter of overstuffed plates. She wore a white waiter’s coat.
“You ready?”
She looked at him with wide eyes. “No,” she said. “But let’s do it anyway.”
“You sure? It’s not too late to bail out.”
A Quyth Leader in a red velvet coat scurried up to them.
“You have food,” Torba said. “Do not just stand there! Bring it to the guests! If that John Tweedy ate any more, I’d swear he’s a HeavyG.” The Leader turned to face the kitchen staff. “More food! I do not care what you make, just make it fast!”
Torba the Hungry then held the kitchen door open for Fred and Jeanine.
Her eyes narrowed. She nodded, a gesture nearly imperceptible from the tray that tilted her head to the side, then she stepped out of the kitchen and into the restaurant proper.
Fred followed her.
The restaurant catered to Micovi’s rich and famous. Real wood tables and fixtures, crysteel chandeliers that softly blazed with embedded, multicolored plasma, tasteful table cloths and dozens of other delicate touches made this the place to be, but that night only a single, round table showed any activity.
At that table sat the black-furred Quyth Leader responsible for all of this, Gredok the Splithead. Fred fought down the stab of fear at being so close to the gangster. There was a job to be done, and he’d see it through.
Quentin’s fake father sat on Gredok’s left, then Quentin, then the thick form of Ju Tweedy, then Ju’s brother, John. All four Humans wore suits. Gredok wore so much jewelry Fred wondered if he could walk on his own without assistance.
And around the room stood six sentients — Gredok’s bodyguards. The big, solid Quyth Warriors Virak the Mean and Choto the Bright, who doubled as linebackers for the Krakens. A Ki Fred had never seen before, a HeavyKi that had to weigh close to a thousand pounds, a fully robed Sklorno female, and — dammit — Bobby Brobst.
They were there to celebrate Ionath’s win over the Wabash Wolfpack, something Gredok’s team hadn’t been able to do for fifteen years. Gredok had rented the entire restaurant so as not to be bothered.
Quentin raised a glass.
He looks so happy. I almost hate to do this to him, but he needs to know the truth.
“This is just the beginning,” Quentin said. “Beating the Wolfpack showed the galaxy that we are for real. We have a great squad, and we owe that to our owner.” He looked at Gredok. “Sir, you have done whatever it took to field a championship-caliber team. For that, I say I am happy to be part of it. And personally, you have done more for me than I can say. I look forward to a decade of greatness.”
Quentin lifted his glass higher, then drank. The others at the table followed suit.
Fred set his tray on a stand near the table, freeing his hands. Jeanine did the same.
It was almost game time.
The phony Cillian Carbonaro set his glass down and leaned back. “Wow, Gredok, thank you for this.”
&nbs
p; “A trivial gesture,” the Leader said. “Your offspring’s performance was of such a high caliber, I only wish I had more of his family with which to celebrate.”
Here we go...
Jeanine seemed to sense the moment. She quickly walked over to stand next to him.
Fred faced the table. “I’ve got you covered on that one, Gredok.”
All heads turned to look at him. There was no recognition in their eyes, save for Gredok. Fred felt a chill wash through him as the single, softball-sized eye narrowed in recognition.
“Gonzaga,” the leader said.
That word resonated with Quentin. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he saw through the disguise. On the other side of the room, Bobby Brobst smiled a smile of evil. His hand slid inside his jacket. The other guards also slowly reached for hidden weapons.
Fred again looked at the bejeweled leader. “You recognize me, Gredok? You’ve got a good eye.”
“It’s the smell, actually,” Gredok said. “Pungent and offensive, as always.”
“I would have bathed for the occasion, but I was in a bit of a hurry.”
“Perhaps because you were late from visiting your psychiatrist,” Gredok said. “For only mental deficiency could explain why you would dare to show your face in front of me anywhere, let alone at a private function to which you were not invited.”
Fred waited a brief moment, waited to see if Jeanine would turn and quietly walk away. She could still get out of this and no one would be the wiser.
But Jeanine Carbonaro stood firm.
Fred smiled. “But Gredok, you invited family.” He looked at Quentin, then at Cillian. “See? Isn’t that the father you found for Quentin?”
Quentin noticed that Cillian was stirring in his seat, acting nervous.
“Dad, it’s okay,” Quentin said. “Fred won’t hurt us. He’s just got some business with Gredok. Let them work it out.”
“Wrong,” Fred said. “This business involves all of us. Cillian included.”
Gredok’s eye swirled with curls of black. His fur fluffed slightly, then lay flat. In his head, Fred reviewed the restaurant’s various exits. It was anyone’s guess if he’d make it out of here alive.
