Mia chuckled, a soft, dry, sardonic sound. “Yep. We might lose our jobs over this one. I’m guessing that has occurred to you too.”
“Of course,” he replied. “But hey, I used to change oil. People’s cars always need maintenance. It’s a stable industry.”
“And I waited tables in college,” she added. “We will survive, and we’ll know we did the right thing.”
An hour later, the piece was finished. Doug combined the two sections and did a once-over to correct any inconsistencies, then sent his revision to Mia so she could do the same, and the story was finished.
Ms. Angel asked Mr. Lopez, “Turn it in? No turning back once I hit Send.”
“Do it,” said Doug.
Her finger descended on the Enter key, and the click seemed to echo in the room. She took a deep breath. “Just the facts, and some basic analysis. We tell people what happened, try to elucidate likely possibilities for why Motorcycle Man is hiding his or her identity, and that’s it. Not a smear or a puff piece. That is the opposite of what we’re supposed to do.”
Doug nodded. “We’ll toast to that again later, preferably over something alcoholic instead of caffeinated.”
They sat waiting for confirmation that the story had been received, and a jittery tension rose in both of them and in the air between them until it became palpable. Lopez imagined a SWAT team breaking down the door of their office at any minute, shining lights in their eyes despite the room being bright, pointing guns, and ordering them to assume undignified positions on the floor.
But nothing happened.
“Huh,” Mia quipped. “I’m a little disappointed that nobody launched a tear gas canister in here yet.”
Doug laughed. “Same. It turns out that losing your job for standing up to the FBI is actually pretty boring and time-consuming. Maybe we should do a story about that.”
Mia shut down her laptop and stood. “You might be on to something, but later. I think it’s about time for us to go home. After we get steaks and overpriced margaritas, that is. If we get fired, who knows when we’ll be able to splurge on dinner again, so we might as well do it this one last time.”
Doug powered down his desktop and offered her his arm. “Your logic is impeccable. Let’s go.”
Since Kera had opened on her shift, she wasn’t closing that night. She stuck her head into Cevin’s office on the way out.
“Bye, Cevin, see you soon.”
He gave a wave but didn’t turn around.
Kera considered him. “By the way…”
Cevin sighed and turned around. “What?” Kera could tell he was trying to make himself look less embarrassed after his failed pickup attempt.
“You are going to wear that shirt,” Kera told him.
Cevin sighed again. “Look, you’re all very nice girls, and I appreciate that you want to help, but getting turned into a punching bag isn’t my idea of a good time.”
“Uh-huh. So, you’re telling me you never want a relationship?”
“When did I say that?” Cevin protested.
“You said you don’t want to get turned into a punching bag.” Kera shrugged. “Dating sucks, man. You’re going to get shot down a lot. You’ll also shoot down some people, and it’ll suck for them. Like, that’s just how it goes. If you want to go out with someone, you’re going to have to go through this bit.”
Cevin glowered at her.
“You’re also going to have to do something about your wardrobe,” Kera said. “Try a new look! I’m doing it. Join me.”
“I don’t think the eye makeup would look as good on me,” Cevin quipped.
“Then you’d better try the shirt, hadn’t you? Or so help me, we’ll put makeup all over you.” She gave him a mock glare and headed out. “I’ll have the shirt soon!”
Cevin didn’t respond, but she could picture him glowering.
The night was young by her standards, and Kera knew just how she wanted to spend it, especially now that her shift had put her in a better mood. She revved Zee and headed to one of her favorite twenty-four-hour drive-throughs, then sat in the parking lot and demolished her burrito while she got ready to do the scrying spell.
The man she had tagged last night with a tracker had clearly believed it was better not to go against her one-on-one—which, to be fair, he was correct about. If Kera could get him alone when his team wasn’t there and the police weren’t coming, she figured she had a pretty good shot of getting information out of him.
Plus, if she could scare him into believing she was going to take out whoever had hired him, he might spread the word and get some of their contractors to drop the job.
Once she had dealt with whoever her nemesis was, she could deal with the long-term plan of being Motorcycle Man without being assassinated or unmasked.
She wiped her hands, threw the napkin into the nearby trash can, and took a deep breath before slipping into a scrying trance. This time, perhaps because she was scrying for a specific person with a specific magical tag, it was much easier to locate him. He was north of her, perhaps in Chinatown, perhaps beyond.
Kera looked around to see if anyone was watching, then made a quick change to Zee’s appearance, giving him blue accents and changing the look of her coat. The best way to sneak up on this person was to make them think she wasn’t Motorcycle Man, and everyone knew Motorcycle Man wore all black and drove an all-black bike.
She started the bike and headed off. As she drove, she kept checking her spells, making sure her engine’s sound was dampened and her glamours were in place.
There was a way to maintain an active scrying trance while moving, but Kera didn’t have the hang of it. She kept having to stop to see if she was going in the correct direction. At the very least, she was able to determine as she got closer, and finally she found herself outside an apartment building on the eastern side of Chinatown.
She found an out-of-the-way nook to stash Zee in, then set off to find an alley that would lead her to the back door of the building. Once she found it, getting the door open wasn’t difficult—a deadbolt she could nudge with magic—and she was able to slip up the stairs.
It didn’t take her long to figure out which apartment was his, after which she lingered in the hall to see if there were any sounds within.
She could hear a TV, but otherwise, nothing—no shifting around, no talking. Most people, after all, would be asleep.
Kera readied herself, unlocked the door, and pushed it open to see the man passed out on the couch, some action movie playing on the TV. She closed the door behind her and locked it, then took the time to check if anyone else was in the apartment.
No one was.
Perfect. She took a moment to pick her angle of approach. As quickly as she could, she rolled him onto his stomach on the couch and got his hands behind him, securing them with a zip-tie. As he woke up with a yell, she secured his feet.
Then, moving into his line of sight, she made a gesture with one hand and undid the glamour, allowing him to see her as she was—a figure in all black, not the camel-colored riding coat she had appeared to be wearing.
His yell died in his throat.
Kera studied him. He was Vietnamese, of middling height, and slim.
“You know who I am,” Kera said. She kept her voice pitched low as she crouched. “You also know there’s no one here for backup, so let’s chat, shall we?”
He glared at her, but he was smart enough not to spit threats he couldn’t back up.
“You and I both know we don’t have a quarrel with each other,” Kera told him. “You got hired to take me out. I get it. A job’s a job, right? Good money.”
He looked at her warily.
“All I want is to know who hired you,” she told him. “That’s it; that’s all. I want to have a chat with them on my own instead of them sending dozens of you guys at me as cannon fodder. That’s in both our interests, right?”
He looked away for a moment.
“You have something to say?
” Kera asked. She took a moment to listen and make sure no one was sneaking up on her, but there weren’t any sounds.
“How the hell did you find me?” he muttered finally.
“All you need to know is that it worked.” She was getting annoyed. “Help me out here. I don’t want random people getting hurt or worse, just because some bastards decided to assassinate me. I want to go talk to them and ask them what their fucking problem with me is.”
“You’re interfering in all sorts of shit you don’t understand,” the man spat at her. “What do you not get about them coming after you? You don’t get to just come in and tell people how to run their lives.”
“No?” Kera tilted her head. “So, you all get to mug people and shake down businesses and that’s just fine, but no one gets to interfere with you?”
“You sure as hell don’t get to complain about what happens when people take exception to you getting involved.”
She leaned close. “Neither. Do. You.”
He said nothing, just gritted his teeth and looked away.
“I’ll ask again,” Kera said. “Who hired you?” She wasn’t going to say an or else since she wasn’t sure she had it in her to kill someone who couldn’t fight back. She was still having nightmares about Deke Anastidis. This guy might be a jerk, but she didn’t want to get into the escalated conversation of “What are you going to do to me if I don’t cooperate?”
Finally, the man said, “The Startup.”
“The startup what?”
“The group is called the Startup,” he said. He rolled his eyes. “Not one of the big names yet, but they’re coming up.”
“Tell me about them.” There was a memory trying to make its way to the surface, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.
“No one knows much. The leader is some chick, might be Russian. There’s a big ginger dude and a Chicano.”
“That’s all you know about them?”
“They don’t make a big deal of themselves.” He shrugged as well as he could with the zip-ties on his hands. “I mean, they moved in quick. They were getting the other gangs to piss each other off, but those guys weren’t doing much. The Startup has some distribution, and they pay well.”
“I see.” Kera considered. She couldn’t remember pissing off anyone she would have identified as Russian, but she supposed she must have, without researching it. “Tell me about the ginger and the Chicano.”
“Ginger has one of those stupid names, all Swedish or whatever. Chicano…” He shrugged again. “He’s got a pretty sweet Mustang. That’s all I know.”
Kera went still. Now she understood what was going on and got back the memory she’d been trying to uncover. It had been a sign on the wall of a nondescript office building, pointing to a series of vague startup-sounding names in a building where the Mustang-driver had parked. “I see,” she said finally. “Any idea where I could find those two?”
“We met them in Little Tokyo. If they’ve got headquarters, no one knows where they are.”
Kera gauged that he was telling the truth. “Thank you. So, here’s how things are going to go. I’m going to untie you, and I’m going to leave you here. You’re going to think about what I said: when you fuck with people, you don’t get to complain if someone fights back. You spread the word that I don’t really want to hurt anyone. That the Startup is a bunch of cowardly little bitches who are sending people to take me out because I’ve wiped the floor with them a few times now. They’re trying to pay their way out of some shit they started and can’t finish.”
The man frowned but nodded. “And?”
“And, if people make it so I have no choice but to kill them, I’m going to kill them,” Kera said. “Goes for you, goes for anyone else the Startup hires, goes for the Startup. Got it?” She saw he was getting ready to argue. “This isn’t a negotiation. The decision is made. Do not fuck with me. You won’t win.”
She cut off both zip-ties and headed across the room.
“Who are you?” the man asked finally. He had sat up, although slowly, and was rubbing his wrists. “How do you do the shit you do?”
Kera didn’t answer. She just closed the door behind her and headed down the corridor, changing her appearance with another glamour.
The Startup. Those were the people who had shaken down the Mermaid, and they were the ones trying to take her out now. Did they know she was Motorcycle Man? She wasn’t sure, but she knew the man with the Mustang knew about her motorcycle.
The truth was, he’d probably shit himself if he knew the blonde waitress he’d been hitting on was his arch-nemesis.
She grinned. Now she had a name and someone to go after. Although…
“It’d be easier to feel badass,” Kera muttered to herself, “if my fucking pants didn’t keep falling down.”
It was time for another burrito.
Chapter Fifteen
“Fucking what?” Pauline hissed. She slammed her hands on the table.
Sven, who’d had the honor of delivering the bad news, grimaced and cracked his neck. He settled back in his chair.
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Word came in this morning. None of the gangs want to ally with us. It’s not personal. With a couple minor and obvious exceptions, they have no specific reason to hate us or be at war with us. It’s just that—”
Pauline cut him off. “That what? What, Sven? Get to the point.” She knew he’d been on the verge of doing so, but she didn’t care. She was angry.
He faked a cough. “They’re saying we used them to go after Motorcycle Man and the LA Witches, and they’re getting slaughtered. That we started this shit, and we’re trying to use them to finish it. Nobody wants to deal with them. They’re acquiring a semi-mythical boogeyman-type reputation on the streets. The biggest fish aren’t scared of them, but they’re taking serious notice. And the medium-sized fish, aka the ones we’re trying to recruit, want nothing to do with them.”
Lia chimed in. “I have heard similar things and can confirm what Sven said. No one wants to risk incurring the Witches’ wrath, at least until the city knows more about who they are and what they’re capable of.”
Pauline turned away to keep from wasting valuable company time by screaming incoherently in unhinged fury. She practiced a couple of relaxation and mental clarity exercises she had learned from various TED Talks and motivational speakers and turned back once she was functional again.
“All right,” she murmured. “We have established that our potential allies are all cowards who don’t understand that calculated risk is an essential component of any successful business. All of them are apparently content to let the Witches and Motorcycle Man walk all over all of us.”
“They knew what they were getting into,” Johnny said. “They don’t get to cry about it now. They took on the job and got paid.”
“Yes,” Pauline said softly. Her nostrils widened and her eyes narrowed, but she wasn’t looking at Johnny. Oddly enough, she seemed less furious than she had been a couple of minutes ago.
Lia started to say something about the progress she had made on her dossier, regardless of the failure of their primary objective, but Pauline motioned for her to shut up. She did, reluctantly.
“This,” their leader went on, her voice calmer, “is ridiculous.” Her tone was still icy. “No one can tell me who those wannabe bitches are, where they’re based, how many of them there are, nothing. And all the other gangs are bending over for them on the basis of rumors and a couple of stupid brawls? It’s absurd.”
She unfolded an arm and pointed it at Johnny. “So far, he’s the only one who has stood up to them. I need more people like Johnny, who are not simply going to roll over and play dead the instant they encounter actual opposition. We were the first people to stand up to them, weren’t we? Therefore, if we finish what we started, it will make us look that much more effective to our competitors and potential partners.”
Johnny’s mouth went slack in amazement, but he closed it, and it began to t
wist itself into a broad but subdued grin.
Lia raised a finger, and when Pauline didn’t object, she spoke. “If no one can figure out where the LA Witches are headquartered or who else might be working for them, it makes sense to be cautious.”
“Yes, yes, cautious.” Pauline’s voice was like acid. “Or—and hear me out—what if we weren’t cowardly little bitches about this?”
She glared around the room. Lia sat frozen, and Sven was looking away.
“We’re going to continue with the main plan,” Pauline said. “And by that, I mean annihilating Motorcycle Man and his little harem of uppity gangster chicks, or whatever they are.”
“We already tried annihilating him, and it didn’t work,” Sven pointed out. “The usual methods don’t seem to be effective.”
“Well,” Pauline snapped, her temper flaring up again, “you need to figure out a way to make them work or pursue new and improved methods. Johnny will take point in planning the operation since apparently he’s the only one of you who isn’t a little bitch.”
Lia’s face flushed with hurt, and Sven’s took on a curdled expression as though he had indigestion.
Johnny, on the other hand, grinned even wider.
Mrs. Kim pointed at the dummy’s left leg. “You must kick it just so. When he kicks toward your head high, you kick his leg low. Make him fall.”
Kera inhaled. The concept wasn’t hard to grasp, thanks to her training in Shotokan karate, and her opponent was a dummy rather than a living, breathing, potentially dangerous human being.
Mrs. Kim was proving to be an extremely strict and demanding teacher, putting Kera through a gauntlet of tests and demanding vast numbers of repetitions until Kera’s form was perfect. The woman’s somewhat limited English made it difficult for her to explain things in detail.
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