Good Guys

by Steven Brust

  “You never learned the details?”

  “Neither of them would talk about it. And to tell the truth, once we caught them, we didn’t need it. It was a hell of a hunt, Chumpy. Three continents, four teams. They killed nine people before we got to them, and did a lot of other damage. And those were nine tough sons of bitches, too.”

  “Them,” said Donovan. “Who was the other guy?”

  “His name is Charles Leong.”

  “Charlie,” said Donovan. “Motherfucking son of a bitch.”

  “I’m sorry, Chumpy. If I’d told you this before, maybe things would have been different.”

  “I don’t see how. I knew about Leong, I just didn’t know Becker was involved. I don’t see how it plays out if any different if I knew that.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And if it was anyone’s job to tell me, it was Becker’s.”

  After a moment, the old man said, “Maybe so. Or maybe it was his boss’s. I don’t know. Following orders, keeping secrets, doing the right thing. All sorts of decisions, and they’re never easy, Chumpy.”

  “Sometimes they are.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, Grampa. Thanks for the information. I’ll put it to good use.”

  “I know you will, son.”

  Donovan clicked off, then checked the time. Then he placed the call to Susan’s family.

  When Matt returned, Donovan was so engrossed in staring at the mountains of British Columbia that he wasn’t sure how long Matt had been buzzing. He got up, let him in, and returned to the computer. Matt got himself a beer and came over to the kitchen table, sat down.

  Donovan looked up.

  “All right. Enough fucking around. We need to find Charlie,” he said.

  * * *

  Marci showed up around 9:00 AM Eastern. Donovan gave her time to set her crutches against the wall before wrapping her in a hug. It went on a long time. Then she took her crutches again and made her way to the couch.

  “Already walking,” said Donovan. “They do good work.”

  “They tell me I’ll be done with the crutches in a week.”

  Marci and Matt exchanged nods.

  Donovan plugged in his speakers. “All right,” he said. “Matt’s heard a little of this already, but you should both hear the whole thing. Sorry about the sound quality. I recorded it on my cell holding it under the table.”

  He started the recording. When it was done, he said, “That was a little harder to listen to again than I’d expected. I don’t mean the sound quality.”

  Marci nodded. “I’m all cried out for now,” she said.

  “Me too,” said Donovan.

  He got up and paced a little, then sat down again.

  “Anything else?” said Marci. “I need to—I want to dive into this.”

  “Yeah, I know. There’s something else. I talked to your predecessor. He had some info. I’ve been holding off on telling Matt until you were both here.”

  “Okay.”

  He summarized what Grampa had told him, using as few words as possible.

  Then he said, “Any questions?”

  Marci said, “How do we find Charlie?”

  “You should have put a tracker on Nagorski and let him go,” said Matt.

  “First of all, I don’t have a tracker. Second, it’s pointless. Charlie isn’t going to come anywhere near him. Third, the last thing I’m gonna do is let that psycho fuck loose on the world. So, here’s the thing: Charlie’s the one who’s had all the artifacts, controlled them all.”

  “Sure,” said Marci. “That’s been clear all along.”

  “There has to be a way to—hang on,” he finished as his computer informed him of a Skype call. It was Becker. He clicked answer.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Longfellow. This concerns the ‘script’ placed to detect an email from the individual who created the dummy email account.”

  “Who we’re assuming is your old friend, Charles Leong; is that correct, Mr. Becker?”

  Either Becker didn’t react, or Skype concealed his reaction to Donovan’s your old friend. “That is correct. Half an hour ago, we received what our computer expert called a ‘hit.’”

  “And?”

  “We have just now confirmed the location.”

  “Excellent. Where is he?”

  “A city called Atlanta.”

  “In a state called Georgia?”

  “Yes. Your country, of course.”

  “It’s not my country, Mr. Becker. Can we get any more specific than Atlanta? It’s a big place.”

  “The neighborhood is called Mechanicsville. That is as close as we could get.”

  “Good. That ought to do it. Thank you, Mr. Becker.”

  “Good hunting, Mr. Longfellow.”

  He disconnected, and turned around.

  “Well then,” he said.

  “What now?” said Marci.

  “Now we head to Georgia. Probably fly instead of slipwalk, but I’ll ask Upstairs. Matt? You look like you got something on your mind.”

  Matt nodded. “Yeah, there may be a thing.”

  They both looked at him and waited.

  “I was in Madrid a few days ago,” he said. “And I might have learned something. If I’m right, I may have an idea on how to get the guy who’s behind it all. Let me run it by you.”

  “Is it anything that will make it a bad idea to go to Atlanta?”

  “No.”

  “Then tell us on the plane. I’ll grab my lighter.”

  “Lighter?”

  “Never mind. Let me call in about travel arrangements; may as well save Fenwood from apoplexy.”

  “I didn’t think people got that anymore,” said Matt.

  “Let’s go,” said Marci.

  Marci and Matt stood up. Donovan went to the closet, unlocked it, and took his blackjack, a lighter, a knotnot, and the car keys. He closed the closet and started whistling “Marching Through Georgia,” even though he was pretty sure neither of the others would get it.

  * * *

  Eight hours later, they were in the Atlanta airport, Oversight preferring to pay for three short-notice tickets as opposed to three slipwalks. Donovan wondered if some poor clerk had had to laboriously calculate the costs and come up with a comparison. Probably.

  They waited while Matt picked up his suitcase—a suitcase purchased at the airport, because Matt had firearms, and going back and forth through security to get the bag, bring it back, check it, and return had put Matt in such a foul mood that he hadn’t spoken the entire trip until Donovan pointed out that he had information to share. He told them about his visit to Madrid, and they talked over plans. They had things fairly well figured out when they landed in Atlanta. After collecting Matt’s suitcase, they took a shuttle to a Ramada near Mechanicsville that had a vacancy. The desk clerk looked like she still belonged in school, but she gave the three of them a double-double without comment, though she did purse her lips in disapproval. They must learn that early around here, thought Donovan.

  Once they got to the room, Marci announced that she would use all of the sorcerous power at her disposal to destroy anyone who tried to beat her to the shower. Donovan tossed his suitcase into the corner and collapsed on one of the beds. Matt shrugged, tossed his suitcase next to Donovan’s, and collapsed on the other.

  How they worked it out Donovan didn’t know, because he was asleep before the bathroom door closed.

  He felt better the next morning. He stumbled out of bed while Marci and Matt were still asleep in the other. They were still asleep when he was finished in the bathroom. He looked at them, and tried to decide from how they were sleeping if they’d had sex. He couldn’t tell, but it wasn’t any of his business anyway, except in the vague, general sense that Matt was now sort of on his team and protocol had things to say about it. But Donovan wasn’t about to start paying attention to protocol now of all times.

  He went downstairs to the restaurant and had a long, slow breakfast. They joined him
about halfway through and he still couldn’t tell. He gave himself a firm talking-to for paying so much attention to it.

  “So,” said Matt. “Is there a plan?”

  “Yes,” said Donovan. “Unfortunately, it’s too complicated to actually work. In general, we find him, we take him, we have a big party.”

  “Complicated is bad,” said Matt. “Complicated means everything goes south.”

  Donovan nodded. “I’ve been trying to figure out ways to simplify it. I prepare an email, but don’t send it. Marci prepares a spell, but doesn’t cast it. That’s the tricky part, really: If everything goes down the way I think it will, we’ll need Marci to do two things at once, and neither one is easy.”

  “I know what the obvious one is,” said Marci. “What’s the other?”

  Donovan pulled out the car keys. “This thing needs to penetrate. It needs to get past any protections or defenses, just for a second.”

  Marci twirled a finger in her hair, then stopped and put her hands in her lap as if it required an act of will. “Breaking down a shield is a test of strength, whether it’s a protection against magic or physical attacks.”

  “And?”

  “I’m not confident.”

  “Fuck.”

  She bit her lower lip. “Unless.”

  “Okay,” said Donovan. “I like unless. Let’s go with unless. Unless what?”

  “Unless we can prep the room. I mean, if I can set it up ahead of time, like a thing that just happens, I can spend some time putting extra power into it, like an artifact.”

  Donovan studied her face; there was something she wasn’t saying. “Is there a downside to that?”

  “Well, I’ll need to stuff a lot of power into it. You know what happens when your ability to stuff power into an artifact exceeds your ability to prepare the artifact to contain it?”

  “Let me guess—something not good?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, okay. Um, do the spell thing, but not the too much power thing.”

  “Great plan,” said Marci dryly.

  They fiddled around with the details as Matt and Marci ate. Or, well, Matt ate; Marci sort of picked at her food.

  “So,” said Matt. “Now we’re in the area, and we have a whole plan except how do we find him? We can rent a car and go driving through every neighborhood until we spot him, but that doesn’t sound like such a good idea.”

  “We have his picture,” said Donovan. “There are such places as grocery stores, convenience stores, and gas stations.”

  “Cover story? I mean, just walking up to people and showing his picture will make them suspicious, right?”

  “We won’t need a cover story,” said Marci.

  “Oh, right. Yeah.”

  “Finish your breakfasts,” said Donovan.

  He charged it to the room, which put it in the hands of the Black Hole to deal with, and much joy may it bring Fenwood.

  Donovan secured a rental, which took a couple of hours to arrange and acquire. They settled on a blue Ford Fiesta, because Marci said she hated SUVs, though she hadn’t objected in San Diego or Connecticut. She sat in back as punishment and because she was the smallest. They followed the GPS to the Mechanicsville neighborhood and began checking convenience stores. The clerks acted like it was no big deal seeing Donovan walk in with Matt and Marci, and he realized that it didn’t make him nearly as nervous as he’d been with Marci and Susan, and then immediately felt guilty. Fortunately, it didn’t take long. The fourth one they tried, they walked in, Marci did her Jedi mind trick, and they showed the picture.

  “Oh yeah,” said a fat clerk who looked like he owned the place. “Yeah. That’s Charlie. Lives down the street. I don’t know which house.”

  “Well, damn,” said Matt. “Is it all going to be that easy?”

  “I hope so,” said Donovan. “Now, may I suggest that we all take this opportunity to use this nice man’s restroom? And then maybe buy something, on account of he’s such a great guy?”

  Matt bought a pack of Camel 99’s, Donovan’s old brand, which Matt promised not to smoke in the car, and Marci got a Snickers bar.

  They got back into the car, drove it to the middle of the block, parked, got out, and stood around as if they were having a conversation, all of them scanning the street. Marci did her thing to make them less conspicuous, and they waited.

  “There’s a part of this plan we didn’t talk about.”

  “Well, shit,” said Donovan. “What is it?”

  “When we find him, Marci does something so the guy starts acting drunk, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And we bring him into his own house, right?”

  “Right.”

  “What if someone’s there?”

  “That’s why we have you, big guy.”

  They sat in the car, and Donovan composed the email, just waiting to press send.

  At 6:47 in the evening, Charles Leong came out of his house, almost square in front of them, and set off down the street toward the convenience store.

  “All right,” said Donovan, trying to sound as if his heart weren’t suddenly hammering. “Let’s take him.”

  17

  BEST WE CAN DO

  It was a small house, two-bedroom, one-bath, built in the fifties. There was no one else there, so that was good. Charles Leong was on a plain wooden chair at his kitchen table, with Donovan and Matt. The back door opened to the kitchen. Marci was working. She muttered under her breath as she ran her finger across the casting above the door, back and forth. At first Donovan thought she was muttering a spell, but eventually he realized it was something on the order of, “Goddammit, don’t fuck this up. How did that go? Shit, forgot that part,” and so on. Matt and Donovan sat at the kitchen table with their guest, who wasn’t so much conscious just then.

  “All right,” said Marci. “I think I got it. Time to do the other one.”

  She wasn’t terribly good with her crutches, but she managed not to fall over. A few minutes later she was back. “All done,” she said. “I hope.” She looked exhausted.

  “You got this?” said Donovan.

  “I got it,” said Marci.

  “Okay. Then we ready to start the show?”

  “Yes,” said Marci. Matt nodded.

  “Okay,” said Donovan. “Snap him out of it.”

  Marci touched his forehead, then sat down. Charles Leong woke up, shook his head, tried to move, failed. Donovan opened up his cell phone and sent the email. He nodded to Marci and Matt. “Done,” he said, and put his phone away.

  Then he turned to Leong. “S.R.P. Sensitivity Removal Protocol. God, these people love their acronyms, don’t they? It’s like their dream is to be as corporate as they can manage. I mean, seriously. Sensitivity Removal Protocol. What the fuck.”

  Leong focused on him and said, “I hope you aren’t planning to threaten me with that, because it’s too late.”

  “I know. Usually, when people do the sorts of things you did, and that happens, we’re done with them. But you managed to continue to be a nuisance. So, good job on that, anyway.”

  “Thanks?”

  “My friend Susan was killed in all of this.”

  “I didn’t know her. But I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Marci, let him loose. It looks uncomfortable sitting like that.”

  She gestured at him, and he relaxed. “Thank you.”

  “Charlie, how do you live like this?”

  “I own a chain of Laundromats. That part of what I told Becker was true.”

  “That’s why you live on frozen pizza, Hot Pockets, and Diet Coke?”

  “It’s a small chain.”

  “A good computer, though. Impressive. We’ll be taking that with us, I’m afraid.”

  “Yeah, I figured.”

  “We going to find anything on it?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll see. My uncle—he used
to be a fed—taught me that torture is one of the worst ways to get information, ‘Reliable intel,’ I think he called it.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that.”

  “But, God, Charlie. You have no idea how bad I want to test that.”

  Leong didn’t reply.

  “What are the chances that you’ll make it easy for me, and just tell me who you’re working with inside the Foundation?”

  “Not very good, I’m afraid,” said Leong.

  Matt cracked his knuckles.

  “Want a Coke?” said Donovan.

  “Sure.”

  Matt opened the refrigerator and pulled one out, then looked around, opening cabinets. “Doritos,” he said. “Want some?”

  “Not just now. Is this how you work? You’re going to be nice to me until I decide to tell you what you want to know?”

  “It works sometimes. Usually when the person doesn’t have any good reason not to talk. Or when I can come up with some clever way of tricking it out of him. I don’t think either of those are going to happen here.”

  “What is, do you think?”

  “Well, we’re going to chill a bit, then we’re going to put a spell on you that will make you realize everything you’ve done is wrong and fill you with the desire to be a good person, and then, of course, you’ll be happy to talk.”

  “Think that’ll work?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ll see. I thought the Foundation didn’t approve of that sort of thing.”

  “It’s kind of hard to know where to place the line,” said Marci. “Some things are one hundred percent verboten. Others, like making someone trust you long enough to get past him into a building, are fine, as long as he isn’t going to get in trouble for it. Other things are in between. It usually has to do with long-term consequences to the person you do it to, and how desperate you are.”

  “You guys desperate?”

  “Yeah, kinda,” said Donovan.

  “Whatever the spell is, if it’s mental it’s going to be a test of wills. I don’t think it’ll work.”

  “As you said, we’ll see. But look, tell me one thing. Why did you do it?”