Daisy squeezed his hand tighter, raising her brows. Starr clenched his teeth, the scar on his cheek twitching. Whatever Oleg’s plot, it keys on the trunk.
FIFTEEN
Get Ready, Get Set…
Oleg stood back from the podium, acquiescing to Ms. Lloyd. “The bidding will start in fifteen minutes.” She fled the stage as if expecting Oleg to breathe fire next. His minions took up sentinel positions around the stage allowing careful access to the weapons while keeping prying eyes away from the trunk. Starr stood to usher Daisy toward the exit.
“Mr. Starr.” It was Oleg. “I see you choose allegiance poorly. Shame, I hoped you would not be moth to flame like so many others.” He gestured to the people surrounding them. “You should keep distance from filthy company.” He winked at Daisy, his waxed mustache twitching. “Young Miss Lickter withstanding.”
Starr stood between Oleg and Daisy. “Why do this?” He swallowed his nervous desire to put a bullet in the professor’s head.
Oleg shrugged. “I am inventor.”
“No.” Starr leaned forward. “All this. What does any of this have to do with your shattered dreams, your homeland, your family?”
Oleg stared at him through suddenly tired eyes. “If you do not know answer, then you are not man I thought you were.” Again he glanced at Daisy. “Is all about family.” Standing on tiptoes, he spoke directly into Starr’s ear. “You survive gambit. Welcome to middlegame. But be careful, Mr. Starr. Rules change when objective not to protect king. Sometimes moon can become sun.” He spun, returning to the stage in a few quick bounds.
Starr tried to focus on Oleg’s words. What exactly had he said? Gambit and middlegame were chess terms. But all Starr could think of was how the Ukrainian’s breath had smelled of sausage, and how he had winked at Daisy. She yanked his arm.
“James? What’s he up to?”
He looked into her brown eyes. “I don’t know, but it starts now. Come on.” He dropped the polite act and made for the exit, shoving past wealthy strangers bristling with lust.
“What are we going to do?” She emphasized the word, ‘we.’
“You’re going to find your father and tell him it’s going down.”
“Oh, am I? And what should I tell him? Oleg’s diabolical plan is to burn bunnies, and Senator Starr has gotten himself into a sweaty mess?”
“I don’t know his plan just yet, but you shouldn’t be here.”
“Oh, so that’s it.” She stamped her foot. “The eye candy should go back to her room while the men duke it out.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you meant.” She rolled her eyes.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Really? Alright Senator Starr, pop quiz. Why exactly was it acceptable for me to remain by your side up to this point?” Starr hesitated, unsure of the waters he was treading. “I need an answer, not a speech.”
“We were working the crowd.”
“That’s what you were doing. What was I doing? Last chance, Senator.”
“Helping me. You were helping me!” He tossed his hands up in exasperation, realizing they were drawing a crowd.
“I was your diversion, some help. And now that you’ve gathered your intel, I’m of no further use.” she shook her head. “Admit it, you’re like all the rest. Worse, because you made me think you weren’t. I’m not going to come out of my closet only when it’s convenient for you.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“Like hell it isn’t.” She was about to blow, and he leaned closer in an unsuccessful attempt to sooth her. “I bet you stood in front of the mirror this morning posing with your new pistol, imagining what it would be like to shoot the bad guy and save the girl.” He tried to shush her, but she shoved him away. “Well guess what, bub. Shooting bad guys isn’t all its cracked up to be, and this girl doesn’t need to be saved.”
“Daisy, please.” The auction was about to resume. The scar on his face jumped.
“So until you’re willing to share your life with a woman, and not just own one, get to the back of the line.” She turned to go.
He said the only thing he could think of at the moment. “Just find your father.”
“Yeah, yeah. Will do, Senator.” She stooped to remove her shoes before descending down the lavish lobby stairs toward the first floor.
Great. He had intended to get rid of her for the remainder of the auction, not the rest of his life. But her emotional outburst was proof in point, and it wasn’t helping. Why did she insist on being so damn difficult? It wasn’t like he had some detailed plan involving a role for everyone. He needed to improvise.
He stilled his mind and focused on the task at hand. He’d apologize to Daisy later. Oleg said something about the rules changing. Perfect. Never could remember the rules anyhow. With a final deep breath he entered the ballroom, the cold barrel of his .38 poking through the holster and rubbing against his ribs.
The fifteen minute interim ended as he made his way back to the front table, disturbing those around him like a rooster in a henhouse. Huddling over ledgers, the crowd grew tense and paranoid as they sketched out strategies for running up the bidding against key rivals, avoiding the losing end of a bidding war and how much of their reserve to focus on the mystery trunk.
Despite Daisy’s empty seat at the table creating an uneasy feeling in his gut, Starr concerned himself with one thing, forgetting the rules.
~~~
The auctioneer clapped his gavel and the bidding began. Within minutes all rights to the gas-powered lithium gun had gone to a financier from the Panhandle for $268,000. Starr kept his eyes on Oleg and his student soldiers. Not once did they flash a gesture or even attempt to communicate. Oleander spent most of the time studying the patterns in the marble column in front of her.
Without a break the bidding progressed to the suppressor. Certainly not the first of its kind, Starr gathered it was the smallest. A businessman from Louisiana had been impressed enough to pay $170,000.
As the bidding began for the incendiary shotgun, Starr’s gaze fell on the trunk. If only he could figure what it contained. It took the two students to carry it in, but they hadn’t strained under its weight, and he assumed they’d carried it up the stairs. He studied the case. The one side had consisted of thick steel plating, but the rest was wood.
The auctioneer slammed his gavel, finalizing the sale with the bid of $325,000. All that remained was the nitrogen arc beam and the spray can—the spray can of ether. The can sat at Oleander’s feet at the base of the trunk. Currently she stood, stretched and moved away, taking an empty seat at the edge of the crowd. No one noticed.
Oleg warned him not to be a moth to flame, mesmerized by the spectacle like all the rest. The stage, the weapons, the trunk. But what was in it? Ether? The arc light was a prop, a fancy gizmo, not a real weapon. So why even bring it? You could light a bunny on fire a hundred less complicated ways. But the ether.
Oleg sat behind the stage in front of a large window facing Congress Avenue and the Scarborough building across the way—a tiny man wearing a smug smile. He locked eyes with Starr as the final gavel fell.
“Sold to bidder 76 for $98,000.”
Oleg rose, paralyzing Starr with his gaze. He strode toward the stage with an agile speed, quick but not sudden. He gripped the stock of the shotgun, levering a shell into the chamber. Starr’s eyes swam, the action of the 12-gage snapping him from his trance. Before he could reach inside his jacket to draw his .38, Oleg pulled the trigger. Fwump. A suppressed incendiary round shook the side of the trunk, sparkling and burning into the wood.
Too late, Starr tipped his chair and charged the stage. Pulling the trigger, his first shot missed wide, spider-webbing the window.
“Starr!” Ms. Lloyd’s voice rose over the din of alarm sparking between the wealthy like static electricity.
Diving in retreat, Oleg shattered the window entirely with another round from the shotgun. Ricocheting bullets o
ff the marble tile, Starr tried to track Oleg’s movements, but the lithe old man rolled and came up firing. Starr managed to duck behind a column, leaving the slack-jawed southerner to take the brunt of the shell. The man clutched his chest while his clothing ignited.
“Get out! Get everyone out!” Starr bellowed, his voice echoing across the ballroom. Crackling sodium dripped and popped from the southerner as he flailed onto the table where the table cloth and wine exploded into flame. That did the trick. Lust switched to panic as the greedy clawed at each other to escape their own trap.
Starr squeezed off two more rounds before Oleg blasted the table to his right, catching a couple with fragments of burning sodium. Leaving the shelter of the column, Starr dove forward and slid into the base of the stage. Through the shattered wooden trunk he could see a metal tank sparking, the sodium’s chemical reaction seconds from igniting the ether inside.
Laughing, Oleg rose. In a single fluid movement he leapt for the heavy, wall length curtains. Starr bound across the stage in pursuit, firing his last round high. As Oleg disappeared out the window, Starr chucked the pistol, coming closer to striking the professor than with any of the bullets.
Out of time, a loud crack cooked the air. A hot anvil slammed into Starr’s back, thrusting him into full flight through the gaping, second floor window.
~~~
The first time he saw Daisy, he’d been perched at the bar with one foot resting on the brass railing. Starr had an elbow on the mahogany surface, a glass of water in his hand. Despite the fact father and daughter had only a few hundred feet to travel from the Antler Hotel to the attached bar and grill, he’d arrived ahead of them. He turned as they entered.
As much as he remembered about the moment, he couldn’t remember what she’d been wearing. He remembered the way it made him feel. In a word, silly. During his adult life he’d met women he wanted to impress. He’d met a few he knew he couldn’t. Daisy was the first whose presence suggested the practice be irrelevant. She froze as their eyes met for the first time. Her father continued forward until, like a dog hitting the end of its chain, he stopped short, his arm still hooked around hers. The sheriff fumbled with his tie apologetically as she continued her motionless survey of Starr.
He couldn’t look away. Well past convention, she grilled him with her eyes. At first both brows flat, then one raised. Both fell flat again as she pursed her lips before finally smiling and taking a deep breath. Gorgeous, cunning and politely impertinent, and she hadn’t even spoken.
He turned back toward the bar and apologized to the busboy for cutting their conversation on breaking horses short. The teenager seemed to have forgotten they’d been talking at all. After trying to blink away the image Daisy had seared onto his retinas, he winked and nodded while wiping the counter in retreat. Starr recognized the same boyish sentiment in himself.
“Senator Starr.” Lickter advanced with his hand outstretched, a toothpick dangling from his lips as if anticipating the steak that would soon find itself stuck between his teeth. “Nice to see you again.”
“Sheriff Lickter, it’s an honor.” Starr shook his hand bullishly, still giddy from Daisy’s attention. “I don’t often get to grace the insides of a place like this.” He cased the restaurant for a polite second before allowing his eyes to meet hers. She batted her lashes and raised her brows as if unabashedly asking him his opinion of what he saw. He straightened up, tugging the wrinkles from his jacket, and hoped his red neck helped mask his red face.
“Starr, meet my only child—my little girl, Daisy.” She offered her hand. He took it. Squeezed it too hard, never blinking. The touch of her skin made him feel she knew things about him he had yet to discover.
“Miss Lickter.” He nodded without breaking eye contact. “Your father never ceases in highlighting your positive qualities.” He paused. Still she hadn’t spoken. Clearly not a subscriber to conventional scripts for such occasions, she seemed to be waiting to evaluate his talent for improvisation. He released her hand, a twinkle in his eye. My specialty.
SIXTEEN
…Middlegame!
The air felt like hot sand against Starr’s skin, rasping his throat, his eyes, his lungs. Moisture gone, physics and gravity emancipated, he tumbled on the fringes of a gas ball like energy born from a star and cast to earth. His eyes revealed nothing but blistered blobs of orange and yellow—ears ringing, body falling.
Hooking him in mid-air, strong arms clasped around his chest. With a whipping motion the arms jerked him sideways. Transferring his momentum, they slung him spinning into the street on his back. Bouncing his head along the pavement, he skidded to a stop and rolled onto his stomach. Footsteps approached.
“Middlegame, Mr. Starr, has just begun.” A blurry Oleg danced out of sight, laughing as he went.
Starr collapsed, his face pressed against the cold steel of the streetcar railing buried in the road. Vibrations in the railing registered in his subconscious before trickling into his larger awareness. Over the screams of people exiting the Grandview Building, he heard the chugging rhythm of a diesel engine, then the squeal of brakes.
Popping his crusty eyes open, a massive blur swelled in his vision too quickly for comfort.
“Get the hell out of the way!”
He grunted. Heaving upward and kicking with his legs, he somersaulted clear as the thundering vehicle ground to a halt directly over the spot he’d just been.
“Daisy, where’s Daisy?” Lickter jumped down from the streetcar and tugged Starr over his shoulder like a sack of feed.
“Safe. I sent her, to find you.” Starr wheezed, his body jarring with each of Lickter’s long strides.
“In that case, come on. He’s getting away.” Lickter deposited him onto a padded bench and jerked the streetcar into motion. Starr focused his eyes one at time, gradually regaining his vision. “Damn boy, you know how to make an exit. Best fireball swan dive I’ve seen.”
“Where did you—”
“Still you would have cracked your melon if it hadn’t a been for Oleg. He must like you.” Lickter stomped down on the gas.
“But what about everyone—”
“Ms. Lloyd’ll take care of it.”
“The building blew up!”
“Calm down, Chicken Little. The ballroom blew up, not the building.” Lickter maintained his glassy demeanor.
“People died!”
“And Ms. Lloyd has people taking care of it. Oleg’s our responsibility.”
“Oleg? So it isn’t about the weapons.” Starr pulled himself up by a pole and looked out the front window where he saw Oleg sprinting down the sidewalk.
“What makes you say that?” Lickter let up on the gas as if trying to keep pace and not overtake.
“The auction’s over.”
“The auction for proprietary technology, the proprietor of which is a wanted criminal. The money’ll probably be frozen and the technology seized as part of a criminal investigation.”
“What?” Starr’s moorings were shifting again. Was that how Ms. Lloyd planned on attacking the competition?
“Unless we find his lab first.” Lickter snatched a canteen from the dash while Starr struggled to grasp something concrete, anything.
“Is this a diesel? And where—”
“Yep. Long story. Here, you look a mite flush.” Lickter tossed him the canteen.
Starr kept his gritty eyes glued to Oleg as he unscrewed the cap. “He just ducked into that building. He’s headed for the tunnels.”
“No problem.” Lickter leaned on the hydraulic brakes while slamming the heel of his hand into another lever, bucking the car onto a side rail and accelerating again. “That’s where I found this thing.”
“You’re headed for that building!”
“Did I forget to tell you it’s armored?”
“What?”
“Yeehaw!” Lickter barreled down a dead-end spur toward a brick wall.
“But—” Starr gripped the pole with both hands as the car
smashed into the wall, shattering the brick with barely a shudder. Amidst skittering fragments Lickter applied the brakes. “The windshield?” Starr had expected the bricks to crash through the glass, but it hadn’t been scratched.
“I know. Wild, ain’t it? Hold on.” He leapt from the car while it was still moving. Suddenly the ground quaked as the streetcar dipped nose down. Lickter jumped back onboard and took the controls. He gave Starr a serious look. “You ready for this?” Starr swallowed. He had hoped to never see the inside of a tunnel again. “I need to know if you’re with me, boy. This is a two man operation.”
“I’ve got questions.”
“I might have answers. We’ll talk on the way. Are you in?” Lickter demanded. Starr nodded. He couldn’t stop now. As they crept underground darkness engulfed them until Lickter ignited two powerful headlights. “Check the map.” He handed him the tattered schematic. “The solid lines combined with the dash are the routes with rails.” He stabbed his finger onto the paper. “We’re right here. I’ll bet Oleg’s gonna head for campus.”
Cutting to the chase, Starr boiled all his loose ends into one question. ”How would it have effected the plan if I had killed Oleg in the ballroom?”
“Which plan?”
“Daisy figured it first—the plan to unburden the competition using Oleg. I mean, are we even chasing him, or just pretending.”
Lickter nodded while watching the headlights glint off the rails in front of them. “That plan. Look, boy—” Starr cleared his throat loudly. “Look, Senator. Off the record, the plan works just as well with Oleg’s dead body, and honestly would be a bit cleaner as far as I’m concerned.”
He’d gone fishing with Daisy’s idea and set the hook, but he still needed to land the fish. G.W. wanted Oleg to destroy the money, but why? She’d just have to replace it. “And on the record?”
“An out of jurisdiction lawman and a sophomore senator, two concerned citizens, saw a need to stop a madman and took it.”
The Austin Job Page 12
