by Jon F. Merz
"Listerine, Benny?"
He smiled. "Got some company coming by later."
"Not the usual talent, I take it."
He shook his head. "Nope. Got someone special coming by."
"Someone special-?" I grinned. "You dog."
"Great girl. Met her on a chat room."
"She a lingerie model like all the rest of them?"
He pointed a finger at me. "Hey, some of them actually were." He swiveled around and plugged the cell phone into some kind of base unit and waited for it to beep. Then he swung back around to a keyboard and punched a few keys. One of his screens filled with scrolling pages of numbers.
He whistled. "Your boy did a lot of talking on the phone."
"I didn’t think he had the phone all that long."
"Mmm." He punched some keys on another keyboard and watched the results on another screen. "Two months, according to the ol’ database."
I peered closer. "You got the cell phone company’s database up there?"
"Sure. It’s not like they have incredible security. They forget that just because they read the Department of Defense Orange Book, everyone else can, too. And some of us read a helluva lot more than just that." He winked. "I know the guy who helped write it."
"Who bought the phone?"
He typed a few more lines and sat back. "Guy named Alexander Petrov." He looked up at me. "Ring any bells?"
I shook my head. "Wish it did."
He pointed. "Okay, we got all the numbers."
"Can you group the same numbers together with dates and times?"
"Of course."
I watched a half dozen groups pop up onto the screen. "There." I pointed. "Late Saturday night and early Sunday morning."
Benny nodded. "Same number called once at eleven and again at one in the morning. So what?"
I scanned further down and saw it. "And again at three-thirty." I patted him on the shoulder. "Can you trace that back?"
He nodded. In two minutes, one of the giant printers churned out a page with the numbers and backtrace information. "Courtesy of the wonderful phone company."
I looked at him. "You ever get any bills, Benny?"
"What an unusual question, dude." He grinned. "What do you think?"
"I think I’ll look at this printout." I sat down in one of the few chairs Benny kept around the apartment and looked down the list. It didn’t take me long to realize that the same information kept popping up.
Everything led back to Alexander Petrov.
The address was bogus, though. It belonged to the Lenox Hotel down on Beacon Street across from the Boston Public Library in Copley Square.
"Shit."
"What’s wrong?"
"Address is a fake. Nothing concrete I can go on here."
He frowned. "Well, you still got the number."
"Yeah. So what?"
Benny the Phreak put on a disapproving look that reminded me of a school teacher scolding a student. "Call it, dummy."
"Call it?"
"See who answers. Shake ‘em up. Tell them you’re coming for ‘em or something like that. Shit, dude, didn’t they teach you anything in spy school?"
I grinned. For a smelly computer whiz kid geek, Benny the Phreak had a pretty good head on his shoulders.
"Thanks, Benny." I started for the door.
"You forgetting something there, genius?"
I stopped. "Can you bill me?"
"Not the money, idiot." He tossed me Derby’s phone. "Use that one to make the call. That way they can’t trace it back to you, got it?"
I turned the phone over and put it in my pocket. "Yeah, I got it."
"Good, now get outa here, I gotta cook dinner."
"Cook dinner? Benny, you okay?"
"I’m fine. I just happen to like this girl, okay?"
"You never cooked me dinner."
He frowned. "Yeah, well, you don’t look all that good in thigh-highs."
"And she does?"
Benny smiled. "Dude, she looks amazing…"
Chapter Eleven
I like working alone.
Being a Fixer, it goes with the territory. We all operate alone. Out on the edge of our society, cloaked in shadows and doing things that normally don’t get a lot of attention. We excel best when we’re given an assignment and the freedom to do it however we know best. Fixers get results, then we disappear – waiting until we’re called again.
But even though we operate alone, an integral part of our job relies on a network of information. I have my contacts like Larazo and Benny the Phreak who can get me information from a wide variety of sources, especially when it comes to humans.
But there are times when I need information about the vampire world. And that information usually comes from my Control.
Having killed McKinley a few months back deprived me of a valuable source of information. And since there aren’t all that many Fixers and since most Controls are drawn from retired Fixers, replacements aren’t exactly easy to find.
That meant I’d have to rely on myself. Sometimes that’s as much a blessing as it is a curse.
When Alexander Petrov’s name kept popping up on Benny the Phreak’s databases, it concerned me. Mostly because I’ve heard of Alexander Petrov before. Of course, I couldn’t tell Benny that. See, Alexander Petrov isn’t human.
Current lack of information notwithstanding, I knew quite a bit about the guy.
Petrov was a Fixer during one of the toughest times in history, during the Soviet years in Russia. Petrov worked almost exclusively in Moscow but he also ranged into the Urals and other parts of Communist Eastern Europe. It was tough back then because the Communists kept a tighter rein on their societies than the Western World. That meant doing what Fixers do and keeping the Balance protected was a helluva lot tougher over there than it’d been over here, just due to his operational environment.
But Petrov managed it.
Hell, he excelled at it.
When the Berlin Wall came down and the Communists started seeing the writing on the wall, Petrov requested a transfer from the Council. With his record of service, it was granted quickly. Petrov became a Control in Paris. His sector had one of the top performance reviews for five years running.
He dropped out of sight after that, with most official stories painting him as a tired old Fixer who’d opted out of the game for retirement in a small French countryside town near Calais.
But official stories only hold so much water if you know nothing about the people the stories were about. For those of us who knew Petrov, we knew he’d never go into retirement quietly.
I met him once when I was on an assignment in Europe. I had to stop off in Paris for a layover and he insisted on meeting me. According to him, my reputation preceded me and he wanted to meet what he called "the best Fixer in the Western World."
So, after humping planes all day, I dropped into Orly and caught the Metro into Paris. He met me at the local Prefect building, kind of a governmental sublevel in vampire society.
As in most cities across the world, the Council made sure we had some damned nice buildings. The one in Paris was no exception. Graceful archways merged with granite steps in a building just off the Champs d’Elysee.
Under a heavy downpour, Petrov ushered me into a hallway filled with local dignitaries in the vampire world. A massive banquet was underway. Petrov turned to me and smiled.
"When I heard you were gracing us with your presence, I simply couldn’t not have a party."
If I’d had only half of the brain Petrov clearly assumed, I might have fallen for such a stupid ruse. But standing there dripping in jeans and a turtleneck and leather jacket, my mood was sour and my enthusiasm for being exposed as some sort of celebrity was not enthralling one bit.
Instead, I simply smiled and then used my body momentum to maneuver us both into a recessed corner of the hall. There I put my face a few inches from Petrov’s and whispered very articulately.
"Are you trying to b
low my cover you idiot?"
He blanched. Obviously, not operating under the pressure of Communism had dulled his intelligence. "I didn’t mean to do any such thing."
"But you throw a party for me – a Fixer of all things? Half of these people aren’t even supposed to know I – that we – exist at all! And now you’ve gone and not only shown them that we do, but you’ve spotlighted me of all things."
Petrov frowned. "Lawson, are you saying you’re not happy with the party?"
"That is exactly what I am saying, Alexander. This was a dumb thing to do. You know it. I know it. Now, find some other rube you can use to spotlight instead, tell them I’m not who you said I was and let me get the hell out of here."
He might have been a dimwit for arranging the party, but Petrov showed he still had the charm so often vital to our work. Within minutes, the guests were toasting it up to the favor of some young local governor who no doubt needed more friends than I ever wanted.
I disappeared out of the prefect building and hauled ass back to the airport where I got a flight home. As luck would have it, McKinley, my old Control picked me up at Logan and drove me home. He got to hear the entire account and sighed when I finished.
"Some of us knew the change of environment would do him more harm than good."
"He’s lucky I didn’t do him more harm," I said. "I want a report filed."
McKinley shook his head. "Can’t do that. Petrov’s got too much juice."
"Juice?"
"Yeah, pal. Seventy plus years hard service under the Commies can do that for a guy. You can’t just go to the Council and tell them they were wrong about one of their star Fixers. They won’t buy it, first of all."
"Not even from me?"
McKinley grunted. "Sorry pal. You’re good, no doubt, but you got the personality of an old catcher’s mitt that some dog shit on."
"Colorful."
He shot me his trademark slithery smile. "Truth is, the Council digs you about as much as they like hanging out in lumber yards."
"Your analogies need a lot of work, McKinley." But I let the damned thing go. And then Petrov disappeared about two years after that fateful Paris night incident. No one knew where he disappeared to. I didn’t particularly care where the hell he was, just so long as he wasn’t around me any longer.
Now Alexander Petrov was surfacing.
And I didn’t like what I was seeing through my periscope.
Now, sure, I didn’t have much. But I did have a cell phone, a series of calls placed to that cell phone that led back to Petrov, and a trio of humans with Fixer guns. And since all roads right now led back to the man of the hour, he and I were gonna have to have ourselves a chat.
I used Derby’s cell phone and dialed Petrov’s number. It took him ten rings to answer.
"Yes?"
"Alexander Petrov."
"Yes. This is he. Who am I talking to?"
"You once called me the best Fixer in the Western World."
There was a slight pause and then a chuckle. "Lawson?"
"The same."
"My goodness that was years ago when we last met." There was a pause. "Well, it’s nice to hear from you. How ever did you get this number?"
From the sound of the background noise he must have been in a car. "You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. We need to talk, Petrov."
"I’m on a bit of an errand right now. Can it wait?"
"‘Fraid not."
"Pity. What’s it about then?"
"Oh, hell, not all that much. But we could start with you supplying three humans with Fixer guns and sending them on an unsanctioned hit for starters." I took a breath. "That’s a pretty big no-no."
He actually chuckled. "That’s a pretty big accusation, Lawson. You have proof I assume-witnesses, testimonials, that type of thing, yes?"
"The one witness I had is now deceased. A nice neat roll-up job, too. He got head-jobbed out in Roslindale. Must have been earlier today by the smell of him."
"Hmm, that’s a shame."
"Yeah, I was all broken up about it. Fortunately, I don’t need witnesses to do my job. You know that, Petrov."
"I do indeed. Make your point quickly, Lawson. I’m late for dinner."
"What do you want with the kid?"
He laughed again. "Haven’t you figured that out yet? Haven’t you witnessed what he’s capable of?"
"I’ve seen it, yeah. The kid’s special. So what?"
"I’ve been employed to bring that boy to some very powerful people. People who wish to use his power."
"For what?"
"I couldn’t really say, Lawson. Nor would I." He laughed again and it was really starting to annoy the hell out of me. "I must say, though, you’ve made my job a lot easier calling me like this. I had no idea who it was who intervened the other night. I actually thought the little boy might have done the job himself before escaping. Now, though…well, this changes quite a bit."
"Yeah?"
"Indeed. Now I know you have him."
"I wouldn’t try to get him if I were you, Petrov."
"I’m afraid I don’t have any choice. A job is a job, as they say." He paused. "By chance are you still living in Jamaica Plain?"
That was supposed to be classified information. But if he knew that, then there didn’t seem much point in disputing it. "Yep."
"I admire your honesty, Lawson. A lesser man would have attempted to lie."
"I’ve never been a lesser man than you, Petrov."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Tell me, is the boy there now?"
"Knowing me like you do, what do you think?"
"No. I didn’t think you’d leave him alone. Still, he must be with someone. Or do you have him with you now?"
"No."
"No to the first question or the second?"
"Pick one."
"I don’t have time for games. I could make you rich, Lawson. Do you know that? Give him to me and I’ll see to it that you reap a fortune."
"I’m not a big fan of selling little kids, Petrov. And money’s only good if you live to spend it."
"I’d heard you were incorruptible. I’d hoped that might not be true. But I see it is."
"Whoever gave you your information was thorough. Congratulations."
"You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?"
"You bet."
Another pause. "I see you’re using Derby’s old phone. That’s quite a nice trick. I assume you know where the location of Derby’s calls to me?"
"You could assume that."
"I’ve checked out of that hotel. It didn’t quite suit my needs."
"Well, aren’t we in a quid pro quo kind of mood tonight."
"You were honest with me, Lawson. The least I can do is extend you the same courtesy."
"Damned kind of you. Don’t expect it to have any bearing on your final judgment, however."
"I wouldn’t dream of it. But don’t you go expecting any quarter from my side of the table, either."
"Standard rules of the game, Petrov. Be seeing you."
I disconnected and pressed my back further into the leather of the driver’s seat, trying to stretch the lower back muscles. I’d tensed up during the call.
At once a heavy breath shuddered out of me. Making the phone call was probably not the smartest move I’d ever made. I’d disadvantaged myself and Petrov knew it. He had one up on me because he knew where I lived and I had no clue how to find him apart from his cell phone. Even if I had access to triangulation equipment to pinpoint his location, it’d be one helluva pain to set up. And since Benny the Phreak was the only guy I knew capable of it, the money involved would be extreme.
Petrov would try his luck at my place. That much was fairly certain. I’d do the same in his place. And even if I’d told him Jack wasn’t there, he couldn’t afford not to check out the possibility.
That put me into a bit of a quandary. If I couldn’t keep Jack at my place, and Arthur couldn’t keep him at the Council building duri
ng the business hours, I’d need to find some place else to stash the little guy.
And the only obvious choice didn’t make me feel any better.
Chapter Twelve
The prospect of Petrov staking my place out didn’t warm my heart any. And bringing Jack back there would only be putting his life in unnecessary danger.
So I wasn’t in much of a good mood when I rang the bell at Wirek’s place.
To my surprise, he just buzzed us in.
No negotiating through the rusted grill of the outside intercom.
No snarled strings of profanity.
Just a quick click and we were inside.
Surprise nailed me again once we crested the steps and found Wirek waiting for us. He’d cleaned himself up. Showered and obviously shaved, he looked almost normal in jeans and a flannel shirt. He stood back and let us in.
"I was wondering when you’d come back."
"You knew we’d be back?"
He shrugged. "I’d be a fool to claim the alcohol hasn’t dulled my senses somewhat, but it hasn’t killed them all. I can still…sense things on occasion." He looked down at Jack. "Nice to see you again. You must be tired."
Jack’s response was a stifled yawn and a shy grin. Wirek led him to what I assumed was a spare bedroom and reemerged three minutes later.
"Little guy can sleep, huh?"
"His schedule’s been a little off lately. Hit teams and whatnot."
Wirek nodded. "I’d guess. Find anything out?"
"Some. Ever hear of an Alexander Petrov?"
"Should I?"
"Maybe. He worked as a Fixer behind the Iron Curtain back when the Communists were in fashion. As a reward for service under duress he was promoted to Control of Paris. He disappeared a few years back."
"You mean he just vanished?"
"Went to ground, yeah."
"And now he’s resurfaced."
"I spoke with him earlier tonight."
"How’d you manage that?"
"I got his cell phone number. He said he was working for someone else. His job is to get Jack and bring him in. That’s why he subcontracted out to a bunch of humans."
"Plausible deniability."
"Yeah. Except for the guns. He wouldn’t be able to explain that."
