by Mark Henwick
“Awesome!” Now she looked pleased and nervous at the same time. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later. When people give you a good luck charm, you wear it and later they try to explain any good luck that happened to you was due to the charm. This isn’t like that, is it?”
“No. It’s real, but…” she cleared her throat. “But you’ve got to talk to Ma about it. I’m not supposed to say anything. I’m sorry.”
“Okay. Please tell Mary I do need to talk to her. I still need to thank her for it. And the food on Wednesday, which was damn good.” I picked the bracelet up and put it back on. Whatever else it was, it was pretty too. “You do this stuff too?”
“A little. I’m not—”
I stopped her. “I understand. I’ll wait to talk to Mary. Now, I’ve got to get back to these spreadsheets.” I waved her off. “There’s a package on your desk that I need to go by courier this morning. It’s all addressed.” It was the samples from Silver Hills for the colonel. I would need to call him about it as well.
“You look tired, Amber,” she said as she went off.
I grunted. “I’ll get to sleep in tomorrow,” I said. As if.
I made good progress on the financial files. It wasn’t so much that there was fraud, as far as I could see, as the company was overextending itself. Not unusual, but not the profile I expected from Jen’s description of her strategy. There was something that didn’t feel right in the numbers, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
The cell bleeped, and I answered. “Hi, Mom!”
“Amber, you didn’t tell me you’d moved. I stopped in at the old office and they told me you’re down near the college now.”
“Yes, we moved yesterday. The landlord needed the old storeroom, I guess, and Tullah found a better place for us here.” I didn’t want to tell her the whole story and have her upset.
“Oh. Okay. It doesn’t matter. I was just calling to get you here for lunch on Sunday.”
“That would be great, Mom. Twelve-thirty?”
“Yes, that’s good. Is there someone you’d like to bring with you?”
I screwed my eyes tight shut. Maybe I could get David to act the part of a boyfriend. No, that would only make it worse. “No, Mom, no one special at the moment.”
She made her usual disappointed noises. I said I was busy, so she let me go.
Tullah was standing at my desk with a special delivery envelope. I opened it with a feeling that this couldn’t be good. Tullah sensed it too and stayed to watch.
It was from a William Davies, partner at Weissman Porter LLP, one of the top law firms in Denver. I skimmed it. It started: We act on behalf of Mr. Campbell Carter, Chief Executive Officer of Centennial State Crate & Freight Incorporated (“our Client”), in relation to a contract between…
Crap. He’d convinced his lawyers to start a civil suit against me. There was no way that a court would agree with him and no point in him trying to chase me for damages, even if I didn’t argue the case. It was pure spite. He wanted to put me out of business, create the maximum amount of disruption for me and make good on his threat to prevent me from ever working in Denver again.
I tossed it in a drawer. “Don’t sweat it, Tullah, he’s bluffing. Anyway, it’s me he’s after, not you.”
“It’s us, Amber, like you said yesterday.”
I gave her a smile. “That I did. Okay, it’s us. Still, don’t sweat it. I’ll handle this.”
Tullah went to college before lunch, quieter than I had seen her for some time.
I put Jen’s spreadsheets aside. I knew where I needed to go next on that side of things, and there were other tasks I had for today.
I called Colonel Laine. He answered immediately, as always. Sometime, I was going to call him in the middle of the night just to see how quickly he would pick up.
“Sergeant?”
“Colonel, I have a couple of things for you. Are you okay to talk?”
“Go ahead,” he replied.
“I’ve sent a package by courier for analysis in the labs. This isn’t anything on vampires.”
“What is it?”
“I’m hoping you’ll tell me. I don’t want to influence the analysis by discussing it.” I couldn’t resist teasing him. He’d see what it was soon enough and I went on before he could respond. “Second thing. I had a talk with a Lieutenant Krantz, of the army pay administration.”
“What on earth do they want?”
“He’s investigating fraud for the army and the VA. He tells me I was never in the army and therefore any disability compensation I’m paid is being claimed fraudulently.”
Colonel Laine didn’t swear, but the silence was angry.
“I apologize, Sergeant. I’ll deal with this immediately,” he said eventually, in a tight voice. “But you realize that there will never be a record of your time that he could access.”
“Of course, Colonel. I signed up for that. It’s just…” I hesitated. “It’s being told there is nothing. And the conclusions Krantz was drawing. Kinda hard to take.”
He apologized again and when he signed off, I felt a little better. I was going to need to store that up for the next call, which I was dreading. I had to look the number up. When I thought about what that really meant, I realized it was a bad sign. At least I had her direct number and didn’t need to fight my way through a switchboard.
I knew she’d let it ring for at least three rings. It was her way of saying that she was always busy. I got to four rings and I wondered whether she would just dump me to voicemail. She picked it up on the fifth.
“Hi, Kath.”
“Amber?” She sounded surprised to hear from me. Fair enough—I didn’t call my sister very often and we had drifted apart. We used to be close before I joined the army. Remembering that made me sad. We stumbled past the ‘how are yous’ like strangers, uncomfortable with each other.
“So, what can I do for you?” she said.
“I have a favor to ask.”
“Hmm?” Her voice became wary.
“You’ve read about Crate & Freight?”
“Yes.” I could tell she didn’t want to be having this conversation, but I had taken it this far, I felt I might as well finish.
“I was working for Carter at the time. He thought it was just drivers skimming. I found evidence of drug running and I called in the police. He’s suing me because of the disruption. I was wondering—”
“Look, Amber.” She stopped me. “If you reported a felony to the police, he’s got nothing, even if you didn’t have a contract with him. For that matter, even if you had a contract with him that said you wouldn’t talk to the police, it could be put aside by the court. There’s nothing he can do.” She paused a moment and I was about to leap back in when she said, “But I can’t help you on this case, it’s just too busy here.”
“Oh.”
“Amber, I really have to go. Call me and tell me how it goes. Bye.”
I managed to say goodbye in response and was left holding the dial tone.
Well, there was no one to blame but myself if she’d become so distant she didn’t want to help me. Now I’d have to think hard about how I was going to magic up a lawyer for free.
I took a drive around the block to pick up a snack for lunch. It gave me some time to recover and it was a good way to exercise my paranoia and see if anyone was watching the office. There was no one.
When I got back in I pulled out from the safe all the things we had taken after the attack at Silver Hills. The IDs were fake. The credit cards matched the IDs. I couriered them to Morales with a note saying I believed these had been used by ZK members. Let him work them through.
The cash in the wallets I put in an envelope and mailed it to the Volunteers of America organization on Larimer Street. ZK helps the community. Sort of.
For the cell phones, I needed some help and called Jen.
“Jen, have you got a geek who could give me a listing of every number these cell phones ha
ve called and a printout of all the texts? Without switching them on.”
“I’ve got just the person. I’ll send my driver over to pick them up now. Hold on.” She spoke to someone else and then came back. “Are you okay, Amber?”
I tried to pick myself up. It said something that Jen could spot my mood over the phone less than a week after first meeting me. “I’m fine, really. What about you? Did you have a sore head this morning?”
“No, honey, I practice enough. What about tonight? Should I get hold of a banker?”
I laughed. “No, but thanks anyway. I’d rather have a drink just with you, truthfully, but not tonight. I’ll be late. Maybe tomorrow.” Oh God, that’s Saturday night. “If you’re not busy, that is.”
“Me and my shadows out on the town? No. Amber, I know the security is a good idea, but they’re like a burr up my…well, they’re not great for partying. Anyway, it’s a date, tomorrow night. Carmen will cook for us.”
She signed off and I put the phone down, happier, if a little concerned. However well we got along, had I just agreed to a date with my client?
I pushed it all to the side and spent most of the rest of the afternoon trying to find out more about ZK and their climb from biker gang to major criminal organization.
Chapter 20
The warmth had gone out of the day when I parked by the Leung martial arts academy, the Liu Leung Wu Shu Kwan. That’s a hell of a grand name for an old hall, but calling a hall a dojo or a kwan makes it special. I never failed to feel a thrill as I crossed the threshold.
I changed and wandered into the main training area.
It smelled of the oil Master Leung used on the wooden floor. And sweat of course. This was a place of hard physical work. Application. That’s certainly what I was looking for— something cathartic to flush away the frustrations of the day.
Master Leung’s class was assembling. It was formed mainly of guys and girls who’d left work early, with a sprinkling of energetic housewives. Hey, maybe even the odd househusband. Most of them were a bit serious about it all.
I bowed to Master Leung and nodded to the others. I might have some time with him afterwards, but I couldn’t guarantee it. Master Leung was happy that I came in to practice on my own most of the time. I certainly didn’t need his class. All the forms they would be doing I had wired into my muscles. Worse, the class might pair off and do some sparring, which wouldn’t be good for my partner.
My stupid grin turned into a grimace as I reviewed what had just gone through my mind. What the hell was I thinking? This wasn’t the way you approached martial arts. I stopped myself, returned to the front of the class and bowed to them. They bowed back. They didn’t have a clue what was happening or why I did it, but that wasn’t important. I did. It made a difference to me.
As well as being a very pragmatic martial arts instructor, Master Leung was a stickler about respect for others and that was one of the reasons why I studied with him.
I went and knelt in the practice area and tried to clear my mind of the sour arrogance that had filled it. What was going on with me? Why was everything getting to me so much lately? And why was I reacting like that? Was this something to do with the infection? Was it just stress?
No answers came, so I sighed and started stretching. Going through some light exercises seemed to clear me out. My mind engaged with the sensation in my muscles, the feel of a body doing what it was designed to do. I relished these moments.
By the time I was ready for some real work, I was relaxed and limber. I pulled on some light practice saps and squared up with the punch bag. My chi clicked up a notch and I focused.
I got going on straight punches at head level, concentrating on speed and balance, random combinations. Then I fed in body punches, closing with the bag and putting my weight behind them. Sweat sprang up on my forehead and my muscles burned. God, it felt good!
I switched styles: Karate, boxing, Kung Fu, Thai boxing, back again. Step off, side kicks, close in, punch combinations. I was lost in the moment; time blurred.
Somewhere in the pleasant haze of effort a stray thought brushed across my mind. I would put a better combination together if it were Campbell Carter there. Rage flared in my belly; my vision screwed down till I could only see the bag and it had his face. You’ll never get work as an investigator again in this town. My leg snapped out and there was a satisfying thud as I connected with the bag, imagining Carter taking the blow in his side. Three more, hard and fast as I could make them, low and high alternating. Lieutenant Henry freaking Krantz. You never made private, let alone sergeant. I slammed a right-left combination of punches into Krantz, kicked and then closed for a blizzard of jabs and body punches which would leave him shattered. I switched stance and hammered a three-punch combination to his head, finished off with a Karate kiai shout. And then I realized I was visualizing Kathleen’s face on the bag—I can’t help you on this case—and I stopped.
There was a complete and utter silence in the kwan behind me.
My chest was heaving, my hands heavy beside me, rivers of sweat running down my face. The bag was just a bag, for God’s sake. And how could I want to hurt my sister like this?
The touch on my shoulder was very gentle. I swung around. The class was watching me, open-mouthed. Shit, I must have put on quite a show. Unfortunately, of all the wrong things. Some of the looks were just plain scared.
Liu rested his open hand on my chest. His eyes sought out and held mine.
“We have spoken of this, Amber.”
I nodded. It was as much as I could manage.
“There is a terrible anger, inside, here,” he pressed against my chest, “and here.” He put his hand on my stomach. I flinched. “An old anger. It must come out. But this is not the way. This is not the time. And this is not the place.”
“I’m so sorry, Shi Fu.” I bowed, the sweat stinging my eyes. Just sweat. Keep it formal. “I’ve shamed you.”
“No, Amber, you have not.” He smiled. “But Mr. Bag will need some time to recover. Now, go and practice the forms we worked on to promote balance and harmony. In silence.” He turned back to his class. “Strive only for peace and control of the form.” It might have been a general comment, but I knew it was intended for me.
I looked at the floor. “Yes, Shi Fu,” I whispered. If I hadn’t been red-faced from exertion, it would have been from shame. Liu’s art and teaching were all about control and balance, not wild-ass kicking and thumping and screaming. I felt like a complete idiot. The ability to hit something or someone really hard is not such a great skill, and not to be admired in itself, even if it is handy sometimes. Liu said the ability to not hit someone is the true art. And even worse, the thing that Liu couldn’t see—I had been so angry with my sister that I had visualized hurting her.
However it had happened, the anger cleared my mind. I returned to the practice mat and began the forms. For another hour my world comprised movements mirroring the rivers, the seas and clouds. It brought a sense of peace. Tired, sweaty peace.
I left before Master Liu finished the next class. I didn’t want to talk about old angers. Bad things had happened to me, but I had buried them. They were history. None of them should be affecting me like this. And especially I didn’t want him involved if this was a sign that the vampire prions were taking control.
I went back to the office and checked my prion level again. It was still at 0.43, which wasn’t the highest it had ever been, but was still higher than the average over the last year or so. I sat and looked uneasily at the machine for a while. There was nothing I could think of that was causing the rise. Besides becoming a vampire. I packed it away. Maybe the stress of monitoring the prion level so frequently was sending it up.
I would never get guns into the rave, so I left them in the safe and locked up the office.
At the car, I swapped Jen’s beautiful jacket for an old denim one out of the trunk and walked down to the Light Rail station. There was a feeling of being watched, but
I put it down to paranoia. I couldn’t jump at every shadow.
I had a rave to go to.
Chapter 21
I arrived at the rave late enough for it to be pumping. Even outside, I could feel the music through my boots. Trailered generators were lined up down the side of the old mall, running to provide electricity for the event.
I went through the doors and down the steps, and I was in a maelstrom of light and sound. In addition to the spinning lasers and tumbling searchlights, they had a burning wall set up—a huge array of plasma screens, which was providing most of the light to the dance floor. It was running a lava-sim and looked like the mouth of an angry volcano. The opposite wall was a matching array of screens flickering between video captures of the actual dancers on the floor and prerecorded dancers synchronized to the music. I hated that; it had bad associations for me.
I pushed those memories back into the dark and slid along the edge of the area until I had the video screen behind me. I stood and watched the dancers for a while.
The dance floor was roughly split between Shuffle on the left and Tecktonic on the right. Where the styles met in the middle was a heaving mass of bodies just swaying and bouncing in time.
Electric Breath was in full flow. They were two goth girls who took turns sharing the DJ work and stoking the floor with their dance routines. Beat Gear were responsible for the light show. I’d already spotted ZK handling the security. They’d gotten someone to supply drinks from a couple of bars set up at each end.
The crowd mixed goth and hardcore dance types, with a dash of bikers for contrast. The place was packed and everyone seemed to be having a good time. I relaxed and breathed deeply.
Hot bodies, sweat, dope, cigarettes, drink and perfume. A chemical edge that could have been harder drugs. A lot of people enjoying themselves on a Friday night. At some raves, breathing would get you stoned, but this was mainly the hardcore dance crowd. I shifted around the edge. Another time I might have enjoyed myself, but I was a bit strung out, even after the session at the kwan, and itchy with my paranoia. And I wanted to get to bed at a reasonable time. After all the late nights, I felt like a zombie. No, scratch that. I didn’t know what a zombie felt like and I didn’t want to know.
