Dakkonin's Grudge

by C A Ardron

  Dingo frowned. ‘The Dakkonin tend to be suspicious, Dove. How are you going to prove to them that Caban’s dirty?’

  She beamed at him and pulled something small out of her trouser pocket. Dingo stared at the small oblong crystal.

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘A Pharollin data crystal,’ Dove told him. ‘They’re not common on Courin, the Pharollin and Unician Orders are really the only people who use them. Caban and his men won’t recognise it for what it is. I can carry it around without anyone realising it’s recording every word they say.’

  Dingo nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, I’ve not even heard of them.’

  ‘It’ll probably be the norm for how we store data before long,’ Falcon commented. ‘They can hold a lot, are hard to break and almost impossible to hack or tamper with.’

  ‘Another reason why I’m using this and not another method,’ Dove replied. ‘The Dakkonin won’t be able to argue the information is inaccurate.’

  ‘When did you want to do this?’ Dingo asked.

  ‘Now,’ Dove responded. ‘I promised Lion I’d get Falcon back for her afternoon shift.’ She looked fondly at the silver warrior. ‘He was kind enough to let me take her along as extra support, but he won’t be pleased if she’s not in the air with Bronze Hawk at noon.’

  Dingo threw Falcon a sly grin, ‘you pulling double-duty too?’

  ‘Yeah, Lion enjoys doing that to me – normally when there’s Sarpiens involved.’

  ‘It’s only because he knows you can handle it, Falcon,’ Dove told her with an arch smile.

  Her words reminded Dingo of something he’d heard recently. Hadn’t Silver Falcon been riling up the Sarpiens? Attacking them? He didn’t know the specifics, but it wasn’t something Predgarians were supposed to do.

  Dingo smiled at the two and led them down the street, deciding not to ask. They needed to stay focused. Anyway, if Falcon really was breaking the rules of conduct he was sure Captain Golden Lion would be doing something about it.

  He cast a side-glance towards Dove. He was a little worried about her going in alone, but between him and Falcon they should be able to keep the healer safe.

  ‘I always forget how small South Sector is,’ Dove murmured as they entered the town square.

  ‘I hear it still rivals West’s nightlife though,’ Falcon told her.

  ‘Yeah, thanks to Caban,’ Dingo added. ‘This whole place would be a lot quieter without him – and Tigermoth’s Sarpiens.’

  Dingo halted them on the northernmost road branching off the old square, the cobbled ground lined with old shops, most of them showing their age with their waxy, peeling paint and rickety windows. He pointed up the road to the interconnecting street. Across the tarmac was their destination.

  ‘Oh, great,’ Falcon muttered, staring at the establishment’s gaudy name glowing in red neon. ‘It’s a strip-club.’

  ‘A night-bar,’ Dingo corrected.

  Falcon threw him a disgusted glance. ‘It’s the same thing.’

  Dingo shrugged. She was right, he wasn’t going to argue.

  ‘Caban’s Lounge will be quiet this early, Falcon,’ Dove assured her. ‘There won’t be any dancers around – just drunkards.’

  Falcon’s smile was amused. ‘Dove, you’re too good for this world.’

  Dove frowned but didn’t ask what she meant. Removing her medallion, she handed it to Dingo.

  Falcon sighed, ‘I don’t like this.’

  ‘I can protect myself without a medallion, Falcon, there’s no need to worry. Anyway, you’ll be there to get me out.’

  Dove strode across the road and disappeared inside the club, Falcon’s scowl following her.

  ‘She trusts you a great deal,’ Dingo commented.

  ‘Yeah,’ Falcon replied, her eyes still glued to the Lounge. ‘Let's hope it's not misplaced.’

  Chapter Three

  Dove paused in the entrance, peering through the inner glass doors before committing fully. She tried to ignore the loud, electronic beeping which passed for modern music. Her eyebrows rose at the amount of people, there were really so many drinking at ten in the morning?

  Dove hadn’t wanted to mislead Falcon, but the woman was sceptical of the plan as it was.

  She had taken part in such overt missions in the past, but not like this. Her training was in politics, not street gangs. Dove hoped the fact Caban considered himself a businessman would be enough for her to keep to her usual tactics.

  Stepping through the inner doors, she didn’t want to delay any longer so weaved between the milling people holding drinks. Her eyes darted about, noting the crimson carpet and round tables.

  Dove caught herself, stopping the sound of disgust coming to her throat as she glanced up towards the balcony. She hadn’t noticed the hung cages before entering the room. There were three and the scantily clad women were dancing enthusiastically to the fast-paced beeping.

  Dove closed her eyes. Falcon, you could’ve told me.

  The only reply was the Avian’s dry chuckle. Dove strode forwards to the long bar on the other side of the room. She found she needed to do little to grab the bartender’s attention.

  ‘What can I do for you, little lady?’

  Dove returned his gross, flirty grin, leaning forwards. When she was mere inches from his face, she let the smile drop. ‘Cobalt.’

  He jerked back at her given password, his face becoming suspicious. He looked her up and down. ‘I don’t recognise you – what do you want?’

  Dove studied her nails, giving her best act of indifference. ‘I’m here with a business proposal for Caban.’ She affected a bored air, turning to glance about the room, ‘but if you’re not going to tell him I’m here, I’ll go back to my employer and tell him I was deeply offended at my reception.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ the bartender rushed, raising his hands. ‘Mr Caban welcomes business. Wait here.’

  Dove watched under guarded lids as the bartender went over to a man stood by the steps to the balcony. She noted his muscled appearance and scarred arms. The burly thug jogged up the carpeted staircase and Dove hoped he was going to inform Caban of her presence.

  The bartender returned, ignoring her now, so Dove tapped her fingers on the bar, keeping up her act of unconcern.

  The thug was not long in returning. Dove watched him as he made quick work of the stairs and strode to her.

  ‘Come with me,’ he told her.

  Dove nodded, ignoring his rough, threatening tone. She let him lead her upstairs and did her best to ignore the caged dancers.

  Glancing around, Dove noticed the upper balconies’ tables and seating arrangements were far more luxurious, and mostly empty. They also gave a much better view of the entertainment. Dove wondered idly how much Caban was making off this first-class area of the club.

  She also wondered if Falcon would know the answer to that. She’d known about the dancers being around this early, after all. Why would Falcon know something like that in the first place though?

  The guard threw open a door in the back. ‘In here.’

  Dove moved past him, levelling her gaze on the man in the small office. She took in his tight, black trousers and blue silk shirt. Dove had heard Caban was of Thirshakalt descent, but it didn’t show in his choice of clothes, his short, well-groomed blond hair and trimmed beard, or his chiselled jawline.

  If anything, his broad shoulders and the cast of his face reminded her of Golden Lion. When Dove met the man’s steely-blue gaze she knew this man was nothing like Lion.

  Caban’s smile was soft and friendly as his hired thug closed the door behind her. Caban pushed off from where he’d been leant against the wooden desk and began to step around her, studying every inch. ‘I understand you have a proposal for me?’

  A foreboding filled Dove, but not at the man’s words. It was a warning, almost like a premonition, but not quite. As Dove tried to track it down, she realised the feeling was emanating from Caban. There was something wrong with him. The sen
sation was vague, she couldn’t pinpoint what it was but couldn’t shake it either.

  Dove swallowed, unable to stop the notion that whatever the feeling was, it was obvious. She felt sure it should’ve been clear as day to someone with her training.

  ‘I do,’ Dove replied, despite her misgivings. ‘I bring a proposal from Danny Sawyer.’

  Caban’s eyebrows lifted a moment before his face twisted in disdain. ‘Sawyer?’ he asked, leaning back against his desk. ‘What could Sawyer have that would interest me? The man’s business might as well be in the ground.’

  Dove let no surprise show on her face, but his words made her nervous. Had she picked a bad name to use? She thought Sawyer had been his biggest rival.

  Dove had no choice but to continue now though. ‘Danny’s heard you’ve made some big deals lately.’

  Caban frowned. ‘You’ll have to be more specific,’ he said after a moment.

  ‘With people in West Sector,’ she prompted.

  ‘Ah,’ Caban replied, his eyes lighting up. ‘You mean my arrangement with the Red Jackal.’ Caban relished the name, smirking at her.

  Dove offered a thin smile, trying to hide her surprise. She hadn’t expected his contact to be Jackal himself. Why would a Sarpien general involve themselves personally? This changed things, Caban’s operation might be bigger than any of them had thought.

  Caban had already given her what she needed though – anything more would just be a bonus.

  Falcon, Dove sent her thoughts out. I need that diversion.

  ‘The word is, you’ve got yourself quite the arsenal,’ she told Caban, trying to stall for time.

  ‘So that’s it? I think this interview is over. It’s a shame, I wouldn’t mind keeping you around. You’re an attractive lady, but protocols, you understand, with you working for Danny and all,’ Caban smirked.

  Dove smiled, ignoring the incipient implication of her demise, and the thug beginning to move behind her. ‘Don’t be so hasty, Caban, everything has a price.’

  The thug’s hand came down on her shoulder. Dove somehow managed to keep the smile on her face. ‘It’s not money Danny’s offering.’

  Caban’s eyes intensified and he raised a hand to halt his hired muscle. ‘Go on.’

  Relief flooded through her that he’d taken the bait. She shrugged the burly man’s hand off her shoulder. She hoped Falcon didn’t take long. ‘MES.’

  Caban stared a moment, standing his full height. ‘Danny has MES?’

  Dove nodded. ‘A great deal of it, Caban, and he’s willing to sell – for the right price.’

  Dove held her breath. The volatile drug used by the Sarpiens had been a high-selling commodity amongst organisations like Caban’s for years. The Sarpiens didn’t let it go cheaply though.

  Dove had ironed out possible stalling tactics beforehand. She’d been dubious about the MES idea Falcon had put forward. The Avian had said MES being sold by someone who wasn’t a Sarpien would be impossible for Caban to ignore. Looking at Caban now, Dove saw she’d been right.

  Caban was still mulling over her words. The door behind Dove opened and she turned a little, noting the panicked thug.

  Dove kept her smile on the inside. That reaction had to be Falcon’s doing.

  ‘Caban, there’s a Sarpien downstairs.’

  Dove glanced back at the handsome club owner. He didn’t seem overly concerned.

  ‘Blue or green?’

  The panting man shook his head, trying to recover his breath, ‘purple.’

  ‘Purple?’ Caban repeated, his voice rising an octave. ‘I’ve never heard of a purple Sarpien before.’

  ‘I haven’t either, but there’s a woman down at the bar with a silver medallion and a purple snake on her arm.’

  Caban swore and glanced at Dove. ‘Wait here,’ he told her. ‘I will negotiate a price with you when I’ve dealt with this.’

  Dove nodded, letting Caban leave with his two thugs. She smiled at the closing door, Dove had no intention of staying long enough to see his return.

  Chapter Four

  Falcon let the polished steel doors of the club swing shut behind her. She glanced through the glass doors in front, glimpsing a few early drinkers, but it didn’t seem anyone had noticed her yet.

  Falcon exhaled, she really didn’t want to do this. Dove was right though, there was nothing that would attract Caban’s attention faster.

  She took off her denim jacket and then removed her leather gloves, stuffing them into one of the jacket’s inside pockets.

  Flinging the jacket over her right shoulder and holding it with one hand, Falcon glanced down at the criss-crossing scars on her right arm before turning attention to the lifeless, empty-eyed purple snake winding down her left.

  The snake’s head, complete with feathery crest, rested on her wrist, its spiked body circling her arm until its tail ended in a simple point on her shoulder.

  Falcon closed her eyes, trying not to think about the last time she’d had to pretend to be a Sarpien. Trying not to just brought it to mind sharper though.

  The damp and musty tunnels of Trine’s domain came back. The unsuspecting potentials and how she’d forced herself to act like…

  ‘A monster,’ she remembered how she’d broken down in front of Lion and Leopard afterwards, not able to stop from shaking.

  Falcon rolled her shoulders in readiness. This time would be different. This time she’d been able to prepare, get used to the idea, and it would only be for a few minutes. Once Dove was out, she could leave.

  Not wasting a moment more, Falcon pushed through the inner doors and into the large seating area.

  Ignoring the irritating music, she glanced around, not bothering to hide her smirk when she saw the dancers hung up in their cages.

  Falcon let her gaze linger on the dancers as she heard the first startled exclamations and people began pointing and backing away.

  Her instincts screamed for her to run. She always hid her snake, too many people knew what it was, what it meant.

  Moving forwards, Falcon let her gaze drift across the room at the frightened people staring at her before giving the medallion hanging at her chest one brief, reassuring glance.

  Forcing an amused smirk to her lips, she met their eyes, making for the bar. Upon reaching it she tossed her jacket on top of the polished surface and turned, resting against it, leaning on her elbows.

  She turned her head as the bartender made a hurried movement behind her. ‘Stiiven Condore,’ she ordered.

  ‘Yes, Ma’am, right away,’ he stammered.

  Falcon didn’t pay him any heed, she couldn’t, such people were beneath Sarpiens. She let her brown-eyed gaze rove across the room once more, pinning individuals with hostile stares.

  The bartender brought the pale, brownish liquid to her in a small glass, placing it on the counter next to her jacket.

  Falcon stared down at it, and then at the man. Her hand shot out, grasping his shirt and dragging him down to her level.

  ‘The bottle, you piece of crap.’

  ‘S-s-sorry,’ his eyes were wide with terror.

  Falcon released her grip, pushing him backwards. She turned back to her inspection of the room with a scowl.

  The bartender hurriedly gave her the bottle and she snatched it from him, taking a long drink.

  The harsh alcohol tingled as it found her taste buds. She’d forgotten how much she liked Stiiven Condore.

  Still savouring the taste, her eyes narrowed as a swaying, drunken man left his seat and stumbled his way to her. Falcon took another swig from her bottle and met his cloudy stare.

  The man wavered there a moment. ‘You know what I think?’

  Falcon didn’t reply, but as she sneered and looked him up and down she willed him to go away. She didn’t want to hurt this man but needed to stay in character.

  ‘I don’t think you’re a Sarpien. They have eyes…’ he hiccupped, ‘glowing eyes.’

  What were the chances, really? Even drunk,
was this guy serious? She had a medallion in plain sight!

  ‘A dangerous statement for you,’ she drawled, ‘if you happen to be wrong.’

  Falcon was racking her brains on how to get this guy to back off when he growled, lunging for her.

  The Stiiven Condore bottle still in hand, Falcon swerved, jabbing at his stomach with a straight Avian Strike.

  The drunkard doubled over with a groan. Falcon punched him in the back, driving him to his knees.

  She forced another smirk to her lips, leaving him be. That should be enough. As she sauntered back to lean against the bar, she raised the bottle to her lips again.

  Falcon bit off her sigh as the man roared, staggering towards her. Really? She just had time to place her bottle on the counter before he reached her. She weaved into the Sidewinder, tripping him up. Falcon had never been the biggest fan of Reptile, but Coyote had taken her by surprise in practice too often for her to ignore it.

  She twisted into the Spinning Claw, kicking him back before noticing the second man closing the distance between them.

  Falcon froze, poised for her next attack as the tall, scarlet-haired man struck her attacker in the head with a beer bottle.

  For a second she stared at the fallen drunk, shattered glass and beer foam mixing with the seeping blood oozing from the back of his head. It took every ounce of will not to glare at Jackal for killing the man.

  She dragged her gaze up and swallowed, having no choice but to meet the Sarpien general’s mocking, emerald eyes. His hard-planed face broke into a grin and he dropped the remains of the bottle on the floor. Shaking the excess beer off his fingers, he ran a hand through his thick mullet.

  Falcon glanced at the red coin hanging against his dark leather vest and held in her relief upon seeing his much-used black, leather jacket. If his vibrant, green snake had been on show it would’ve given her away instantly.

  Dove, are you out?

  Not yet, Falcon, Caban’s only just left. I need a few more minutes.

  Falcon’s gaze hadn’t left Jackal’s for one moment. She swallowed again, doubting she had that long.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, Goshawk,’ Jackal finally spoke. ‘I got a little held up. Shall we have a drink before we get down to business?’