Sons (Book 2)

by Scott V. Duff

  “Yes, thank you, Seth,” Jimmy responded kindly. Well, to me he was pleasant. To Statham, not so much. He wasn’t out to kill him, so he didn’t swing with all his strength, but he hauled off and hit the man in the chest. Statham flew back, losing every bit of air in his chest and likely skipping a few heartbeats, especially when he slammed into the glass brick wall behind him. He never lost consciousness, a testament to his build and strength. “You should be more polite to Mr. Monroe’s clients in the future,” Jimmy told him as he fought for breath on the floor as we walked past him.

  In the elevator, I put up shields in front of the door and sent out feelers along the hall on the bottom floor before we got there. I remembered my last trip down this elevator and that was spooky enough. There was no magic in the building that I could sense with a quick pass, but the Night Sword would be a far more adept instrument than I, at least right now. We turned down the hall toward unfamiliar territory for me, places I’d only seen in Dillon’s floor plan a week ago. We passed a large, silver walk-in refrigerator door, through a large set of plastic strips leading outside and onto the back loading dock.

  We heard Dillon before we found him.

  “I don’t care if it’s on the list! It’s not on the truck! If it’s not on the truck, I’m not paying you for it,” he yelled from somewhere. Jimmy spotted him first, coming around the side of the truck from the road. He’d paced us in a circle from the opposite direction.

  “Is that him?” Jimmy asked, pointing, while Dillon asked, “Who are you?” from the road, then started for the steps.

  “Dillon!” I called. “Finally, you’re a difficult man to find in here.”

  “Hey, Seth!” Dillon said, smiling as he came up the steps. “Didn’t Corey meet you at the door?”

  “No, someone named Sid, then Statham. I had to sneak into your office and use the cameras to find you,” I explained. “Statham’s not happy with us. He was rude.”

  “Uh-oh,” he said, grinning. “Is he still alive?” Statham appeared in a flurry of plastic strips. “I suppose so. Hard to make a dramatic entrance through that, eh, Perry?”

  Statham snorted arrogantly at Dillon and stalked up to Jimmy, the violence in his body and attitude obvious. “Want to try again, little man?” he growled at Jimmy, heaving out breath on Jimmy’s face. He was back to intimidating.

  “Are you threatening a client, Perry?” Dillon asked sarcastically. “The client? The very client your boss is trying to steal away from me?”

  Jimmy turned away from Statham, grimacing. “Dude, buy some toothpaste, jeeze,” he complained loudly. While it was a fairly innocuous remark—and true, I’d been close enough to know—it really pissed Statham off to hear it. Statham roared in anger and swung. Of course, Jimmy was faster. And so was I. Jimmy punched him once in the gut and once in the face before I got close enough to toss him off the back dock and into the gutter. The truck driver stood at the front of the truck, one foot on the step and the other in the cab, watching the body fly through the air, mouth agape.

  “Huh, I thought you only saw that shit in the movies,” Jimmy muttered with a grin, throwing a thumb at the driver.

  “What? Two guys beatin’ up a third?” I asked, smiling as I straightened my coat and shirt, turning back to Dillon.

  “No, someone stopped in the middle of something with their mouths hanging open,” he said, waving a hand at the driver.

  “Security to the back dock, please,” Dillon said into a walkie-talkie. Then clipping it to his waist, he said, “Well, Seth did just toss the guy about fifty feet. Good news is, the driver won’t be arguing with me anymore.”

  “Is everything on the truck what’s coming with me?” I asked Dillon. He looked like he was about to jump off the dock to go talk to the driver again.

  “Yeah, there are a couple of shortages that he thinks we’ll find when we unload,” Dillon said, stopping and shaking his head.

  “You’re being watched, Dillon,” I said as quietly as I could. “They are in a perfect line of sight from here, three blocks away, north-northeast. They are sitting in a blue sedan against traffic. Interestingly enough, there are two Metro cars watching them. But then there are two sets of cameras aimed at this dock from those two buildings.” I pointed out the simple devices, knowing they were too far away to see from this distance. No point in worrying about them though, so I just fried them. Simple matter of pushing an excessive static charge through a power discharge area that is way too small for it. “Is it because of this or is this just part of it or what?” I asked. “At the moment, you’re safe to answer without fear of being recorded.”

  “At best, I’d say ‘or what’ because I have no idea why I’d be watched by the police,” Dillon said, standing back from the edge and closer to me. “I specifically went through corporate ordering structures to set payment to net thirty in case you needed more next week.”

  “What about him?” I asked, jutting my chin out at Statham, just beginning to stir in the gutter. The echoes of footsteps down the hall behind us foreshadowed the burly security men by seconds. They had the same issue with the plastic strips at the door. A second set echoed from the road to our left off the buildings facing the bay. “You mentioned something about him trying to steal your clients?” I reminded him. Jimmy interposed himself between the security men and me, waving them down the steps at the prone man. The two from the road skidded to a halt, colliding and rebounding on each other.

  “Now, that is a possibility,” Dillon said, a smile creeping slowly across his face. “And if that’s the case, his boss will take care of him for me.”

  “So we have no problems?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so, no,” Dillon said thoughtfully.

  “But it couldn’t hurt to be cautious,” I said, leading him. He shook his head. “I’ll have the truck unloaded from the inside and verify your manifest while you see to your men.”

  “That works for me, Seth,” he said, handing me the clipboard he held and orienting on the pair turning Statham over. “Corey, what the fuck are you taking orders from that pile a’shit for?” He charged off the dock toward the group of men angrily. I watched for a moment before moving to the truck.

  “Ellorn,” I called through the veil to Gilán as I squatted down behind the truck on the dock. This was a new trick for me, talking and seeing someone on Gilán while I was elsewhere. I wasn’t exactly sure it would work until…

  “Yes, Lord Daybreak?” Ellorn answered. He appeared to be cutting material for clothing.

  “I have another truck, but this one needs to be completely unloaded from the inside and quickly. Do you have enough people available for this?” I asked him.

  “May I use some of the men in the kitchens as part of the caravan?” he asked.

  “Most definitely. It is food for them and they can work for it,” I answered.

  “Where would you open the gate, Lord?” the brownie asked.

  “Inside the truck to inside the kitchens, wherever it would be most convenient for you,” I said. The brownie was asking good questions.

  “Then, yes, Lord Daybreak. A moment to organize, sir,” Ellorn said.

  “Very good, Ellorn,” I said, glancing up at Jimmy. “Smart little guy.”

  “We’re ready, Lord,” Ellorn said merrily, a moment later. He had moved to the kitchens very quickly and had roughly thirty brownies lined up behind him and several men running in their direction.

  I opened the portal between worlds angling and enlarging it to allow for a two-way flow. When Ellorn jumped through, he turned to survey the entirety of the truck’s hold before beginning to direct his fellows.

  “Ellorn, here’s a manifest of what’s supposed to be here,” I told him, holding out the clipboard to him. “Would you verify it against what you take back, please? I don’t think it matters which side of the portal you’re on if you’re more comfortable in the kitchen.”

  “With pleasure, my Lord,” Ellorn squealed happily, taking the clipped st
ack of papers. He chirped and chittered at the portal and three more brownies jumped through. Sitting on a box near the door, Ellorn flipped quickly through all the pages while pulling a huge ball-point pen—compared to him—from his vest. They started throwing boxes through the portal almost immediately.

  I stood and checked on Dillon, letting the brownies work under Ellorn’s supervision. “Would you stay where they can see you, please?” I asked Jimmy, thinking they’d be more comfortable. Shrank was pretty freaked out when he got thrown out alone.

  Dillon was still berating Corey while one guy tried to get Statham to his feet. So far, he’d only made it up to sitting, staring ahead bleary-eyed and panting shallowly. The other two apes gaped without purpose and it seemed that’s all they knew to do. As I walked up, Dillon was ordering Corey back in the building to get the rest of Statham’s goons out here.

  “Seth, we have a problem,” Jimmy said, quite conversationally from the dock, leaning over the side of the truck.

  I moved with purpose back to the dock, meaning I was a little fast. Ellorn stood at the rear of the truck beside six open boxes of various sizes and all with various exterior markings. Four boxes, however, held the same contents—several blocks of grayish-white clay. One box held a large number of small black electronic timers with electrodes extending from the back and the last held six revolvers, each loaded and paired with two additional speed loaders.

  “Gourmet delights,” I said lightly. “Bet that’s nice and tasty with a little garlic butter and shallots. How did you discover this, Ellorn?”

  “Three packages differed from their marked weights, Lord,” Ellorn explained. “When we opened all the boxes and found completely different contents from that listed in these. The steel was particularly disturbing and I notified the First.”

  “Very good, Ellorn, thank you,” I said, glancing back toward the road. “It’s probably going to get violent here now, so you’d better be running along.”

  “Thank you, Lord Daybreak!” the little brownie squealed, bouncing off the side of the truck, then disappearing through the portal.

  Closing the gateway, I picked up one of the blocks of clay then jumped off the dock again, going to the driver’s door this time. Standing on the runner, I tapped on the partially opened glass, startling the man while he watched Dillon glare at Statham. “Come on out and let’s chat,” I said pleasantly, opening the door for him. He gulped visibly and turned on the bench seat to get out slowly. Jimmy and I walked him between us over to Dillon.

  “Whatever have you got there?” Dillon asked, watching me play with the clay.

  Chuckling, I said, “The box said ‘Breakfast Sausages’, but I shan’t be allowing them through, I afraid. They seem a bit off in color, don’t you think?”

  Dillon scoffed, “I’ll say. Murray, what is this shite?” Taking the proffered clipboard from Jimmy, Dillon scanned quickly over the manifest, obviously looking for just the shortages he noted as well as those we found. “There’s over two thousand quid missing from here, Murray! You’re gonna lose your job over this one, mate. Hope it’s worth it.”

  “His job isn’t all he’s worried about at the moment, is it, Murray?” I asked, pinching off a small amount and rolling it up into a rope. “Any one got a light?”

  “’Ere ya’re, gov,” said one of the two remaining security men, handing me a disposable butane lighter. I lit the end of the thin rope and handed it back. It produced a curiously slow burn.

  “Modeling clay that burns?” Dillon asked. I handed him the small candle of plastic explosive to inspect.

  “Not quite modeling clay, no,” I said, grinning. “Do you know what it is, Mr. Statham? I’m willing to bet you do.” I had his attention even though he acted completely confused. Still, I wanted all of his attention and I wanted answers. So exerting some will, I pushed on his, calling distinctly and forcefully, “Mr. Statham. Answer the question.”

  Statham swung his head up to me, his eyes clearing instantly as he squinted up at me. “Yes, sir, I know what it is,” he said, his voice deep but lacking the growl of every previous word he’d said. “It’s C-4.”

  Dillon shrieked. “What? You lit it afire and gave it to me? Take it, take it!”

  Jimmy laughed as he took the “candlestick” from Dillon, stopping Murray from backing away with a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve read where soldiers in the field in Vietnam used this stuff for camp fires for cooking. It takes more spark to make it explode.”

  “Just a bit, yes,” I agreed. “Statham, what is the expected destination of the plastic explosives, detonators, and handguns?”

  “Ireland, the Cahill manor,” Statham responded mechanically.

  “Why do you expect this shipment to be going to Ireland?” I asked, surprised by his answer and disturbed. The Castle had been infiltrated?

  “Monroe has helped McClure and Borland in the past,” he answered, again mechanically. He was using last names with impunity and I wondered idly if he understood how confusing that is. “Cahill is arranging an affair in McClure’s honor and has kept a very tight rein on security. Borland contacted Monroe several times recently. Today he requested large amounts of specific food items. It was assumed that this shipment would be delivered there.”

  “By whom?”

  “The Russian.”

  “Just a code name? So you don’t really know this person?” I asked, pushing a touch more on his desire to talk.

  “No, sir,” he said, wincing in pain. “Once in the field, we are moved by blinds and code names only.” He made no reference to the organization he worked for, but our invisible enemy’s name wasn’t quite that important enough for me to create a Second. I didn’t quite understand my First, yet.

  “Do you have people at the Castle?” I asked.

  “No, not that I’m aware of.”

  “And how many of your people are in the building now,” I asked, deciding this was probably the limit on what I could ask without creating a breakdown.

  “Four,” he answered, then gasped in pain when I let his body reassert control on his attention.

  “Why is he here, Dillon?” I asked.

  “Not surprisingly, his name came up in reference to the research that Pete wanted,” Dillon answered. “He and his goons showed up early this evening spouting more fairy tales than the Brothers Grimm. None of it could be verified and none of it tracked, so I assumed he was full of it. I was about to have him tossed when Murray arrived.”

  “So why harass us?” Jimmy asked, smothering the C-4 candle finally. “The wormy guy recognized him and went to get Statham. Why?”

  “Delaying you, most likely,” Dillon said. “He thought that once you showed up, we’d be in a hurry to unload this one to load yours. Neither of us considered that you wouldn’t even have a truck to load.”

  Suddenly shouts from the door of the dock caught our attention as a man came flying through the plastic strips. Crashing to the concrete, he rolled hard into the railing on the steps, knocking the wind from his chest and bouncing his head off the concrete a few times. A second later a more able-bodied man was pushed through, his back to us and ready to fight some more. The man Dillon named Corey split the plastic curtain and exited the building with the most elegance yet. He was trailed by two more black-shirted, day-glo Security men.

  The second man skittered sideways, swinging around to give himself more room and Corey’s men swung with him, advancing. Now I had to get involved. I’d left an open box of loaded handguns on the back of the truck. When he moved a few more yards back, he’d see it. I stepped through a portal to the dock just behind the truck, then shifted the six boxes to an empty utility room on Gilán. The man just needed a gentle shove from behind to go sailing into Corey’s men, upsetting his self-defense considerably while their submission techniques had both his arms twisted into unnatural and painful shapes. They were frog-marching him to Corey in seconds.

  Another pair of men slipped out the plastic curtain and muttered to Corey as I
hopped another portal to rejoin Dillon and Jimmy. Something that surprised Corey enough to have the man repeat it. The second time he laughed, then directed the men to pick up the semi-conscious man on the steps and the lot of them trudged down the steps to us.

  Once together in the fluorescent dock lighting, it was obvious the men had been fighting, except for Corey anyway, and it was also obvious that Statham and his men were on the losing end of the battle. Corey’s men were bruised in a few places and one had a slight trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. The frog-marcher’s face had met the sidewalk more than once and a table’s corner was still evident in the rip of his shirt and bruising on his chest. The one they picked up could have been hanging in some meat locker being tenderized.

  “The other two seemed to have changed sides, Dillon,” Corey said in a surprisingly high baritone in such a large man. “They found something in the back rooms that tickled their fancies a bit more than this git.”

  Dillon scowled and asked, “What does that mean?”

  “Mickey has them in a back room,” Corey said. The amusement in his eyes was impossible to miss, but he kept the smile from his lips admirably. Dillon enjoyed it thoroughly and openly though. He laughed loudly.

  “Let’s make sure that Mickey knows to take his toys with him for a while when he leaves,” Dillon said chuckling. “Now we just have to decide what to do with you, Perry.”

  “Let’s just drop them all in the Thames and be done with them,” I suggested.

  “Someone’s a little cranky,” Dillon said, still smiling. “Though it’s not too bad an idea, didn’t you say the police were watching?”

  “Yeah. So?” I asked. It’s not like the cops would see it happening from here. The Thames was quite some distance away. Still, Dillon had a point: it was polluted enough. “Let’s just send ‘em back where they came from then.”

  I looked for the sedan three blocks out, dropping the façade I held on the back of Dillon’s club. The passenger of the car was scanning the side and back with a digital camera with a high-powered lens attached. Dillon, Corey, and his men appeared suddenly in his view. The driver was looking through standard binocular, scanning neighboring buildings. On the passenger’s word, the driver shifted back to us and I immediately had his gaze. And his mind. He dropped his binoculars and started the car, squealing tires as he pulled away from the curb. When the passenger pulled a pistol on the driver a moment later, I wrapped a portal around the metal and dropped the metal into my favorite dumping ground in the Atlantic. They’d be here in a moment.