by LE Barbant
He opened the door and looked back at the two academics. “I’ve made my choice. But you two better figure out what it is you’re doing here. From where I’m standing, you’re closer to the problem than the solution.”
****
“Did your mamá tie that, Timoteo?”
Anna’s teeth were blinding. Their brilliance was only exaggerated by her skin, darkened by long exposure to summer rays. He ran his hand across the tie self-consciously as he took in her black evening dress. It was a far cry from her fatigues and combat boots, but he wasn’t complaining.
“No, yours did.”
She laughed. “You and my mamá go way back?”
“Way back, way forward. She and I go every way.” He grinned.
“Well, you can take the man out of the service, but you can’t take the service out of the man.” Her dimples deepened. “Speaking of serving, you dating anyone since you’ve been stateside?”
Tim took a long pull on his bottle of Yuengling and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. In Pittsburgh, mid-level beer was an acceptable drink, even at dinner-jacket type establishments. The familiar lager made him feel more comfortable despite the completely foreign nature of the restaurant. “Nah. I’m afraid I’ve lost the knack for appropriately interacting with civilians. You know what it’s like. Takes a while to come back to normal living.” He looked down. “And the last run—it was hard.”
“You never told me. Were you in the shit?”
“Yeah, something like that.” Tim cleared his throat, sweat beading on his forehead. “But let’s forget all that.” He grinned. “What brings you to the Steel City?”
“Can’t a lady swing through town and visit her old lieutenant?”
“Just cause you’re wearing that cute, strappy dress and heels don’t mean you’re a lady. I remember you in Fallujah.”
Anna folded the cloth napkin over on the table. “Hard to forget.” She took a long sip from her vodka martini. “You know me, Ford. I’m on a job. You looking for work? We could use a few more boots. Pretty easy assignment. Not like Bogotá.”
“Me? Nah. I’m retired.”
“Retired? I don’t believe it. The Tim Ford I knew would be bored shitless sitting around, jerking off all day. How do you keep from going crazy?”
Tim fidgeted in his seat. He unconsciously checked to make sure his brass knuckles were still in his pocket. “I’ve got my methods…But I didn’t know Blackbow was working PA.”
“You’d be surprised,” Anna said. “The company is doing more and more in the states. Mostly private companies looking for security. It’s a lot easier than dodging IEDs and raiding villages. But the money’s still decent; not great, but it works.”
“So, what’s the job?”
“Really, Tim? You’ve been gone a few months and already forget the code?”
Tim’s eyes smiled at his C.O. He wondered if Anna would be steadfast or if she were playing hard to get. “Come on. For an old friend. It’s my city, after all.”
“Even better reason to keep quiet,” she said. “A code’s a code. How could I ever expect you to trust me if I roll over and give it to any hot guy that asks for it?”
Tim flushed. “Exactly how much asking does it take to get you to roll over?”
“What do you say after dinner we find out?” Anna said, flashing her brilliant smile.
“I’m gonna have to make that intel priority uno. Let’s pound these drinks and get out of here.” Tim felt his fancy pants getting tighter.
“Deal.” She threw back the remnants of her martini and flagged down the waiter.
****
Tim’s head pounded.
No surprise, since the two of them polished off the bottle of Antioqueño that Anna had stowed in her luggage. The Columbian liquor was too sweet for his taste, but he would have drunk turpentine if she were pouring it.
Turning his head, it felt like somebody was shoving an ice pick through his temple. He squinted, taking in her form lying next to him. The bleach-white sheets hardly covered her exquisite ass, shaped by hours of training fit for the battlefield. Her torso was lighter than her arms and face. Anna didn’t have the bikini tan lines of most women her age, but rather contrasts formed by the standard issue Blackbow uniform. He traced a finger over a four-inch scar in the middle of her back—lightly, so as not to wake her. He was there when she got that one. A shoulder tattoo, an ornate bow and arrow shaped into a B, completed the tapestry. It was identical to the one on his arm. He read the three-word phrase indelibly printed on both of their bodies.
The clock on the end table read 3:42 a.m.
In need of a gallon of water and some painkillers, Tim got out of bed. The room spun and he wondered if he was still drunk. He downed the four tiny pills and started to rehydrate. He remembered days staying in places like this for weeks, hotel rooms that would never feel like home. Closing the door to the bedroom of the suite, he took a seat at the desk. Spread out on the surface were assorted papers and a few manila folders, each of them had the Blackbow logo emblazoned on the center and CONFIDENTIAL in bright red written across the top. A smirk spread over his face. Tim always wondered why anyone would write confidential on anything; it begged to be read.
He looked over his shoulder and listened for signs of movement from the room.
What would Blackbow be doing in Pittsburgh?
His hand swept over the top folder, fingers finding the edge. Tim thought about his code. He withdrew his hand. This wasn’t the way. She deserved better.
Instead, he grabbed the hotel stationery and jotted a note:
Anna,
Thanks for the memories. Don’t be a stranger.
Timoteo
Ferocia Fatum Fugant
He considered tearing up the note and sticking around, but even Anna and a hangover couldn’t keep him settled. A nervous energy filled the soldier, and he knew of only one release.
He got dressed and slipped into the hallway. As he walked toward the elevator, he slid his right hand into his pocket, fingering the brass knuckles concealed within it.
CHAPTER TEN
Willa’s quads burned as she took the steps two at a time. Pain had become a part of her status quo. The training was intense, not only the physical but the mental as well. But justice required strength in body and mind.
Several weeks of researching people from her grandfather’s photograph only increased her resolve. She visited the offices of nearly every living emeritus professor from local universities and spent hours scouring the Internet. Most members of the Vox Populi remained a mystery, but an aging administrative assistant from Duquesne provided a lead on her principal target: the man in the chair next to her grandfather.
The grainy photo exhibited Edwin’s hand on his shoulder. This gesture of intimacy was so foreign for the magician that Willa knew something special existed between them. Standing on the porch her heart rate increased. The poet-magician had no idea what she would find, but she knew this was her only next step.
She stepped through the door.
****
Dr. Crane’s living room was cramped. Low ceilings and dim lighting added to her claustrophobia, and Willa made certain to keep her eye on an exit.
The aging professor sat in an orange upholstered chair sagging from decades of use. A picture of a kind-faced woman with sparkling eyes sat on a side table alongside a teacup and a hardback novel.
“Yes, Edwin and I were friends.” He paused. “No, that’s not a strong enough word. Your grandfather was something more. He was like a brother. Though I was older in years, he was more mature in experience and dedication.” The man stared at an invisible dot across the room. Willa let him dwell in the memory. After an eternity, he continued. “I could hardly believe it when I heard of his death. On the other hand, part of me always assumed his fate would have caught him earlier.”
Willa leaned into the space dividing her from her grandfather’s friend. “What do you mean, Dr. Crane?”
&n
bsp; “Well, your grandfather had a knack for sniffing out trouble. It’s probably what made us so successful.” He paused, a smile added to his heavily wrinkled face. “But of course, that’s what you’re here to discuss, isn’t it?”
Willa nodded but remained silent. She feared spooking the old man when she was so close to an answer.
“Yes, right. The Vox Populi. I’m embarrassed at how pretentious that sounds. We were small at first, and Edwin had recruited most of us. He never revealed how he knew where to look, but he could see the potential in us—our powers. I’ll never forget the day he talked with me after class. To say he was forceful would exaggerate it only a little.”
Crane blew across the lip of his cup and sipped. “I mean, I was terribly confused as my own abilities developed. My words started to affect the world and no one could explain to me why or how. Frankly, I thought I was going mad. That’s when Edwin got a hold of me.”
“How many of you were there?” Willa asked.
“Hmmm, let’s see…” The man stared at the ceiling. “In the beginning there were eight of us. We were young—stupid, really. But we had energy and, I guess you would say, courage. It started almost as a hobby, saving helpless damsels and confronting petty crimes. I had pictured myself as one of those characters in the pulp fiction books—a guilty pleasure of mine that I hid from my colleagues.”
Willa leaned back in her chair and crossed a leg. While the story was captivating, it was nothing she hadn’t heard from her grandfather. She pictured the men, young and heroic, running through back alleys by night and teaching by day. “Then what happened?”
Dr. Crane grinned. “‘Good enough’ wasn’t in your grandfather’s lexicon. I think that most of us were happy to make a little dent in the crime of the city, you know, to right a few wrongs. I felt pretty damned good about myself—pardon my language. But not Edwin.” The man shook his head. “Edwin had his sights set higher. Restoring the city one pickpocket at a time was chump change for him. Your grandfather started researching the city’s underbelly. I think he put twice as much time digging into Pittsburgh’s dirt than he did studying nineteenth century poetry. He rarely slept.”
“And what did he find?”
“What didn’t he find? That’s the question. You know, these weren’t the days of your Internets. Detective work required a more personal touch. Edwin was fearless. He’d walk right into the backroom of some smalltime mob boss and start demanding information. That’s when, well, the problems started.” The professor glared at his mug, as if considering whether or not to advance with the story. “That’s what ultimately would lead to…um…what happened with your mom.”
Willa squeezed her leg. “It’s OK. I know. Go on, please.”
Crane removed his glasses, held them up to the light. “Of course. It doesn’t take a genius to realize you can’t mess with the bull without eventually getting the horns. Edwin didn’t care. He was unrelenting. I tried to warn him, but he kept pushing deeper. And that’s when they stepped in and changed everything.”
Willa bit her lip. “The mob?”
The old man laughed. “No. Not them—at least, not yet. A different mob, of sorts: the Guild. Late one night, Edwin and I and a few others were meeting in the back room of a bar across town. What was the name of that place?” The man scratched a day’s worth of silver scruff. “No matter. We were in the back, planning our next big move. Edwin had unearthed another potential target—a mid-level enforcer who was on the rise. Edwin believed that if we could crush the head of the snake before it grew, we might stand a chance of curtailing the growth of the family.”
“OK,” Willa said, hoping to move the storyteller along.
“Well, there we were, when the doors to our private room flew open. I just sat there staring like an idiot. I mean, I didn’t know who these people were, but your grandfather did.
“‘Master Harker,’ your grandfather said, ‘What brings you to Pittsburgh?’ That’s when it struck me that we were in trouble on a few fronts. The magicians looked ancient, though we were so young.” The professor laughed again, the memories dancing in his eyes. “They gave us the business for over an hour. Harker, the head of the Guild, lectured on the rules. ‘Our job is preservation, not revolution,’ he said over and over. I was befuddled. For years, Edwin had mentioned the Guild and their backward ways, but to me they were nearly a fiction. I guess I always assumed they actually existed, but it was as if they would never affect my life. Edwin was different, though.”
“How so?” Will asked.
“I don’t know how but he knew the visit was inevitable, that they were coming. Maybe he took the power dynamic of guilds—in the Academy and among the wizards—more seriously than I ever did.”
Willa inspected the man’s face. The lines wore years of turmoil. She wondered what the story with the woman in the picture was, if it was anything like her mom’s, but she dared not derail him. “So, you stopped then?”
“That certainly seems like a wiser course, but our arrogance and recklessness hadn’t reached its zenith. I pulled back a little, but your grandfather, he sat in that room with the Masters, he listened, he nodded along, and then he continued his course of action undeterred. We pursued the new lead and…that’s what brought trouble upon your family. That’s what led to your mom’s death.”
Willa consider this, and wondered if she should have been more critical of her grandfather. If he had stopped her mother would still be alive. Then again, maybe not.
Fate is a funny mistress.
“Tell me about this mob enforcer. Who was he?”
A slight grin danced across the old professor’s face, then vanished. “You sound like your grandfather. But I’m afraid this is a path that’s too dangerous for you. And your grandfather would have agreed. Your mother’s murder taught us all the true price of our power.”
“I need to know.”
The old man sighed. His old body sunk further into the chair. “You want revenge, but it will get you nowhere. Follow your grandfather’s advice, go back to work, settle down, have some kids.”
Willa’s face grew hot as anger spread over her body. “I’ll never stop. They’ll need to kill me.”
“They can and they will. The Pittsburgh mob are petty criminals compared to what else is out there. Since the earliest years of the twentieth century, all eyes have been on steel. But industry was a red herring, a blind for the true powers. Edwin scratched at the surface of something more nefarious, a network with vast interworkings and far-reaching influence. Your mom’s murder was a small link in the chain, but that link was important. The boss who ordered the hit was himself just a pawn in the rise of someone else.”
“And even if you do have the strength to take on your mother’s murderer, the Guild won’t stand for it. There were days when the Masters did extreme things to protect the craft. I don’t expect that is beyond them even now.” The man’s gaze was deadpan.
“If they wield such power, then why didn’t they intervene last winter?”
“It’s true the Guild has waned. No one knows why. Maybe it’s because magic is dwindling in a world in which mystery is giving way to the hegemony of information. But don’t fool yourself. They’re watching you, they know about the battle at the Tower, and about Edwin’s death. The Masters know precisely who you are and what you’re doing. They probably know you’re here right now.”
The last words shot a chill up Willa’s spine. Her knowledge of magic and its possibilities were limited to her own experience and the things she saw her grandfather do. Being watched had never been a thought.
Willa breathed deeply, trying to settle herself. “You described my mother’s murderer in the present tense. Surely he’s not still alive?”
The aging doctor stared at the floor. After a moment he replied, “Not only is he still alive, but he’s right here in Pittsburgh.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“What killed steel?”
The class stared back at him, most of them w
ith a mixture of boredom and confusion. The baker’s dozen sat with their desks arranged in a loose semicircle. Elijah stood in the middle.
Many of his students couldn’t care less about Pittsburgh’s industrial history. They kept quiet, trying to avoid eye contact with their professor. But Elijah wouldn’t let them off so easily. The new desk arrangement precluded any back-row napping, and he demanded answers to his questions.
“Tom, what do you think? What happened to the industry that made this city? Where did it go?”
Tom shifted. Elijah pegged him as a drifter, someone who floated through his classes without much effort. But he knew that if he could somehow get him engaged early it might draw the rest of the class in as well. From the first paper of the semester, the professor could tell that Tom was bright but lazy.
“I don’t know…”
Elijah smiled. “You’re from around here, right, Tom?”
The boy sat a little straighter, intrigued by a question that he knew the answer to, but wary of a trap.
“Butler area, a little north of the city.”
“If I asked your family that question, what would they tell you?”
The young man considered for a second. “My dad blames it on the unions. He says they got greedy, wanted too much, and it pushed the mills out of business.”
Elijah smiled. Thoughts of an old ally came to mind and a Croatian curse word settled on the back of his tongue.
“Your dad has a point. Most analysts think that the unions did have some part to play in the changing economic structure around here. It’s still a matter of fierce debate, though. Some say that higher workers’ wages actually benefits industry. It helped Ford Motors in the twenties. But you’d have a hard time convincing most mill owners of that. What else? Surely an industry as powerful as steel couldn’t have been toppled by unions alone. What other factors came into play?”
