Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis

by P. T. Dilloway

  “Who’s Erik the Red?”

  “Only the biggest gangster in the city. The Finns have been pressuring him lately so he’s probably bringing these in to wipe them out.”

  “A gangster? How the hell did you find out about that?”

  “You just have to know the right chat room to be in—and speak Swedish.”

  “Jesus, Renee. You know how dangerous that could be?”

  “You sound like Aggie.”

  “Well, maybe Aggie’s right.”

  “Hardly.”

  Tim shook his head and tossed a chicken bone over to Mr. Snuggles, who sniffed warily at it before he snapped it in his jaws. “Look, Renee, I appreciate your help, but you’ve got to stop this thrill seeking stuff. It’s dangerous.”

  “I thought you would be happy.”

  “It’s a good idea. I’m not sure it will work.”

  “It could.”

  “I’ve still got a lot of work to do on the prototype.”

  “I’ll help.”

  “Renee—”

  She stamped her foot as she said, “I’m tired of everyone treating me like a little kid! I’m not a baby.”

  “I know you’re not, but this is very delicate work.”

  “You don’t think I can handle it? I helped you design the thing.”

  “Yes, but this is different than drafting.”

  “Oh, so you think because I’m a girl I can’t do it?”

  “That’s not what I meant. Do you have any experience welding?”

  “No,” she said softly.

  He patted her on the shoulder the way her father did. “I’m sure you could learn how to do it, but right now I don’t have time to teach you.”

  “Fine. But there has to be something else I can do to help.”

  “Actually, I think there is.” Tim went over by the machine and returned with the shell of the helmet. “It still needs wired up and I bet your hands could fit in there easier than mine.”

  “OK.”

  Tim returned to work while Renee sat at the worktable to fiddle with the wires for the helmet’s night vision and infrared equipment. She supposed Tim would need those tonight if he managed to get the rest done in time. As she worked, she told him what had happened with Daddy and then with Aggie.

  “I can’t believe she won’t forgive me. I told her I was sorry. I went to the hospital as soon as I found out.”

  “The hospital? What was she doing there?” Tim asked, his voice muffled slightly by the welding mask.

  “The idiot was feeling stressed so she popped like ten of her mom’s Vicodin. They had to pump her big, fat gut. I’m glad I wasn’t there to see that. Of course Sophie didn’t even want to let me in to see her—she’s such a stuck-up bitch—but Sylvia let me in.”

  Tim stopped what he was doing, turned, and flipped up the mask. “Sylvia was there?”

  “Why wouldn’t she be? She’s Aggie’s sister.”

  “Did you talk to her? Did she say anything about me?”

  “About you? Why would she?”

  “I went out for a drink last night and she came into the bar. We had a couple of drinks and danced and—I think I might have kissed her.”

  “You kissed her?”

  “I don’t know. I was kind of drunk.”

  Renee leaped off her stool and threw the helmet to the floor. “You no good, two-timing jerk! How could you?” Tears came to her eyes as she ran for the loading dock. He called after her, but she didn’t care.

  In the backseat of another cab on the way back to the library, she cursed herself for being so stupid. Of course Tim wouldn’t like her, not like that. She thought of the way he’d patted her—like her father. He had even tucked her into bed the night he stayed over at her house. After all she’d done for him, he still thought she was a little girl who needed tended to, like he was her surrogate uncle.

  Well, the hell with him then. Let him try to finish this thing on his own. She was through trying to help him. Let him get Sylvia to help. She’d put him in jail once she found out what he was doing—

  Renee took the phone out of her pocket.

  Chapter 13

  Tim knew better than to go after Renee. Whatever she was angry about now, she would probably get over it soon enough. She would probably come back later and act as if nothing had happened. That seemed to be the way it worked with her, just as it had been Sylvia’s way.

  With a sigh he turned back to his work. Now that he had the skeleton complete, he just had to weld the armor around it. This required a lot of care to make sure he didn’t leave any gaps that someone could squeeze a knife or bullet through. It was definitely not something he wanted to leave to Renee no matter how smart she was—and how grown-up she liked to think she was.

  He thought about the lead she’d given him. This Erik the Red was probably like Don Vendetta back in Rampart City, the one who really ran things. No doubt there would be a lot of goons there, goons with itchy trigger fingers on machine guns. It wasn’t exactly the ideal situation for a shakedown cruise. He would have much preferred to do some basic testing first, to walk, run, and jump without someone shooting at him. But this might be his only chance to procure some weapons for Akako and the other Reds.

  He lost himself in the welding for hours; he took a few minutes with each piece to make sure it was aligned perfectly. He’d been welding since he was ten years old, when Uncle Herb had let him work with him in the garage. Tim’s father hadn’t wanted him to work on cars with his uncle; he wanted Tim to join him at the insurance company. In a prophetic moment his father had said, “Do you want to spend your life as a grease monkey?”

  When he ran out of butane, he stopped to munch on some cold chicken and drink a couple bottles of water. It was nine o’clock and he had only finished the lower half of the machine. There was still the torso, the arms, and the rest of the helmet to complete. He shook his head; he wouldn’t finish in time.

  He wanted to work faster, but he couldn’t really. Sloppiness now would mean disaster later. Uncle Herb had always told him, “Do it right or don’t bother doing it.” If he couldn’t get to the docks by midnight with the suit, then he could probably find another way to get the weapons. If this Erik the Red were like Don Vendetta, then he wouldn’t stop at just one load of guns; there would be more coming in. The problem would be to find them.

  To his relief, he found Renee had finished most of the helmet before she stomped out. She’d done a good job of it too, despite that he doubted she had much mechanical experience. She probably could have learned to weld as well as him in an hour or two. Too bad he didn’t have the hour or two to teach her.

  He finished at five minutes to midnight. There wasn’t any time to celebrate. He immediately had to begin the process to suit up. This would have been easier with another person; the breastplate especially was difficult to raise over his head to put on. To solve this problem, he levered the breastplate up with some cables slung over the support beams of the building. Then he slid beneath it and lined himself up before he lowered the breastplate onto his shoulders.

  Early on he’d written a checklist for how to activate the system. He threw this out and decided to activate the entire system at once. There was a whine as if the system was about to crash, but then it flickered back on. The power readings in the helmet showed a hundred percent. “Well, here goes nothing,” he mumbled.

  Again he limited himself to baby steps at first. All together, the suit weighed about four hundred pounds in addition to his own weight. That was a pretty big adjustment. He took one careful step without falling over, then another. He tried the arms next; he swung each one and then bent them at the elbows. He flexed the hands as well to make sure they would work. The final test was to swivel his head. All told the suit worked, though his movement wouldn’t be nearly as fluid as Emma’s in her armor. But then her armor was magic so it didn’t have to adhere to all those pesky rules of physics.

  It was past midnight by the time he marched the su
it out of the factory. The loading dock doors felt a lot lighter with the suit’s hydraulic muscles. The real test came when he activated the boosters mounted on the backs of the legs. He eased the throttles forward so he wouldn’t catapult himself across the yard. He hovered in the air for a few moments before he lowered himself again.

  “Well, here we go,” he said to himself. He ran forward—or what passed for running with the bulky suit—and then hit the engines. He shot into the air and arced over the factory gates to come down in the middle of the road.

  With that, he began his trek towards the docks and hoped he wasn’t too late.

  ***

  The call had come in at about five o’clock. Sylvia was at her desk then to catch up on paperwork after she’d spent most of last night and today at the hospital. Most of that time she tried to calm her mother and Sophie, who both had a tendency to overreact in stressful situations. When she’d gotten to the hospital, they had been shouting at each other about whose fault it was for Aggie’s overdose.

  “You should have kept an eye on her,” Mom said. “You’re her sister.”

  “You’re her mother. You should have been home with her instead of out drinking.”

  “I wasn’t out drinking. I was meeting some very important potential clients.”

  “The only ones you ever sell to are Mexicans who don’t know any better than to buy from a drunk.”

  “Why you ungrateful—”

  Sylvia got between them before they could trade blows. “Settle down, everyone. There’ll be plenty of time to blame each other later.”

  Renee Kim had been the first one to see Aggie awake. From the way Renee stomped out of there, Sylvia guessed the visit had not gone well. She’d gone into Aggie’s room to find her sister in tears. Sylvia sat down in the chair next to her bed. “Hey kid, how are you doing?”

  “I hate her. This is all her fault.”

  “Who, Renee?”

  “I don’t know why I ever wanted to be friends with her. She’s a jerk.”

  “Did she tell you to take the pills?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you take them?”

  “I just wanted to relax. I didn’t mean to take so many.”

  “So you weren’t trying to kill yourself?”

  “No. I wouldn’t do that.”

  Sylvia nodded; she didn’t think Aggie would kill herself either, just as Sylvia hadn’t. After Charlotte had died, Sylvia had stuck her pistol in her mouth, but then she’d seen a picture of her mom and sisters and holstered the weapon. She had looked at the picture and imagined how distraught they would be to find out that she was dead. Sylvia patted Aggie’s arm. “I know you wouldn’t. I just wanted to make sure.”

  “Is this an official interrogation?”

  “No. I’m just here as your big sister.”

  “OK.”

  “Do you want me to let Sophie and Mom in?”

  “Do you have to?”

  “I’ll tell them you went back to sleep.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sylvia had tousled her sister’s hair and then gone out to the waiting room to tell Sophie and her mom that Aggie had fallen asleep again. They’d eventually gone in; Mom wailed and kissed Aggie’s face frantically while Sophie stood a safe distance away. Aggie endured all of this attention until the doctors finally let her go home that morning.

  “Can I ride home with Sylvia?” Aggie asked.

  Mom looked stricken for a moment but finally nodded. “Of course you can, dear.”

  Sylvia would have preferred her sister go home with Mom and Sophie, but she could hardly say no at this point. She put an arm around Aggie’s shoulder as they went out to the car and then opened the back door for Aggie, to help her down onto the seat. Aggie sat amongst the boxes of brochures and let out a tired sigh.

  “You all right back there?”

  “Yes. Thanks.” That was all Aggie said to her; she fell asleep shortly thereafter. Sylvia woke her up when they got home and shook her sister’s shoulder gently. “We’re here?”

  “’Fraid so.” She helped Aggie out of the car, but her sister managed to walk inside under her own power. She went straight to her room, though Mom forbid her from closing the door. “Don’t suffocate her too much. She’s been through enough.”

  “I’m not going to suffocate her. I’m just worrying about her. She’s my baby.”

  “She’s sixteen, Mom. She’s not a baby anymore.”

  “She’s my baby. You all are.”

  Sylvia knew she wouldn’t get anywhere with this. “Just make sure to hide your pills better.”

  She had left after that and headed straight to the precinct, where Captain Kramer had helpfully left a stack of papers on the Renee Kim case. Sylvia was still filling in all the blanks when Renee called at five o’clock. “Detective Joubert. How can I help you?”

  “It’s more how I can help you.” Renee tried to make her voice sound deeper, but it only made it seem as if she were coughing.

  “Renee?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Lucky guess. You and Aggie still fighting?”

  “I’m not calling about her. I’m calling about Erik the Red. I know where he’s got a big shipment of guns coming in tonight.”

  “How would you know about that?”

  “I saw them talking about it in a chat room. They didn’t think anyone would notice.”

  “A chat room?”

  “Why not? You guys are probably listening to their phone calls.”

  “I suppose that makes some sense. So what did they say?”

  “They’re bringing in some guns at the docks tonight. At midnight.”

  “You’re sure about this? You’re sure it wasn’t just someone pretending?”

  “Sure, someone pretending to talk in Swedish. Maybe I should try the FBI. They might be less patronizing.”

  “Trust me, they’d be far more patronizing,” Sylvia said. “I’ll get our people on it.”

  “Good. I hope you nail these bastards.”

  “I hope we do too. Thanks—” Renee had already hung up, to leave her talking to empty air.

  The problem of course was that Renee had called the wrong detective. No one would do anything based on Sylvia’s word. The last time anyone had gone after Erik the Red based on one of her sources, Charlotte had wound up dead. They wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  That left Sylvia to do it on her own. It was of course suicidal to try to take on the mob by herself, but she figured once the bullets started to fly, she could call for backup. They might actually come then. Or she’d join Charlotte in Asgard Cemetery. As she crept behind a stack of crates, she lamented she might not get to see her sister or her mother again—or Tim.

  She hadn’t had much time to think about him since she’d had to leave the bar, but she could still remember that kiss. She had kissed other guys before, but never like that. Those kisses had always wound up being too hard from an aggressive man who wanted to quickly get into her pants or too soft from a meek man afraid to try to get into her pants. Tim’s kiss had been perfect, with just the right amount of force without making it seem as if he wanted more than that.

  Of course he’d been so drunk that he’d mistaken her for someone else he’d known, someone who also had been named Sylvia. She probably hadn’t meant anything to him; he probably didn’t even remember her. He probably thought he had kissed the ghost of that other Sylvia—if he remembered anything at all.

  She put her night vision goggles to her eyes and zoomed in on the docks. The freighter flew a Peruvian flag; the manifest indicated it was full of coffee. Sylvia bet there was a token amount of coffee on it, just enough to throw off a customs inspector. The crates of guns—and whatever else—would be concealed in the hold somewhere, probably in custom-built compartments. The only way to find out would be to board the ship; there would be plenty of time for that after the buyers and sellers were in custody.

  She could see the buyers around
the docks. There was a blond man in an expensive suit who especially stood out. His name was Henrik Tallander; he was Erik the Red’s top lieutenant. Around him were ten burly guys who would have fit in perfectly at a Hell’s Angels rally. They all packed submachine guns, far more firepower than her pistol and shotgun.

  At five minutes past midnight, the sellers came down the gangplank of the freighter. They were all South American, probably Bolivians, where the civil unrest made it easy to buy and sell weapons. She counted a half-dozen of them armed with machine guns probably of the same type they were about to sell to Erik the Red.

  The smart thing to do would be to call for backup, but she knew no one would believe her. Not yet. She would need some fireworks to get anyone’s attention.

  She waited until Tallander and the Bolivians were deep into their negotiation to scurry over to a stack of ropes about a dozen feet away from them. They talked in Swedish or maybe Spanish so she couldn’t get the exact words, but the meaning was clear enough. From the way they gestured, she figured they haggled over the price.

  She thought of her family, Charlotte, and Tim one final time. This is it, she told herself. Then she jumped out of hiding and raised her pistol. “No one move! New Stockholm Police!”

  It didn’t surprise her when they opened fire. She pressed the button on her radio. “This is Detective Sylvia Joubert, requesting backup. Shots fired. I need any available units on the docks right away.”

  She muttered a curse when the dispatcher said, “Acknowledged Detective Joubert. Backup is on its way. ETA fifteen minutes.”

  “I don’t have fifteen minutes!” she shouted and then tossed the radio to the ground to return fire.

  That was when help tumbled out of the sky.

  ***

  Tim fell on his face—or the front of his helmet—three times before he finally got the hang of boosting. The key he found was to trigger the boosters on the way down just enough to slow his descent to a manageable speed. He was glad no one was around to see him land facedown on the pavement.