Chapter Thirteen
"Son of a..."
Jason growled to himself as he regained consciousness and was promptly made aware that even the blood flowing through the veins in his head was painful. He tried to open his eyes and was quickly made aware that this was apparently a bad idea as well; the pain it caused made his eyes begin watering immediately, robbing him of what little sight he had in his pathetic state. Rolling onto his stomach, he inched forward until he found a wall. Leaning heavily against it, he staggered upright and fumbled his way to the washroom. Feeling around for the sink, he located the cold water tap and turned it on, sticking most of his head beneath the high-arched faucet to let the cool liquid numb his pain.
Emerging twenty minutes later, he sat heavily in Tyrone's chair, still muttering under his breath. Why did things never stay good for him for longer than a few hours? Resting his head against the chair, he stared at the ceiling; grateful that he could at least see again, even if things were still a bit blurry. As his headache slowly improved, he looked around to see if anything had been obviously disturbed. His unwelcome company obviously had been careful about cleaning up, as nothing was out of place. Well, that suited him just fine. Tyrone never needed to know about this, as far as he was concerned. Yeah, that would work nicely towards keeping himself on top of the heap. It wasn't like the intruder with the sultry voice and whoever had knocked him out could have found anything important, anyway.
The sound of a car roaring into the parking lot below broke through his thought process, leaving it just so much shattered glass on the floor as he flew to the door. Hearing his superior's heavy tread approaching, Jason opened the door and saw Tyrone framed in the pale orange light of the motel's exterior lights. Standing at attention, he did his best to give the man the respect he deserved, but Tyrone, with nary a glance over his shoulder, seemed to ignore Jason entirely. Sweeping his subordinate aside, he stooped through the doorway and left Jason to close it against the night. Drawing himself up once inside, Tyrone seemed to fill the tiny space even more than he usually did. Jason, recognizing the warning signs indicating Tyrone's anger, scrambled aside to give him his space.
Clearing the room with three strides, Tyrone first checked his desk; finding the bottom drawer secure, he grunted, but did not make Jason privy to his thoughts. Thumbing through his other drawers with an agitated expression, it was obvious he was looking for something and not finding it. Moving to his room next, Tyrone shut the door behind himself. Thinking that, perhaps, his boss had decided to turn in early, Jason allowed himself to begin breathing normally again. A rumbling string of profanity from the bedroom put an end to his hopes for a quiet evening.
Tyrone glared at what he had in his hand. He had found his hidden key hanging from its usual hiding place, only half-secured to the underside of the dresser's ceiling. After plucking it free, he saw the barest hint of black lint on one end, as well as a few loose strings. Someone wearing gloves had removed it, and then attempted to reattach it so he would not notice. He snorted derisively, almost feeling insulted. Amateurs had broken into his office. Rank amateurs. Still, he supposed that they had promise, at least; and guts by the truckload. This last thought struck a chord and the memory of his recent encounter with a particularly saucy young woman floated into his thoughts.
He nodded once, expressing a grudging form of what was almost respect. Almost. "Lawson."
Turning back to the door, he decided it was time to confer with Jason on the subject. Ripping the door open with enough force to pull its top-most hinge free of the drywall in a shower of paint chips and plaster, Tyrone cleared the distance between himself and his unfortunate would-be guard with one smooth, seemingly endless stride. His giant hands reached out, seizing the smaller man by the shirt and throat, hauling him into the air as easily as a child might lift a toy. A second stride carried them across the room and to the opposite wall, against which the enraged giant pinned his helpless underling.
"Who was it, Jason?"
Jason could feel himself sweating profusely, the cold drops already beginning to trickle down the backs of his legs in an especially uncomfortable manner. Swallowing, he found his throat dry as he fought to speak around the big man's hand. "Wh-who do you mean, Ty?"
Tyrone lifted him higher, bashing Jason's head against the ceiling before lowering him to try again. "Who was it, Jason? Who was here?"
Jason's head felt like it was about to explode, but he tried to keep himself calm and thinking straight. "N-nobody, boss. Everything's here, just as you lef-"
He was cut off when his head met the ceiling for a second time; his jaw slammed shut reflexively and his teeth grazed the end of his tongue. "Tell me who it was, Jason! Now!"
Dazed by the impact, Jason tried to gather himself, but the taste of blood in his mouth kept him rattled. "I-I don't know, Ty, honest! Some chick was at the door, I went to see who it was; she got me in the eyes with some kind of spray can. I couldn't see a damn thing! I tried to shut the door to keep her out, but someone got a hold of it first. They slammed it against my damn forehead and laid me out good."
Tyrone's face bore a curious mix of emotions. Frustration was there, along with a dose of disappointment and, somehow, just the barest hint of amusement. Turning, he threw Jason bodily across the room and against the far wall before turning to go. Landing in a tangled heap of limbs, Jason tried weakly to stand, but succeeded only in sprawling out across the floor. "Ty... I'm... I'm sorry. I'll do better... next time..."
The big man paused in the doorway. "There won't be a next time, Jason. Keeping secrets from me was a serious mistake and if I had the time I would make sure you learned from it. I want you gone when I get back, because if I see you again before I've had enough time to calm down, I'm going to slip my knuckles on and pick up where we're leaving off right now."
The battered man remained silent as Tyrone left; he was grateful for that at least. Tyrone did not think he could stand another minute of his inane blathering. Slamming the door shut behind him, he stormed to his car; he had to get back to work. After all, it was the chief of security's job to keep the building free of unwanted pests. And he had the distinct impression that, at this moment, they had some rather unwelcome guests creeping around.
In Icarus' Shadow Page 23
