Dinadan Noir XI: Work
I had a bad feeling when I headed home from the Wench. Fleshless skulls aren’t open books, but there’d been something in Vinnie’s attitude that seemed…off. Wasn’t much to go on, but I hadn’t gotten where I was by ignoring hunches. I slowed my walk and made some thinking faces. Then it clicked. He’d said “Goodbye.” Not “see ya next time, goat,” or “come back when you’ve solved that breathing problem.” Just “goodbye.”
So I was almost expecting the knife that flew out of the shadows as I stepped into my front yard. Lucky I spent some time on the wrong end of a knife-throwing act. Caught the knife, by the handle even.
It was dark, but I could tell the would-be hitman was only a bit bigger than I was, and that he’d already gotten another sharp implement into his hands. I shouted “Discursus!”
In the time it took him to decide if it was a spell or just inanity, I’d chucked the knife right back at him. Sunk about four inches of blade into his right shoulder. He dropped the knife he’d been readying and drew a rapier. For my part, I reached dramatically to my hip and drew…nothing. When I wasn’t pretending to be a bravo, I hardly ever carried a dagger, let alone a real sword. My crossbow and Drak were inside, with a complicated lock and an assassin between them and me.
Not that I needed them.
The ball of glue formed with a flick of my mind, and swelled as I hurled it at the hitman. It wasn’t enough to stop him cold, but it was enough to slow him down.
“You’re getting blood on my lawn. Popular songs to the contrary, it’s not good for the grass.”
He was game, I’ll give him that. He kept his mouth shut and kept coming, probably figuring that his only way out of this was to finish the job he’d already botched. If he’d gotten me with that first knife, he might have pulled it off. I hit him with more glue, rattled his brains with a sonic blast or two, and—once, when he got too close—a pretty passable left hook. It was the punch that dropped him. This surprised me.
“Come on, man, I’m a long way from a professional pugilist.”
He lay there, bleeding and gasping. Wholly human beneath the the hood, with spittle in his whiskers and eyes going glassy.
“Ah. Playing with poison will get you into trouble.” I pulled out the theriac I kept on my person for just such moments. “You’d like some of this, yes? Before whatever nastiness you put on that knife finishes you?” The hitman managed a nod. Good, tougher than he looked. I dumped some more conjured glue on him, then flexed the small bit of biomancy I knew to put some color back in his cheeks.
“Note that I haven’t done anything about the poison yet.” Another nod. “Now, I’m not sure how the Family deals with botched ‘work,’ but I’m willing to bet that you’re a little worried about that, even if I let you live.” I did my best imitation of a menacing grin, the effect probably lost in the bad light. “I’m not going to ask you to tell me who put the hit out, or how you knew I’d be here tonight. Vinnie will have some ‘splaining to do.” I thought for a moment, tossing the theriac from hand to hand. “I’m guessing it was Toth, maybe through McKay. Doesn’t much matter whose gold at this point. You tell them I want a meeting. All the Borales uncles. A little private performance by the Storyteller. It’ll be worth their while. A good chance for them to finish the job you couldn’t if they don’t like what I have to say, a chance for me to settle things if I can manage my most winsome. And in the meantime, they get to take in a show. They get, oh, one bodyguard apiece. And I’ll bring a stage manager. Just to keep everybody honest. The greencoats’ll stay home, the muscle will stay home, and we can have a chat.”
“They’ll never buy it.” Huh. Maybe I overdid it with the biomancy.
“Tell you what—what is it you call yourself?”
“Talto.”
“Talto, then. I’ve worked up a pretty hefty folder on the Borales Family in the last few weeks. Enough to make a few murder charges stick, and probably a pretty good case against some of the smuggling operations. That’ll be part of the stakes. If they don’t show, it goes straight to Radisgad’s desk. If I don’t walk out, it goes straight to Radisgad’s desk. They either play my game or I invite the Sentinels in. And you know how touchy Old Man Radisgad gets when somebody starts messing with his own. Clear?”
He nodded, looking pale again. “There’s a back room at the Den, down by the fighting pits. I’m sure you know it. I’ll have it reserved for the sixth hour in three days. Horrible acoustics, but best bouncers in the ‘Verse, discreet ownership, and neutral turf. I’ll be waiting.”
I mixed the theriac, then, poured it down his throat. “I’m going inside now. The glue won’t last too much longer. As soon as you can, get the hell off my lawn. And make sure you get that message across.”
So I was almost expecting the knife that flew out of the shadows as I stepped into my front yard. Lucky I spent some time on the wrong end of a knife-throwing act. Caught the knife, by the handle even.
It was dark, but I could tell the would-be hitman was only a bit bigger than I was, and that he’d already gotten another sharp implement into his hands. I shouted “Discursus!”
In the time it took him to decide if it was a spell or just inanity, I’d chucked the knife right back at him. Sunk about four inches of blade into his right shoulder. He dropped the knife he’d been readying and drew a rapier. For my part, I reached dramatically to my hip and drew…nothing. When I wasn’t pretending to be a bravo, I hardly ever carried a dagger, let alone a real sword. My crossbow and Drak were inside, with a complicated lock and an assassin between them and me.
Not that I needed them.
The ball of glue formed with a flick of my mind, and swelled as I hurled it at the hitman. It wasn’t enough to stop him cold, but it was enough to slow him down.
“You’re getting blood on my lawn. Popular songs to the contrary, it’s not good for the grass.”
He was game, I’ll give him that. He kept his mouth shut and kept coming, probably figuring that his only way out of this was to finish the job he’d already botched. If he’d gotten me with that first knife, he might have pulled it off. I hit him with more glue, rattled his brains with a sonic blast or two, and—once, when he got too close—a pretty passable left hook. It was the punch that dropped him. This surprised me.
“Come on, man, I’m a long way from a professional pugilist.”
He lay there, bleeding and gasping. Wholly human beneath the the hood, with spittle in his whiskers and eyes going glassy.
“Ah. Playing with poison will get you into trouble.” I pulled out the theriac I kept on my person for just such moments. “You’d like some of this, yes? Before whatever nastiness you put on that knife finishes you?” The hitman managed a nod. Good, tougher than he looked. I dumped some more conjured glue on him, then flexed the small bit of biomancy I knew to put some color back in his cheeks.
“Note that I haven’t done anything about the poison yet.” Another nod. “Now, I’m not sure how the Family deals with botched ‘work,’ but I’m willing to bet that you’re a little worried about that, even if I let you live.” I did my best imitation of a menacing grin, the effect probably lost in the bad light. “I’m not going to ask you to tell me who put the hit out, or how you knew I’d be here tonight. Vinnie will have some ‘splaining to do.” I thought for a moment, tossing the theriac from hand to hand. “I’m guessing it was Toth, maybe through McKay. Doesn’t much matter whose gold at this point. You tell them I want a meeting. All the Borales uncles. A little private performance by the Storyteller. It’ll be worth their while. A good chance for them to finish the job you couldn’t if they don’t like what I have to say, a chance for me to settle things if I can manage my most winsome. And in the meantime, they get to take in a show. They get, oh, one bodyguard apiece. And I’ll bring a stage manager. Just to keep everybody honest. The greencoats’ll stay home, the muscle will stay home, and we can have a chat.”
“They’ll never buy it.” Huh. Maybe I overdid it with the biomancy.
“Tell you what—what is it you call yourself?”
“Talto.”
“Talto, then. I’ve worked up a pretty hefty folder on the Borales Family in the last few weeks. Enough to make a few murder charges stick, and probably a pretty good case against some of the smuggling operations. That’ll be part of the stakes. If they don’t show, it goes straight to Radisgad’s desk. If I don’t walk out, it goes straight to Radisgad’s desk. They either play my game or I invite the Sentinels in. And you know how touchy Old Man Radisgad gets when somebody starts messing with his own. Clear?”
He nodded, looking pale again. “There’s a back room at the Den, down by the fighting pits. I’m sure you know it. I’ll have it reserved for the sixth hour in three days. Horrible acoustics, but best bouncers in the ‘Verse, discreet ownership, and neutral turf. I’ll be waiting.”
I mixed the theriac, then, poured it down his throat. “I’m going inside now. The glue won’t last too much longer. As soon as you can, get the hell off my lawn. And make sure you get that message across.”
Labels: Dinadan Noir
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