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Chapter -9- Weathered

December 7, 11:30pm EST Port of Miami

** Sinopa put her hand out** , bracing herself on Rufus' wrist. The kitsune placed the palm of her other hand against a metallic storage container. "This storm is impressive that it can move a ship this size with no problem. Strange that it formed so quickly and converged on the area with such little warning."

Rue pushed back his rain-slick black hair and shrugged. "Reckon so, foxy. No hurricane's hit America this time'a year since the 1800's, though. And certainly not one like this. News called it a tropical depression. This ain't no rinky-dink squall. I hope this cargo ship's as important as Bull's dreamtime thing suggests."

"It is impressive that he sees future probabilities in such detail. How does it work?" She draped her left forearm over her forehead to protect her eyes from the rain.

"Yeah. He gets all quiet, has a daydream sometimes, and then gives me th' four-one-one."

"Pardon? What's the significance of that number?"

"It's an American phone number to reach 'Information.' Anyhow, have you had any premonitions?"

"Only that I believed what he said very firmly. Like he was stating something I somehow knew to be truth." Sinopa pushed her hands back through her hair, unable to hide her ears. "But I do have a feeling it is dangerous here."

"If'n I were a bettin' man, I'd put chips down on tha' statement." He sniffed at the air then continued through the aisle of large containers. "I wonder where all this-here stuff goin'? This ship has plenty things, tha's for sure."

"Hai. It is time we look inside while the rain provides us with a proper distraction." She approached one of the shipping containers, put her palm against the lock then turned the metal to slag.

Rufus pulled the door open on a large hinge then peered inside. She reached a hand forward and created a fireball, illuminating the interior.

"Good heavens," he said, stepping into the shipping container. They stepped out of the rain. Rufus huffed with a measure of relief. With a tower of metal boxes stacked atop, the container was quieter on the inside than Rufus expected. He spoke softer than when they were outside. "Lookie here at all these boxes of car parts. Let's look in another." They moved to a container across the row, broke-in the same way then peered inside.

The second container held a neat row of boxes. Again, Sinopa created light by means of a fireball while Rufus tore one open. He glanced back at her and said, "Don't let the wind slam tha' door shut. We're liable to suffocate in here wit' fire ... oh! Lookie here, darlin'."

"What've you found?"

"Motherboards fer computers. Bulk shippin' box. Someone somewhere is gettin' a lot of computers built." He went to another box and opened it. "Same address, same thing. Enough here for a whole damn city." He pulled out a cellphone and thumbed the screen. "Gimmie a sec to put in th' coordinates on this'ere shipping label." He reached over with his free hand and put it against the metal container. "Okay, there we go ... gotta use the whole box as an antenna for reception."

"You speak so strangely," she mused. "Not the dialect. Your lexicon in regards to..." She trailed off and gestured to his phone. "Your cellular device."

"A'yup. New-fangled techno babble. Okay, here we go..." Rufus thumbed the screen again then said, "Tha's weird."

"The shipping address is weird?"

"Yeah, foxy. Google done say the destination's right out in the middle of th' Atlantic Ocean."

"How bizarre."

A loud foghorn startled them both, followed by distant shouting. "Lights out, foxy." Rue hurried up to the container door and pulled it all the way shut. "Let's lay low, yeah?"

"Hai. I'm curious to know what is going to happen."

"Ayup, let's hope we ain't in a mess of trouble." He kept one hand on the side of the container and dialed Evan's cell. A moment later, he heard the young man answer the line. "Hey, kiddo. Wha's going on topside? We hear a lot'a yellin'."

Evan's voice sounded scratchy on the other end, due to reception. "...Just kidding! You only reached the voice mail! So leave one already!"

"Yeah, you're gonna need to change that to something less dippy, bud. Remember what I said back in the hotel? You're not answerin', your voice mail is unprofessional, son. This is what I meant by bumblin'. Don't be like that. Call me back and prove me wrong, a'ite?"

Sinopa pushed the door ajar and peered through a gap in the doorframe. "Rufus-san, they've just turned on the running lights; they're giving orders to leave. From this angle, I can see the anchor chain being drawn into an electronic feeder at the front."

Rufus shoved his phone into his pocket. "Shit. Maybe they're afraid the damn ship will slam into the dock; maybe they're leaving 'afore the brunt of the storm arrives. I think that means we're stuck here." He paused and listened then frowned. "Some of the orders are in another language. Most of the hired help definitely ain't speakin' English and I cain't make out what they's sayin'."

"What if Evan isn't answering because something happened to him?"

"Aw man." Rufus thumbed his screen, waited then grimaced. "Lost my last bar of reception. Let me send'a text message to Johann."

"Very well. I hope that Evan will be alright."

"A'ite, I got the text out. It says not to call us, cause we need to lay low." He grimaced and clenched his hand into a fist. "Damn. I told'em they're too young to help! They're just kids, those two."

"Hai. But I believe they can handle themselves."

"Yeah. I guess. Gotta stay optimistic." Rufus glanced at a reply text on the screen then he shoved the phone into his pocket and turned to face Sinopa. "Yer beau is gunna take Johann to see if they can't pick up Evan. He should be near the docks if he stayed with the plan. For now, let's try'n warm up 'afore we catch cold."

Sinopa placed a hand against the metallic storage container and warmed the metal with her fiery touch. "Open the door a bit more, please, for ventilation."

"A'ite. I'm down with that." Rue shouldered the door further ajar and reached out for the melted padlock. He picked it up from the deck, shook the water off of it then wedged it into the hinge of the container to keep it from moving. "A'ite, I got it propped just a cunt hair." He immediately bit his lower lip then coughed. "Sorry. That was a slip of th' tongue. I promise my momma raised me better'n that."

"I would suggest you curb it more for Evan's sake than my own. I wouldn't be surprised if we see him shortly."

"Yeah ... dammit, I hope the kid's gonna be okay. Well, if this ship really gonna head out to sea, we might have to spend the night on this big-ass rust bucket."

Sinopa nodded and sat down on a box. She closed her eyes, folded her hands, and relaxed her body.

X

---

X

December 8 10:40 am EST West of Miami...

** "I've never heard of such a thing,"** Eric murmured. He leaned back in the seat and gazed out the window, over the wing, at a dark patch of grey in the distance. "A hurricane in December?" He turned to Patience Ubysh and said, "It looks like we'll have to wait until the incoming storm passes. It doesn't make sense. They said it was a tropical depression over Cuba. How can it pick up this much strength that fast, and make it to the Florida Keys in just a few hours?"

"I believe I read somewhere that there is only 90 miles between Cuba and the southern tip of the Florida Keys. It's not beyond belief."

"The keys are supposed to be pretty long. It looks like hell down there." He peered down at the storm below the plane. "We'll be diverted for sure at this point."

"I'm sorry to hear it, Eric. What is your plan after you arrive in the United States?"

"I'll continue on back to California. I ran away from my problems, there. And there's this girl I fancy."

"Oh? You 'fancy' Karla? Just to make sure we're talking about the same girl, she's blonde and a bit on the young side?"

"That's her. Eccentric and blonde, looks young. Too young, maybe. But I keep thinking about her."

"Da. I can see why, she is very attractive. A bit young looking but very well kept and pretty, tovarish."

"Karla Howard is as goofy as girls come. She is snarky, egocentric at times, and very hyper active. But she's intelligent. She's flirty and sensual and accepting and attentive. I feel more drawn to her now than before. Perhaps I just needed to become more accepting of her personality."

"How so?"

"I've learned a little bit about her. She's over four hundred years old."

Patience blinked. Her eyes widened. In a softer voice, she asked, "She is? I mean ... I suppose I simply fail to see it. She seems more like a mature teenager than a sexual savant who has been around for hundreds of years."

"Funny, that's the way I thought when I first met her. But I've since learned that a succubus stops aging in their mid-teens. Their mind, their body, it stays the same."

"Telomeres in the chromosomes remain at length with each mitosis? Her cells become immortal cells?"

"I'm not sure what that means, Patience."

"Please, let's go with Patty as you suggested yesterday. It means that her cells, when they reproduce, are exact clones of themselves. Nothing changes, so there is no aging. The only known immortal cell to be studied from a human body is cancer. So she stays in the mindset of a teenaged girl forever?"

"Yes, to a degree. But teenagers typically try to put on a façade of maturity because they're worried about judgment from others. So you'd think she would act like an adult, who is trying too hard. But not her. Karla doesn't care what people think about her. She's very up to date on modern fashions like a teenager, but ... Whatever. At least she's not a four hundred year old brat, right?"

"I wonder how it all works for her, being a succubus and whatnot."

"I'm told it has something to do with her elevated hormone levels, which keep her interested in sex, but as a side effect, make her aggressive. And I imagine that feeling immortal would make you quite confident, if not fairly cavalier."

"And she's not been domesticated."

"Pardon?"

"A woman domesticates herself when she is ready for it. In this day and age, it's usually around the time when she is encumbered with the burden of responsibility. Becoming a mother, for example. A baby doesn't always turn a girl into a woman, but it works more often than not for the average female. The sign of a good mother is a girl who becomes a woman for the child, more so than their-self."

"You're pretty young. But you're one of the most mature people I've met to date."

Patience smiled inwardly. "Thank you. Karla was very impressive. But the last time I saw her, she disappeared on me when she promised she would return right away. I had a soured opinion of her until later when Mr. Watson explained to me that she was caught off guard by a man named Jasper Cunningham in the elevator. She wound up being delivered to Gregory, blindfolded and bound, then managed to escape. Then I was told she came looking for me. Now I'd like to meet her again so I can form a fresh opinion of her. Perhaps you only need to do the same, and see her with new eyes."

"You might be right. We've been through hell together, that's for sure."

"It sounds like you've built up a measure of history with her."

"A little. But she's out of my league. On top of that, all we do is fight."

"Fight?"

Eric glanced at the window briefly then frowned. He sighed then nodded and turned back to face her. "We disagree. Then we both compete for who is right about something. I don't remember anything about myself, but I don't act like that with anyone else. Only her. We bicker like children sometimes. I'm the high school kid and she's the middle school pre-teen and we both have to be right when we argue. Yet I can't stop thinking about her."

"Why do you fight?" asked Patience.

"Because I have head problems. So everything she does upsets me. She laughs or smiles because someone, other than me, has her attention and suddenly I get nasty. I have head problems, Patty. Just talking about Karla makes me lose my cool."

"Your cool? Ah, right. English euphemism. Listen, Eric, I've spent a week trying to get out of Africa with Gregory, and the last whole day at your side running from strange men with guns. I've not seen you lose your head once." She patted Eric's knee. "In fact, you acted more like a secret agent. Very calm, sexy and focused. I'm sorry about your amnesia but..." she trailed off and gave his knee a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Goodness, you remind me of Jason Bourne."

"The name doesn't ring a bell."

"It's okay. He's a fictional character." She placed her hands on the armrests, firmly gripping them. "Turbulence. I hate turbulence." The cabin began to shake and rattle. Of the six people onboard the plane, Patience seemed the most disturbed. "I might stay in Miami and look for clues as to what lies off the coast of Florida to see if Greg Watson was right about Doctor Falcon's Atlantic expedition."

"Let me know what you decide," Eric replied. "Because I'm headed back to California as soon as the storm passes." He put his hand atop of hers and smiled. "This is still safer than driving in a car, regardless of rain. Especially in rain. Just relax. We'll be fine."

"I'm not a fan of rattling boxes in the sky. Wings are just horizontal sails. If the right gust of wind comes along, it could fling us about like a..."

Eric Loupe reached his hand up and put a finger against her lips. "Shh. We'll be fine. I promise."

Patience closed her eyes and counted in her head.

X

---

X

December 8 7:40am, PST Pacific Heights, San Francisco, California

** Reno pushed on the main gates at the base of the walkway**. They didn't budge. "No driveway? Where do they park their cars?" He examined a lock and chain, which connected the large gates.

He stood outside of the three-story mansion, looking himself over. His head began to ache. His personal anxieties and frustrations felt dwarfed by confirmation that his younger brother was dead.

Now he had nobody. He had no purpose. He had nothing but a meager bank account, which he'd been careful to avoid. He couldn't lose Nichole's niece, too.

Reno spent the past evening drinking and reeling over the fact he lost everything. It was all catching up to him emotionally. Last night was his night to brood quietly. This morning was spent drinking water, coffee, eating pasta and other high carb food.

He closed his hands around the large metal bars of the front gate. He took a deep breath, psyching himself up to get his head straight. Instead, his thoughts turned to his fiancee, staring at the mansion owned by her brother. His thoughts returned to Vincent.

Now he had nobody. His fists tightened around the bars. He thought about the past year, how he'd avoided his brother because he knew people were hunting him - the goons who closed down Trajen's old club a year ago. Now he was given word that Vincent was dead. And he never even got to say goodbye.

Reno's mind raced back and forth between the various fact-webs that were normally illustrated on notepads back at his old desk. He avoided the BPI Complex until this year. 'And to think I used to worry about those clowns,' he thought, saying the last word aloud, only to be startled by the sound of his own voice. "Christ, I'm liable to start talking to myself again."

His eyes cut quickly to the rest of the estate to ensure that there weren't any dogs or some such. Typically, rich people always seemed to have Dobermans or some other type of guard dog. Satisfied, Reno put his hands on the bars of the front gate and pushed again, testing them. Still locked. He tried squeezing between the bars but didn't fit.

Nevada tightened his jaw. "Okay, just like back at Trajen's club. I didn't even think about it, I just... did_ _it." He willed himself to teleport but nothing happened. "Aw c'mon, it was easy." He thought about himself on the other side of the gate but, again, nothing happened. "Goddamn it."

With a grunt, he put his feet on the bars and tried to pull himself up a metal pole at the center of the main gate. He put his foot on the lock and chain for support. Half way up, with sweaty palms, he slid back down then dropped unceremoniously to his backside. "Bullshit."

Reno balled his hands into fists. "I'm not going to fail; my brother was killed, my fiancée is gone; I'm going to fuckin'..."

In mid- sentence, Reno teleported through the main gates and materialized in a flash, still sitting on his backside on the cobblestone walkway. He rubbed his face, glanced back at the gates then forward at the house. "Great." He sighed and shook his head. 'So in order to use this stupid ability, I have to get emotional? I'm going to be a basket case by the time I get any good at using it.'

The ex-inspector got to his feet, brushed himself off and began to walk towards the front door of the mansion. He knocked on the door but, to his surprise, the door swung open. The first sight he caught was that of a dead maid on the floor of the foyer. His heart dropped; he knew that things were about to get bad and already didn't look forward to the rest of the afternoon.

Stepping into the house, Reno began to go through his old homicide routine. It was instinctual in a way and he had to investigate what was going on. The first thing he noticed was that the maid was beginning to decompose already. Her eyes had sunken in and maggots covered her blouse. Flies were buzzing around her head and she had a bit of a bloated sort of look to her skin.

Nevada turned from the corpse, leaving it untouched for the future forensic team. Passing into the living room, the stench of death lessened but once he moved further down the hallway, the smell returned. Nudging another door ajar, Reno peeked into what was obviously a kitchen. A gentleman with a matching uniform to the maid was found face down on the kitchen floor.

The sight of a wrench took Reno's mind back to the rooftop of the Pages Lost, briefly. The dingy metal tool lay on the floor adjacent to the body. It was quite obvious that the gentleman was bludgeoned to his untimely end and from the looks of things he had been caught by complete surprise. His skin was off-color from the state of decay and lack of blood to his flesh. He had a green handkerchief in his breast pocket.

Reno reached into his pants pockets then silently applauded himself for habitually bringing a pen and notepad. After several years as a homicide inspector, Reno started to realize that he had a lot of his habits and mannerisms still intact.

Trying to push aside the thoughts of his brother and personal inquiries of whether or not his brother's body looked like this, Reno forced himself to work.

He cleared his mind then put the pen against the pad of paper and wrote, 'Mr. Green, in the kitchen, with the wrench. Fingernails clean. No sign of defensive struggle. Assume the murderer killed the maid at the door then took out the butler who never saw it coming. Maid's cause of death unknown - no sign of physical trauma at first glance.'

"How the hell did you find me?"

Reno blinked and whirled around. His stood across the room from Topaz. "Parker! How long have you been here?"

"About an hour," she replied in a soft voice. "Actually, more like ... three. Okay, so you came here on a hunch then? Congratulations, Top Cop. You found me."

Reno flinched. "Karla calls me that." He closed his pen, slid it through the spirals on the top of his notepad and asked, "Any idea who killed the staff?"

"They come twice a week, together, and have worked for my father for several years. Whoever killed them did their homework. They raided the place," she explained. "I don't know if they were looking for me 'n Fox, or if they were looking for money. But, whoever did this, they knew that those two had access to the place, and could disable security."

Reno pulled the pen again and wrote, 'Victims of circumstance. Used for access.' He returned the pen to the spiral binding at the top of the pad. "Okay, then. Now what?"

"I don't know. I just needed to come here and gather supplies. Stuff Fox left behind. Then I started going through my old belongings. Photographs. I cleaned out all the receipts from my wallet and then I started touching stuff, like the furniture and my laptop. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me."

Nevada frowned and wedged the notepad halfway into his back pocket. "Nothing. That's normal."

"What's normal? Suddenly acting sentimental? God. It's unlike me. I'm always emotionally detached. I'm a very guarded person but suddenly I'm all touchy-feely and I lost track of time. I didn't mean to stay here that long."

"Parker, you've been through some traumatic crap. You came here for answers and you found questions. Sentimentality? That's normal."

"HOW is that normal?"

He frowned and shrugged. "Subconsciously, you're just trying to get yourself grounded. Memories help restore your sense of self. Just relax."

"Where'd you learn that psychobabble crap? Pig psychology class? I don't need to hear some fake drama logic to explain my actions, cop."

A grin found Nevada's lips. "If you're referring to Police Sensitivity Training, then no. I'm a homicide cop. When you deal with a crime of passion for a living, you start learning how passion works simply by watching the suspects and victims and how they're affected by the tragedy of murder. You do a case on a man killed by his coworker for money and watch how the wife and children act while taking their statements. Grief, confusion, loss ... all that crap threatens to change who we are and how we define ourselves. Sometimes, we act out in strange ways ... like trying to ground ourselves. How's that for drama logic?"

"Okay, Freud. So what's next for me?"

"I don't know you well enough to answer that," Reno replied. His eyes returned to the body of the butler. "But with your foundation being threatened, you'll become aggressive to protect those who matter most to you. And you won't sleep well until you have them near by. Fox?"

She narrowed her gaze then, abruptly, her eyes softened and she looked down at the dead butler with a frown. "Yeah. Fox. You probably wouldn't understand. Dad never did. Fara never tried. Fox is my anchor."

"So, Parker, did you two grow up together?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm told Mom didn't want anything to do with the criminal lifestyle of our father, so she divorced him and moved out before I was old enough to remember. The judge awarded her custody of one kid because dad had the money and she had ... well, not much. So I grew up with her until she died from cancer when I was fourteen. Then I moved in with dad and Fox. At first, I resented Fox. But a year later, he proved he was worth my respect. Dad never really got my real respect, but I humored him because it was easier. That's my life story. Although I do_ _know my Aunt Nicky fancied you."

Reno smiled briefly then frowned again. "Yeah. I fancied her, too. Look, I'm going to need your help. You and your brother. Karla, too. I'm in over my head. So here's the deal: You get everything you need. I will help you get it out of here. We call a taxi, then you place an anonymous call and say you're one of the neighbors. You tell the police that your foo-foo doggie, Mr. Precious, got away from you, went through the main gate at this address and you squeezed through, saw the door open and the maid dead. You got the dog, snuck out, and didn't want to give away your identity because you didn't want cops to see you in your yoga pants, nor did you want to be questioned by anyone from the media. Then hang up. Keep it brief, so they don't trace the call, not that it matters because we'll use a prepaid cellphone from the store, okay?"

"They're going to see various clues, which will lead them to signs from the attack when Fox got me out of here, when I was unconscious. Then they're going to add that up with the cleaning couple on the floor. What if the cops think Fox and I killed them?"

"Topaz, the attack was documented. You and your brother are reported to the authorities as missing in action. You both know how to get into the house, so you wouldn't have needed to kill the maid and the butler to get in, so this second attack clears the two of you as suspects. The police will conclude that someone is looking for you. This isn't an 80s vigilante action movie where the police make ridiculous assumptions."

Topaz's gaze returned to the body of the man on the floor. "He's not a butler. He and his wife clean the place. I really, _really _admired them."

"You did? I thought you told me you were a lesbian. Why would you respect a straight couple?"

Parker glanced up at Nevada and narrowed her gaze. "Don't you judge me like that. I can admire straight couples, you ass. They came over here with almost no money from Europe. All they had was each other and their marriage. They were judged, heavily, where they grew up because they were half-siblings. Their country is, like, the only one left that allows that sorta stuff, and it's frowned upon. Like them, I'm frowned upon and judged for my life choices, and the only man I can turn to and trust is my brother. So I admired them. And now they're dead in my fucking big ass house. Yes, my house. Willed to me by my dead father, who died because Aris Falcon used me to attack him. So it's MY fault. And do you know _why I trust you enough to work with you? It's because you're one of the few people who understands how fucked up everything has become. You've lost family and your lover. You're hurting. You're different. You're alone. So do _not_ _judge me, because you need me, you prick."

Reno lifted his hands defensively. "That came out wrong. I misunderstood you. I thought you were saying you respected them based on their relationship, because they worked together, lived together, and didn't drive one another crazy being together twenty-four, seven, three-sixty-five. Not because of what they've been through."

Topaz threw her hands up. "Even though I'm gay, a married couple that loves each other enough to live together and work together all the time is STILL something worth admiring, Reno! Don't be closed-minded. I was happy for them, regardless_ of their gender preference in juxtaposition to my own. O-fucking-KAY?" She lifted her own hands up, palms forward, took a deep breath then said, "Alright. Listen, cop, go on back to your Sensitivity Training Class. I don't judge straight people for _not being gay." Her voice lowered, adding, "Dickhead," at the end.

"Okay, okay! I stand corrected. I'm sorry. To be honest, I was only trying to understand if you're all-the-way gay or if you're dating Fox. AND, if you are, I'm not going to judge." He paused, added a quick, sharp sound, "AHT!" to keep her from blowing up on him, paused again, then said, "Let's not fight in front of the cleaning couple. Please? I'm sorry I said anything that would make you feel uncomfortable. I'm just trying to say that whatever you've got on your mind, I don't judge. It all came out really wrong, I've had a long few days, you've had a long couple of days, neither of us have had much rest. Now let's get your stuff moved, follow the plan and go from there."

"We need a place to stay," she grumbled in reply. "I can't go back to the boat yet. I feel like I'm being followed and I don't wanna lead anyone to Karla and Fox. I need somewhere to practice training. I need somewhere to relax, get my head together, find some perspective and do some thinking."

Reno bit his lower lip. "Secluded, too?"

"Preferably, yes."

He ran his hand up over his head, once again reminded that he now lacked hair. "Yeah, uh. My best offer is that you come with me just a bit northeast of here. It's in the middle of nowhere, really. My parents were hippies, see, and uh ... they passed away. That's why Vincent sometimes needed help paying rent. His roommate moved out, and as much as he hated living alone, he didn't want to live alone in the old house. He felt like it was kinda' haunted."

"I dunno," she murmured softly.

"Look, don't take this wrong but I just offered you the smartest possible option. Don't you see a smart option when one presents itself to you?"

Topaz furrowed her brows. "You saying I'm an idiot?"

"Are you? Aren't you types supposed to be smart?"

"You mean women? Because the smartest person in the world, Marilyn vos Savant-Mach has the Guinness Record highest IQ. Or are you referring to gay people again? Maybe you've never heard of Daniel Tammet."

"Gee, Topaz. Maybe I can't understand why super smart people feel the need to change their name, like 'vos Savant' and 'Tammet'," Reno snapped, adding, "Surprised that I've heard of them? But no,_ _I was referring to people who spend a lot of their time in museums - the 'Indiana Jones' types."

"He was a glorified grave robber," she snapped back. "And he's not real, douche-bag. Christ ... it might not be as smart of an idea as you think, because the people after us already know way too much about us. They know you, they know me. They knew Vincent, and they might be the same bastards who went after Aunt Nicky, too. They knew enough to come here. What's to say they haven't trashed _your_parents' house already?"

"Because my hippie parents were these anti-government 'Kumbaya' campfire types. They never paid taxes their whole life. They owned land that has been in the family since around the time of the gold rush. It's in the middle of nowhere so the state doesn't want it, so they haven't seized it. Power is supplied by a mechanical generator and the nearest telephone pole is forty-five miles away by empty dirt fields with no roads at a bumpy speed of seventy-five miles an hour. Why you think I became a cop? To rebel against my kooky parents. Vincent was named after 'van Gogh' because they thought Starry Night was a representation of an acid trip. Something they did often. Lay under the stars, doing acid by the fire. So trust me when I tell you that unless you know how to get there... you can't get there. Because they barely existed. Every generation of my family chose a strange surname to keep under the radar. They used to say they did it to keep the government away. Vincent and I got 'Nevada.' I loved my parents but I left at sixteen. Emancipated. I went and I visited them. My father and I used to work on rebuilding a muscle car. It's still there. I could really use something that doesn't run on electronics. My father was fantastic with mechanical stuff. Built lots of stuff by hand. My mother painted every God damned thing she could get her hands on. They were hillbillies. The house is safe. Okay?"

Topaz nodded in silence. She glanced down at the body on the kitchen floor again and, in a soft voice, added, "He really smells bad. Let's just get my stuff and go."

"We need to find a car and," Reno suddenly found himself interrupted.

"I'm rich, retard."

"Hey. You shouldn't use that word."

"Cop sensitivity training?" she asked. "You're not a cop anymore. So chill out."

"Just don't say it in a derogatory way. It's a musical term _only. _Got it?" He waited for a nod from her then said, "Good. Now what's your plan? Your money will be traced. We can't rent without being traced. We can't steal without running the risk of being tracked or spotted. So what's your plan?"

"I come from a long line of thieves. Daddy had a contingency plan for everything. A car for every occasion registered to multiple people who don't exist. He also has a family piggy bank of money that cannot be traced. Ever seen 'Back to the Future'? Doc Brown carried currency in a briefcase that separated cash by date. Well, daddy's briefcase is a lot like that ... only the currency goes back a lot longer and the stash is a lot larger."

"Like a vault?" He grinned inwardly, picturing Wilfred Greg with a briefcase of money due to the resemblance between Wilf and Christopher Lloyd.

Reno's fleeting thought disappeared with Topaz's reply. "No, copper. Like a stadium bunker on a private island out in the middle of nowhere. No,_ _it's not in Antarctica. Don't be daft."

"Wait, how did you know I was thinking Antarctica?" Reno paused then asked, "What are you - British? Who the hell says 'daft' in this state?" He thought back to Agent Summers and added, "You're the second person to say it to me; is that the new thing? American kids steal British slang, now?"

Topaz rubbed her forehead then shrugged. "My ex-girlfriend was from Cumbria."

"Not familiar with that country."

Topaz brought her palm to her forehead. "God, you are a real piece of work. No, Inspector. It's in North West England. You have heard of England right? God. Borough of Allerdale. Dunno why I'm telling you. You've probably not a clue where that is."

Reno folded his arms, tapping an index finger against his elbow. "There's a town there, right on the water, called Maryport, right? In Cumberland county."

Topaz lifted her head and stared at him for a moment. "Okay, maybe you have heard of Allerdale. I stand corrected. Why did you act like you've never heard of Cumbria before?"

"Just wasn't thinking straight. I told you I'm tired. I can't remember the name of geographical stuff on a whim. I just had to think about it. Let's stop beating each other up and berating each other before the dead guy starts to think we're married." He turned to face the man on the floor and added, "No offense." He motioned with a hand to the rest of the house. "Let's get to work and get out of here."

She walked out of the kitchen and headed for stairs to the basement down the hall. "The dead don't seem to bother you."

Reno shrugged. He unfolded his arms and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I've seen more than half of my cases' victims during or after their autopsy. I don't think about it anymore. I'm actually more surprised that you didn't react."

"I did. When I got here I cried. I freaked. I knocked over furniture and screamed and threw things."

"You had a tantrum?"

"I ... yeah. Then I started cleaning up the mess and I got sidetracked. I started on my trip down memory lane. I was too mentally wigged out to think about the bodies. I don't think it's really hit me yet. I was angry and shell-shocked or ... whatever the term is. But I'll mourn them later."

Reno frowned. "So I get to see you an emotional wreck later on this evening?"

"No. You haven't earned that level of trust from me." She opened a door at the bottom of the steps. Another hallway went to the left, and another set of stairs went lower, on the right. "We keep this shut because the training room has its own central air system." She turned to the right and descended the second staircase.

"Damn, how deep does this place go?"

"Deep enough, Reno." Topaz stopped on the last step, punched in an eight-digit code on a panel then opened the next door. They walked to the end of a short hall, down another six steps and into a large basement.

Nevada offered a low whistle. "You could house over two dozen cars in a room this size. Good God. How much does a house like this go for?"

"The house is thirty-eight million," she said, adding, "The lower section was added afterwards, and cost another sixteen million dollars just to tunnel it out and construct it to withstand quakes. The walls are designed to move if the earth does. They're malleable enough to absorb the energy of a quake. Remember the quake of '89?"

"Not personally, but it was during the World Series," said Reno. "So this place withstood that, huh?"

"Dad said you could hear it down here, but you didn't feel a thing. He remembers seeing rings in the pool, but they were slight."

"The pool? So this place cost sixteen million to build back in the eighties,_ _huh? God. I can't imagine what it's worth now."

"After dad died, it was appraised at thirty-eight million. That's current. But they didn't see the basement because that was never recorded with the state. It's been changed three times since it was built," she said, leading him across the enormous, empty room.

"So what is the point of this big empty room anyhow?"

"See the strange patterns in the floor tiles? Stuff comes up out of the floor. It's for training purposes. Obstacles, furniture ... hell there's even a pool table - my father liked to amuse himself by putting games in a gym. The swimming pool is in a different section, back the way we came. That's public access. This room isn't. The camera back at the door only grants access based on geometrics. I punch in my PIN, it snaps a picture of my face and, if I want, I can change the settings to work on retina, too. But daddy hasn't used this place since he retired so ... security isn't as strict anymore."

He noticed that she was rambling and assumed it was her way of coping with everything. He remained quiet and let her continue.

"Fact is, Reno, this place was tailored to the family's distinct professional and private needs. Why do you think we refuse to sell the property? If I could, I would in a heartbeat. But I won't."

"Still, you're not safe in San Fran."

Topaz sighed. They reached the far end of the large room. There was a simple door at the back left corner. She opened it and reached for a light switch on the wall. "This is the supply room." She stepped in, Reno followed. The room had several shelves, stocked neatly with various gear. Weapons, ammunition, batteries and electronic devices.

"You know batteries get old if they're not used, right? The stuff inside of them breaks down and gets nasty."

She offered a shrug. "Every once in a while Fox updates or upgrades the stuff down here, since daddy stopped coming down here after he retired." She picked up a pack of Double 'A' batteries then put it back on the shelf. "The expiration date is still three years away. The room is climate controlled. Half the electronics and circuits down here are electronically shielded. Like your folks, daddy had the basement set up so that it didn't need power from the city grid. Just in case. Plus it's expensive to power all this stuff and you don't want the government to trace you. Your folks would have probably liked my folks."

Reno rubbed his right hand against the back of his neck. "Nichole used to say that. My parents were okay ... they were just ... too old to be having kids. Mom was fifty-four when I was born. Poor Vincent was raised by people so far removed from his generation that his social skills suffered."

Topaz picked up a satchel on the back wall and began packing. "So. That's why he was socially awkward. But his heart was in the right place. I wish I gave him a chance to prove it to me. Instead, I was a total tool."

"He was a black cat in the world of love," Reno said, picking up another satchel. He began packing supplies and weapons. "So you have vehicles?"

"The sixty-seven AC Shelby Cobra has a forty-two gallon tank, and the engine was modified so it is a bit more fuel efficient. Four gears, though. But it'll get us out of town and it'll get us there fast."

"Yeah," Reno murmured while sifting through guns and matching them with the proper ammunition. "On a track, you'd need a tank that large to keep from having to make too many pit-stops. Don't get me wrong, I would love to drive it. But we don't need a flashy two-seat roadster with no trunk."

"It has a hitch," she murmured. "I guess you're right, though. Too flashy. What about a hybrid SUV? I didn't want to suggest that because you seemed concerned about electronic devices."

"Statement of the year. You saw me throwing lightning outside of Lucy's Diner."

A small smile found the corner of Topaz's lips. "Yeah. That was a bit weird. We have a GMC van that's older than we are. It's a gas hog but there's not a lot to worry about electronically. It's older than my father."

Reno replied with a firm nod, shouldered his bag and smiled. "Ready."

"We'll need to stop somewhere and get bottled water," she murmured then shouldered her own bag. "And I'll need to buy some clothes and laundry detergent. Stuff for roughing it. Soap. Tampons. Just ... whatever."

"Yeah, we should make a list. I've got my pen and paper so we'll write everything down before we leave town. Lead the way."

Topaz turned out the light, stepped out of the room with Reno and pulled the door shut. They crossed the enormous room again, headed up the stairs, down the hall and into a different wing of the basement.

She put in her PIN number again. They went through the door then down the hall to another section of the basement, which led to a car garage. There was a bay door at the far end. Four rows of ten vehicles filled the room. A nearby shelf held various car batteries in storage. "Dad only ever keeps a gallon or two in these cars. So we'll need fuel before we leave town."

"I thought that was bad? Like you can get condensation build up in the tank."

"It beats paying for stale gas if you need to drain the tank because you haven't driven one of these in a while. We might be rich, but we're not going to throw away a full tank of gas. He keeps enough in these things to start'em and let'em run every once in a while."

Reno glanced up at the large vents in the ceiling. "Specialized ventilation huh?"

"I guess." She shrugged, adding, "There is a roll up door, it leads outside at the far end of the neighborhood. "Isn't that ventilation enough?"

"Carbon monoxide poisoning is no joke," Reno said. He began walking down the rows of vehicles then stopped in front of an old station wagon with wood panels. "Wow, man. Look at this thing. It's a boat."

"Is that what you'd rather use?"

"Might be better on gas than a van." He tried the hatch door and found it to be unlocked. Reno put his bag in the back then took hers and loaded it. He shut the hatch then said, "I'll find the battery for this one. Where are the keys kept?"

"On the driver seat of every car. Reno, I appreciate you taking the time to help me. I'm sorry I was nasty earlier. I just ... it's tough. I hate looking vulnerable but I think it's equally counterproductive for me to be mean to you."

He turned to face her and nodded with a slight smile. "Things are going to get better. We're going to get through this, we're going to kick Falcon's ass and then you can get back to your life, okay?"

"Thanks. I appreciate you being understanding; I'll get the battery. Pop the hood." She walked off, briefly then returned with the battery hefted up on her left shoulder to support the weight.

Parker slid it into the empty gap, tightened a small metal clamp to hold the square box in place then she connected the battery. She came around to the driver side and said, "I'm going to open the rolling door," and walked away.

Reno eased into the driver's seat and ran his hands over the steering wheel then inspected the interior, the knobs and slider switches and classic technology highlights. "Damn this is old school." He glanced up, through the rows of other vehicles, vaguely able to see that the rolling door was starting to go up. But instead of opening all the way, it stopped.

Reno tapped his fingers on the wheel. Another moment went by. He slid out of the car and walked through the rows of vehicles towards her.

"Geeze, Parker, what's wrong? Rolling door get stuck?" He came from between two cargo vans and froze.

Topaz was on her knees, hands behind her head with her elbows outwards.

Four men with assault rifles surrounded the girl, with the one directly behind her training his weapon on the backside of her head. Beyond them, just outside the half-open rolling door, Reno saw a modern passenger van and a few more gunmen climbing out of it.

"Bring her friend over here," said the guy with his gun trained on Topaz. The men outside ducked beneath the shoulder-height rolling door and moved to flank Reno, guns drawn.

Nevada looked them over with a frown. "Black flak jackets. So, you boys are Falcon's famous mercenaries, huh?"

"Shut up," said one of the gunners. He moved to Nevada's left and aimed a handgun at the cop's shoulder. "Don't move." The man turned to two coworkers and said, "Search the rest of the house. Switch on your heartbeat monitors." Two men split off from the group and headed to the door at the far end of the car garage. One of them withdrew a tool kit and picked the lock then they made their way through the door leading to the rest of the basement.

"Well, Topaz, I guess these weren't the guys that killed the cleaners."

"Reno, now isn't the time."

Nevada turned his gaze back to the gunner and smirked. "What is it with you guys?" he asked. "You're as annoying as the goons working for Monroe."

"Shut him up," said the guy with the handgun.

Another mercenary moved adjacent to Nevada and used the butt of an assault rifle to strike the cop in his gut. Reno doubled over with a groan and sunk to his knees, his left forearm over his stomach, with his right hand and his forehead on the ground.

Reno overheard the leader, standing behind Topaz, speak into his radio. "We got him at the car garage."

Over the radio came a tinny reply. "Are you sure it's the one that threw lightning at GZ's crew?"

"I'm sure. It's the same guy. We followed him to the Parker mansion; put a sniper on the front and rear entrance. We were going to break in through the car garage and come in unseen but ... he and some girl were coming out at the same time we were coming in. We've got'em now. You want us to bring them to the new lab or do you want us to tranq'em for transport?"

The tinny reply distorted on the radio briefly then Reno heard them say, "Negative. The boss is moving the entire operation starting tonight. Only Queen Bee is staying in town with a few others. The order just came in half an hour ago. We're all leaving the city."

The man in control shifted the radio to his other ear. "Okay, copy that. What do you want us to do with the cop and the girl?"

"Kill them. Make sure he's dead this time. No mistakes. Remove his head from his shoulders and leave. Then pull everyone on all channels and return to the main warehouse. The entire company is being reassigned to the new nest. Nonessential personnel are already being routed. Remember, man, make sure you remove the head. He's been killed more than once already. No mistakes this time. Utilize standard 'Healer Class' procedures."

Reno started to get up but someone shoved him back down. The head of the team said, "Copy, base. Separate the head from the body then burn both. I'm searching the rest of the mansion now, then we'll return to base."

"Negative, Golf team. All operations are now being suspended except operations currently in maneuvers. Kill the cop and the girl, pull everyone else and leave immediately. To hell with anyone else. New orders are to pull out of San Fran tonight and begin relocation to the new nest. Finish them and leave."

"Take down both targets and return to base immediately. Copy that. Golf team leader acknowledges," he said and released the radio talk button, immediately adding, "Christ I hate that pretentious prick." He cleared his throat then said, "Okay, get the pig on his feet. Which one of you has the shotgun? Get that pig's head off." He then said, "So, Parker, we meet again. You crazy broad. You killed my whole team outside that museum. I was their ride. I'm paid to kill the cop, but I'm gonna do you for free, little girl, because this is personal."

One of the men moved behind Reno and put the barrel of the shotgun against the nape of Nevada's neck. "Say g'night, piggy. It's time for you to say 'wee, wee, wee,' all the way home."

The ex-inspector heard the sound of a double barrel shotgun being opened, followed by the distinct sound of two shells being slid into the breech. Next came the metallic snap of the gun being closed. He glanced up at Topaz, who had her teeth clenched. Their eyes met. With a sigh, Reno mouthed the words, "I'm sorry."

He heard the cocking of the hammer mechanism then the shooter turned him towards the wall, so that Topaz, still kneeling, was on his immediate right. Someone off to the side told the gunner, "Remember to pull both triggers at the same time. You got to fire both barrels to make sure you've removed the head from the shoulders nice and clean."

"Yeah, yeah, I know what I'm doing. I've shot doubles before, man." The gunman put the shotgun against the nape of Reno's neck again.

Nevada took a deep breath and shut his eyes, jaw clenched. He tightened his hands into fists and said, "I'm ready. Hurry up before I change my mind."

"Funny to the end, huh, you prick? I never liked you, ya' smart-mouthed punk." It was then that Reno recognized the voice as someone from the precinct. He couldn't recall a name, but he definitely recognized the voice.

"What's the matter? Sanders didn't pay you enough? You've gotta do this crap on your time off?"

"Reno, you stupid fuck, Sanders recruited me. Cops weren't legally allowed to take down people with powers because people have rights. So we're getting funded privately to kill you on sight. Can't have people running around throwing lightning and causing a big mess. It puts people's lives in danger. I took an oath to protect San Fran from people like you. Too bad I'm leaving town. But the promotion is too big to refuse. It is definitely going to be a pleasure to off a cocky young dickhead like you, Nevada. I've hated you ever since you punched me in the face last year. Now it's paybacks."

Nevada's eyes widened. "Jerry Balmoral? Jesus, what the hell are you doing this shit for?" Silence. Reno smirked. "I'm right, aren't I? It's you, isn't it? Everyone calls you JB at the job. Your wife died in some sort of car accident on the way to the hospital to deliver your son, leaving you with a stepson named Evan from her previous marriage, right? Evan Balmoral. You adopted him the year I started at that precinct. You said he was a geek who played those role-playing games with dice and stuff. Remember? I said, 'At least he's not running around at one of those nerd conventions with a sword and a shield,' and you rolled your eyes. Then I said, 'At least he's not doing drugs and bringing home pregnant girlfriends.' That was ages ago. You're a smart guy, JB. You don't need to do this stuff."

The man in the black face mask jabbed the shotgun against Reno's neck firmly. "You've got a good memory, Nevada, I'll give you that much. But I haven't seen Evan in forever. And get this ... I found out he's like you. And what's worse is ... he thinks it's one of his goddamn dice games. He goes out with a buddy and hunts for our teams, follows them to a mission, waits until they're secluded, then attacks them. Nice try, Reno, but Evan and I do not talk anymore so your psychology crap won't work on me. He'd have called you a Byronic Hero. But this is the real world, Nevada. Heroes die. I've killed a ton of them all up and down the coast, all with strange weird powers just like yours. Lucky for Evan, he left California recently. And yeah, I'm still mad that you hauled off and hit me last year. You disrespectful little prick."

Another voice came from the left. "And we're not all pigs, pig." A pause, then, "You've been ID'd Jerry. Do it. Pull the trigger already."

"Yeah, yeah." Balmoral sighed then said, "Sayonara, Nevada."

---

Conclusion: https://www.sofurry.com/view/647002