Chapter 3 - Still of Night

Gage ran his fingers through his hair. He would have to shave his head again, but not until the police had stopped watching the house. If they stopped watching the house. He had been as thorough as possible, considering the kills on the street were completely unplanned. There were no shoe prints or weapons not belonging to the killers. Getting a fingerprint off of bare skin was beyond most police labs, and he knew for a fact this department was less competent than most. But if they found his hair on one of the kills, he was screwed. Maybe the rain would wash away anything he had missed. With any luck, it would look like the two goons had killed each other. He had done what he could to make it seem that way. It was the best he could manage. He hated improvising.

His called his remote service. They relayed only one message, the one he got every night. Part of him relaxed. At least something was normal tonight. It was too late to return the call, but it wasn't expected of him anyway.

He had the service transfer him to a free line, then punched in the number he had for Sticks. There would be at least one transfer on the other end before he got through. Keeping a number private in the age of caller i.d. might be a pain in the ass, but worth the hassle. Only a fool gave out his real phone number, and Sticks had never been a fool. The call connected and in one ring was answered.

"Strickland Storage Units, what can I do for you?" Sticks must have known this was not a regular call, but he rarely took risks.

"Well, I would say you could pick up your lost puppy, but I have taken a shine to her so I am calling to see if we can work out transfer of ownership." There was silence on the other end. He could almost see Sticks running through scenarios in his head. He excelled at seeing lots of angles.

"I see. Is she hurt? Because I'd consider it a problem if someone mistreated my pup."

"If she is hurt, she arrived that way. I took her in, cleaned up after her a little and gave her a corner to curl up in. Oh, and sent the dog catcher away. You okay with that?"

"Yeah, but I'm not gonna give her to just anyone. You're gonna to have to tell me a little bit about yourself. I mean, if you're a total dick who abuses animals, then I'm gonna insist on getting her back. I've grown fond of her in the past year."

"Understandable. I take care of my responsibilities, and despite your care, she is in serious need of some training. I can provide it. For that, and the fact that I had to deal with the dog catcher tonight, you are not getting her back. I was simply being polite."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I thought you should know she made it through her little adventure, though some of the dogs she ran into did not do so well. You might want to forget you ever had her in your kennel, or at least make up a good story about how she ran away long before tonight."

"I know you, don't I?"

"You did, once. I left town a long time ago."

"So long it's almost like you rose from the dead just to call me. That might explain why your voice is rougher. I hear resurrection is murder on the pipes." It was probably the most dangerous thing he could have said, but Sticks laughed.

"Considering how peaceful it is to be dead, it might be best if no one figured out I escaped my coffin. I would take it badly if that became public knowledge." He was definitely not laughing.

"You're an asshole, you know that? You don't have to treat me like I'm crippled in the head, too. I'm not gonna say shit to anyone." Sticks continued to be amused but not as much.

"As long as you are okay with my taking your bitch, I do not think we have any other business." The conversation had gone on long enough.

"You're costing me, you know," He hesitated, as if he'd had to consider whether or not to bring it up. "She was a very lucrative investment."

"I will see what I can do in that regard." He saw no reason to make another enemy if he didn't have to. Especially not one who likes explosives.

"One more thing," Sticks said. "She's not bred to hunt, you know."

"So I discovered. She will either learn or find a new place to live, possibly both. I will take care of her until she is properly trained or shows she is better off shipped out to some farm. Then I am done."

"I'm good with that." Sticks hung up.

Gage checked the to do list that constantly ran in his head. He never wrote anything down. Unfortunately, the items at the top of the list had changed significantly. He stifled his annoyance. He mixed a powder with a large glass of water and went into the living room to check on his latest complication.

She was shaking hard, but she was still awake. That was a bonus. He really did not want to haul her up the stairs. Unfortunately, if the shakes were bad enough, she would be unable to walk. She had become tangled in the blanket and out of it enough to not have noticed. Awake and aware were not the same thing. He unwound the blanket and she stared at him, her dark eyes glassy and unfocused. He wondered again if it would be a good idea to dispense with her but rejected the notion. The police were bound to notice if she disappeared. Besides, there was no profit in it, while there were definite benefits to her continued existence.

"Get up, Deira." There was nothing kind in his voice.

"What? What? Shit. What?" She whipped her head back and forth, then got dizzy. Great. He hauled her to her feet and steadied her.

"We need to get you a drink of water and then up to bed. I am going to help you up the stairs, okay?"

"Are you hitting on me?" She giggled.

"Definitely not. Let's get going." He helped her into the kitchen and held a towel under her chin while she drank the herbal concoction that might make it less painful to get through the rest of the night.

About half way up the stairs, her legs gave out. He carried her the rest of the way. She managed to stay upright by holding onto a post while he turned down the covers. He had to get her undressed. The skirt would be a problem if it tangled, and there would be hell to pay if she ruined the silk shirt. In the morning, he would have to purchase clothes for her. He added it to the list. Clenching his jaw, he turned to the task at hand.

She didn't seem to notice she was being stripped. She fell onto the bed and started shaking harder. He did not want to witness her suffering. He did not want her to be there at all. He pulled the sheets over her and tucked them in tightly. More than one person had strangled themselves with sheets during the shakes. A winter blanket and a comforter were added to the bed. Chills were the worst part of a pump come down. If she was lucky, she would pass out before they got too bad. He sat down and waited for morning.

The lamp on the nightstand gave scant light. He sat in the shadows, thinking. He would need to call in favors to get her trained properly, which meant another person knowing he was still among the living. At some point, the information would get out.

Running through the to do list did not prove helpful, so he switched focus. He watched her thrash on the bed, occasionally muttering as her head whipped from side to side. With any luck, she would say something coherent he could use. She was sweating, blonde curls damp on her face and tangled on the pillow. The familiar, acrid scent of sweat laced with pump filled his nostrils. He really would kill her if she ever touched the stuff again and to hell with any questions the cops might raise. She would be more dangerous alive and strung out than dead.

He should not have opened the door. I could have left her there. He knew it for a lie.

The thump on the door had made him check the security display. She had lain in a dark pool, not moving, the streetlight barely illuminating her long, pale hair. The water had been tinged red. Only later did he realize it had been reflecting the retreating tail lights of a passing truck. Should have settled for black and white cameras. Opening the door had made sense. He did not need a dead girl on his doorstep. He could almost convince himself there was no other reason.

She thrashed again, drawing his attention. She had managed to free one of her arms. The worst of the shakes had passed, so he let it be. Her hand twitched on the blanket occasionally, long fingers grasping then releasing. As long as she kept moving, kept breathing, everything would be fine.

She had worked on her body long before she had decided to embrace her revenge against Cavuto. Her legs were definitely the most developed. She might have been an athlete at some point. That could be useful during training. Athletes were used to accepting pain to reach a goal. How much pain she would be willing to take remained to be seen. Athletic training paled to what she would have to go through to get what she wanted. If she made it, his decision to help her would pay off. If not, his loss would be far less than hers.

She had few scars, none indicating major surgery or childbirth. He had catalogued everything about her body while he undressed her. Being clinical helped. She'd had enough sense to bandage the cut on her shoulder and to choose a shirt that covered it before talking to the police. Not a total fool. The wound didn't seem too bad but would definitely leave a scar.

Scars were excellent reminders of what not to do. He had more than a few of his own. His hand reflexively went to his stomach. That one had been bad. With any luck, she would not need a lesson like that. No one needs a lesson like that. With luck, she might give up the whole idea of revenge and go back to what was left of her life. But he doubted it.

By daybreak, she slept quietly. He went downstairs to make calls – and more coffee. Staying awake presented no problem for him; coffee simply made it more pleasant. He had his service open a line and looked forward to the vitriolic greeting he would get for the early morning call. He was not disappointed.

"Please tell me what dumb motherfucker decided to call me at dawn, so I can rip your liver out."

"If you had to pick a liver, mine is a good choice. It's practically pristine." He chuckled. "Good morning Nick." There was a long silence on the other end.

"You know, if you're going to call at an ungodly hour, you might want to send coffee over first. You'd get a lot further that way."

"Right, so you could rip out the liver of the poor bastard delivering the coffee. I never took you for being slow, but I might have to reassess."

"I see being dead didn't make you any less of an elitist fuck."

"No. If anything, it made me worse. Down to business, Nicky. I am calling in a favor."

"You think I still owe you."

"I know you still owe me, but nice try."

"I'm listening. I don't want to be, but I am."

"I need you to train someone. Warehouse set up should work."

"You need me to train someone. That's interesting. You too broken to do it yourself?"

"I see you're awake now. For the record, I survived remarkably unscathed. I can't train this one, for a number of reasons. Doing this will go a long way towards making us square."

"If I do this, and I haven't said I will, it needs to go all the way to making us square. I don't like having things hanging over my head."

"You should have thought of that a long time ago. But I am in a giving mood. If you do this – quietly - then the debt is settled."

"Fine. Then consider it done. Who am I training, for what and why?"

"You are training a young lady to avoid getting killed or worse. You are doing it because I asked you to. I am not inclined to tell you much more, and you would be wise to not ask her what the story is. I am fairly sure she would tell you and, really, how involved do you want to be in some half-trained girl's business?"

"I don't want to be involved in any of this. I thought I was free of you. How long do you expect this to take?"

"As long as it takes. I think two months should be sufficient. She is not entirely raw."

"Two months. You rotten bastard. That's worth way more than our debt. You're going to end up owing me." There was some glee in the statement.

"No, Nick, I am not, and I am fairly sure you do not want me in debt to you. You agreed to the terms. It is not my fault you failed to ascertain the nature of the assignment first. If I did not know better, I would say you are slipping."

"I never should have fucked you." There was no anger in her voice, just conviction.

"Probably not, but it is a pleasant memory anyway. Fucking me was not what got you in trouble, though. Fucking with me creates a significant source of trouble. Until you need to test her training, forget I am alive."

"Oh, sure, now you give me good advice."

"It is easier to do when you aren't straddling me."

"I'll keep that in mind." She laughed. It was a good sign.

"Call me with details for the set up and I will have everything delivered."

"Mighty white of you, boss." The line went dead.

That was one thing off the to do list. He made the call to the personal shopper on a regular line, with promise of a generous tip if the clothes could be there within two hours. They assured him delivery would be swift and confidential. Two things off the list, but it didn't seem to be getting shorter.