Chapter 10 - Fits and Starts

It took three days for Deira to realize that she had no way to contact Gage. It took him two more days to get around to synching the audio and video. She was railing about something, and it seemed like a good idea to find out what that was. When he finally stopped laughing, he decided to let her wait another day or two.

When the phone rang, he didn't check the caller i.d. It would be Katya checking in. Only it wasn't.

"Your girl is getting pissed," Nicky said as soon as he picked up.

"Good evening to you, too, duchess." He almost wished he could watch Nicky smoldering. She hated that nickname. "How are things at the warehouse?"

"It's going good enough. She's not as ignorant as you led me to believe."

"I didn't say ignorant. I said she was raw, and she is," he replied.

"In some ways, sure. But she's had some training, and she's got a few interesting tricks. Right now, what she has most is a whole lot of anger at you. It's getting in the way. You might want to do something about that before she decides it's your head she wants," Nicky warned.

He laughed. "She has to get at the end of the line."

"Please tell me I'm first."

"I think there is a government or two ahead of you," he said dryly.

"Figures." Nicky sighed. "I didn't call just to give you the angst update, though. That was gratis."

"Meaning the next bit of information will cost me?"

"Yes. Shall we set terms now?"

"I don't know the value of the information, so I am at a disadvantage," he replied.

"Welcome to my world." She paused, and he knew she was savoring the moment.

"Give me some idea of what we are to discuss, at least," he prompted.

"There's interest in your girl's job."

He sighed. Deira had done exactly what he had told her not to do.

"So she told you about it."

"No, genius. Finding out shit is what I do, remember? This little job you have me doing is a side line. All Deira did was confirm it when I asked if this was her deal."

"I wish you hadn't done that." He kept his voice even.

"Then you're an idiot," she snorted. "When Jack Cavuto loses three guys in one night and immediately starts looking for replacements, it's going to cause a buzz."

"Tell me what you know." Deira only killed one. That meant four targets, not three.

"Uh uh. Terms first."

"What do you want, Nicola?" He had to unclench his jaw to ask.

"Oh, now we're formal." She laughed.

"Terms," he ground out.

"I want a cut. Simple as that."

"This is new."

"What? My getting paid for my work?" she shot back.

"No. That there is someone besides Deira who is interested in the job."

"Very interested. So I want in," Nicky said.

"I haven't contracted out," he countered.

"Something tells me you're going to. And since I'm the only one who knows you're alive, and I'm pretty sure you want it to stay that way, you should probably deal." She was all business now.

"You are not the only one in the business who knows I am alive."

"And does this other person have a way to reach you?"

"Point taken." He realized he was pacing and came to a halt. "Why do you think I will take the contract?"

"Two reasons. First, because you don't work for free and that girl is never going to have anything for you that comes close to what the job is worth."

"Possibly. And the second?"

"I've seen the contract amount," she said with obvious glee.

"Which explains the desire for a cut." It all made sense, but he did not like it.

"So do we have a deal?"

"Not until I know the details of the contract," he replied.

"Damn. I was hoping you'd just go for it so I could screw you the way you did me."

"I believe the deception in our relationship was mutual – on a number of levels," he said. "Shall I remind you how it played out?"

"No need. I know what we did to each other. And I know who ended up on top."

"Then let's get down to business, Nicky."

It took fifteen minutes to agree on terms and another twenty to ensure he had the information he needed. The conversation ended just before Katya called to check in. For once, he did not admonish her for being late. He looked at the clock. His next phone call would have to wait.

In the morning, Gage received the documents Nicky had prepared, carefully sealed, as always. He authenticated the offer but nothing else. She was one of the best in the business at finding information other people thought buried. He wasn't going to second guess her. The time for that had long passed.

He locked most of the papers in the basement safe, chose a gun and headed out. He would much rather have arranged everything on the phone, but he knew that would not work this time. Locking the door behind him, he wondered how long he would be able to keep the house and how he would explain to Katya why he had to leave.

The storage facility was outside the city, halfway between the last strip mall and the first farm. It looked like every other storage area – long buildings in a row, evenly spaced roll up doors on each side. The units on the end were larger, with doors on both sides to make it easier to drive in, load, and drive out. No one would ask what was being dropped off or loaded. If you were coming all the way out here, your business was your own.

Gage got out of the truck, a nondescript, black SUV. He had dressed casually – jeans, a work shirt and light jacket, obligatory sunglasses. A man his size in a suit always made people nervous, and that was the last thing he wanted. He grabbed his briefcase and headed into the office. With any luck, this would be a short meeting.

"Jacob Peters to see Mr. Strickland," he said to the secretary.

"You aren't on his calendar," she replied, not looking up.

"I'm aware of that. But I think he'll see me." His tone was neutral.

"Dude? He doesn't see salesmen. You're wasting your time." She was still focused on a pile of invoices.

"That's not the sort of business proposition I had in mind." Gage stepped closer to the half-wall that separated them.

"Which part of..." She finally turned around and for some reason her words failed her.

He looked down. The jacket was open; she could see the gun. Sranje.

"Perhaps you should call him and find out if he wants to talk to me." Gage spoke in what he hoped was his least threatening tone. She did not move. Her eyes flicked to the door. It was the only warning he had.

The first man came from the corridor to the right of the door. The name tag on his shirt said 'Bubba.' Of course. Gage dropped his briefcase. He pivoted to meet the lunge, grabbed Bubba's arm and threw him at the opposite wall. He was heavier than he looked, so he made a sizeable dent in the plaster. While Bubba extracted himself from the wall and the chair he had fallen over on the way, a second man jumped on Gage's back.

That one received an elbow to the head before Gage dropped his shoulder and slammed the man into the floor. He was not as quick to get up. Fucking amateurs.

Bubba was more cautious on his second attack. Too cautious. Gage blocked the punch to his head, wrapped Bubba's bicep in a modified hammer lock and wrenched it up and back. The scream that followed was a good indication that he had managed to dislocate the guy's shoulder. A leg sweep dropped Bubba to the floor, eliciting another scream as he landed on his shoulder.

The secretary had fled down the hall behind her desk, so it wasn't a complete surprise when Gage heard the distinct sound of a shotgun being cocked. He raised his hands in the air, keeping an eye on the two men on the ground. It wasn't likely they would get up quickly, but nothing was impossible.

"Turn around. Slowly."

Gage stepped away from the men and complied.

"I didn't tell you to move."

"Habit." Gage shrugged. "How's business, Mr. Strickland?"

"It was better before you trashed my front office, you son of a bitch." Sticks was leaning against the wall, but his grip on the shotgun was steady. He was tall and thin, with angular features. Years of working with chemicals had given a slight yellow cast to an already bad complexion. With hair that resembled tattered steel wool, he was the very picture of a mad scientist. A homicidal one.

"Sorry about that. I'm sure we can come to some agreement about restitution. I didn't expect to be attacked just for wanting to talk. Strange business you have here."

"Yeah, well, assholes carrying guns spook the help. You shoulda called first," Sticks grunted.

"I don't like doing business over the phone. Now, are you going to shoot me or let me fix that young man's injury?" Gage looked over his shoulder. The second guy was sitting up, but Bubba was trying very hard not to move at all.

Sticks glanced at Bubba.

"Popped the shoulder?" he asked.

"Pretty sure. Please tell me these men are not your regular security."

"Day help. And now I'm gonna have to find someone else for awhile." Sticks shook his head and lowered the gun.

"Shame."

"Let the bastard fix your shoulder, Bubba. Then go home, put ice on it, and have a drink. Call me after the weekend, and tell me how it feels. And next time, wait until I tell you guys there's a real problem before you go charging in. You're lucky this asshole didn't kill you both. And you're lucky I don't fire you." He looked at Gage. "Mr. Peters has been a very good customer over the years, even if his people skills leave something to be desired."

Gage knelt beside Bubba, who flinched and then moaned.

"This is going to hurt." Gage said simply. He put one hand on Bubba's chest, grabbed his right arm, and pulled. There was a crunching sound as the arm popped back into the shoulder joint. He could just hear it under the stream of epithets.

Gage picked up his briefcase and followed Sticks out of the room without looking back.

"Your American accent sucks," Sticks said, limping over to his desk. He put the shotgun behind his chair, still within reach.

"I have not had much occasion to use it lately." Gage took off his sunglasses and tucked them in his shirt pocket.

"Restitution? Jesus Christ. Only lawyers talk like that, and I'm pretty sure they've figured out you aren't a lawyer."

"Are they going to present a problem for me?" Gage asked.

"Nah. They're gonna go home and get drunk, then build up what happened so they can tell their buddies how they kicked some big guy's ass. By the time the weekend's over, they'll think it really happened that way." Sticks shook his head. "I don't keep them around for their brains."

"Clearly not."

"So what's so fucking important that you had to come down here and trash my place to tell me about it?"

"Where is your secretary?" Gage looked through the open door.

"I sent her home. She was shaken up. Dumb bitch shouldn't have hit the panic button, but..." he trailed off.

"You did not hire her for her brains, either?" Gage finished.

"She's smart enough, just new. But I'm pretty sure you aren't here to discuss my help. Close the door if it makes you feel better." Sticks put his hands on the table.

Gage shut the door without turning his back on Sticks.

"You have been making inquiries about Deira's little obsession," Gage began, "which you had not done previously."

"What makes you think that?" Sticks looked him in the eye, giving away nothing.

"Because if you had shopped the contract earlier, someone would have taken interest."

"I don't think so. It's a suicide mission. I figured she would give up on it if no one bit. Only one way to make sure they didn't."

"You miscalculated," Gage said.

"Yep. She's on a vendetta and those are hard to shake. I shoulda realized that sooner. But the kid is no match for these guys, and I told her as much. Didn't do any good. I get the feeling she's more than a little crazy, but she don't come across that way." Sticks shrugged.

"And when you found out I had an interest, you decided to see if anyone was willing to fund it." Gage narrowed his eyes.

"Pretty much."

"I am not happy that you shopped a job you knew I was doing without telling me about it. When were you going to contact me to let me know someone was interested?" Gage spoke quietly.

"That's sort of hard to do, considering I don't have a way to reach you," Sticks replied carefully.

"You do have a way to reach Deira. Did you not consider asking her to get in touch with me?"

"I thought about it, but I didn't want her to go off on her own like she did last time." Sticks cocked his head. "How did you find out?"

"It was brought to my attention that someone made inquiries about who might be," Gage looked for the right words, "performing the service."

"That doesn't tell me how you found out I had a hand in it, but I get the feeling I'm not gonna get an answer. So if you're interested in doing the job, how come you're letting me know?"

"Instead of doing an end-run around you as you attempted to do to me?"

Sticks nodded.

"Would you believe me if I said it was professional courtesy?" Gage asked.

"Not for a minute." Sticks laughed.

"I thought not." Gage chuckled. "I need your expertise. And you need to make amends, so it would be wise of you to give me whatever assistance I request."

"I know you've been gone awhile, but it's pretty common knowledge that I ain't what I used to be. I'm no good for hit work, so stow the threats."

"As you pointed out in our last conversation, your accident did not rob you of your ability to think, though seeing your security staff, I do have to wonder." Gage sneered.

"So much for professional courtesy," Sticks said. "I told you those guys are mostly labor, not muscle. I'm out of the business. Not sure I can be of help to you these days."

"Let me show you what I need before you try to back out of the job." Gage unlocked the briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "These are blueprints of Cavuto's manufacturing site. I need to know where you would suggest setting charges, on the off chance that we have to blow it up."

"That I can do. Are these up to date?" Sticks arranged the pages to show the entire layout.

"I'm not sure he would have filed changes with City Hall, but these are the most recent plans."

"No, I don't think he'd do that. You're going to need to recon the site. Find out if it's a 24/7 operation, if there are shift changes, the usual." Sticks kept his eyes on the plans.

"Of course. Once I have that information, would you be able to provide me with enough material to destroy the place?"

"Not for free. I may owe you, but I'd rather you took me out than try to explain to my suppliers why I can't pay them. It'd be faster," Sticks said.

"Payment will be made. Now answer the question."

"Based on this? I could get you what you want. But if you don't plan to blow it, there's the little problem of leaving evidence behind." Sticks looked up from the blueprints. "Which tells me that you do plan on leveling it, no 'off chance' about it."

"I would lose no sleep if there was one less pump lab in the city," Gage conceded.

"I'm guessing that the contract doesn't say anything about that." Sticks gave him a calculating look.

"Accidents happen."

"One of these days, you're gonna piss off the wrong people and wind up being really dead. You know that, right?"

"I doubt that you would miss me," Gage replied.

"Depends on whether or not I get paid for this job before you go."

"You will be paid in cash before it even happens," Gage assured him.

"Then I'd miss the chance to do business with you in the future. I know you aren't gonna leave these plans with me, so settle in. I need to check my inventory and do some math."

"I have nowhere else to be this morning and plenty to keep me occupied."

When Sticks got up to check his supply levels, Gage transferred the gun to his pocket. He left the door open, listening for the front door buzzer and occasionally checking the hall. No customers came in. They worked in silence for the next two hours.

"Seventy-five thousand would take it down to the ground," Sticks announced, looking up from a note pad.

"Seventy-five thousand would set you up nicely in a warm climate with half-naked women bringing you drinks. I believe that is what you meant? I do not plan to level the block, just the building. And I would prefer it if there was no damage to the city gas line. For some reason, they do not take kindly to things like that." Gage's lips twitched.

"Can't blame a guy for trying. I'm guessing that whoever showed interest in the contract is willing to pay a lot of dough for the pleasure of taking over the pump business in town."

Gage said nothing.

"Okay. Fifty-five thousand. That includes everything you need, untraceable, a secure drop off location and my enduring silence." Sticks leaned back in his chair.

"That sounds reasonable," Gage agreed. "Not that I was worried about your silence. You have as much reason to keep this quiet as I do. Perhaps more."

"Should have gone for sixty-five thousand," Sticks laughed.

"That would only have prolonged the bargaining," Gage returned.

"So, providing you decide you need this, do we have a deal?"

"Yes." Gage gathered his papers. "I will make arrangements for us to meet, preferably not here, after I survey the building."

Sticks nodded.

"One question before you leave," Sticks said cautiously.

Gage waited.

"Are you taking care of her?"

"Yes." He was not going to give Sticks the satisfaction of details.

"Okay then."

Gage started out the door.

"Did you know she has a knack for explosives?" Sticks called after him. Gage turned around.

"She failed to mention that."

"Thought so." Sticks was still laughing when Gage walked out.

Approaching his truck, he saw thick scratch running the length of the driver's side. He shook his head. This was job was beginning to annoy him, and it had not even started.