Chapter 3
.
.
.
.
"Okay, pay attention now," Hardison said.
"I dearly hope your explanation won't bear any resemblance to your game rules, Hardison," Sophie said. Her teeth only slightly chattered. Leaving the warm office and going out into the cold night shook them all.
Eliot drove, and the rest of the team gathered in the back of Lucille. The heat was set on maximum.
Hardison glared at her, then continued, "It's pretty simple. Everybody enters through the first, business building. The main party is in the first warehouse, and garden. Garden as in green stuff; bushes, flowers, trees… more like a small park than a regular garden. There's a pool somewhere between that warehouse and, and… trees." Hardison sighed. "It's extremely difficult to transform the images into words today. Ever seen a cocktail party in movies? Well, that. And people wearing masks. Which reminds me…"
"That we don't have any of," Nate finished his sentence. "We'll stop somewhere and-"
"No, we won't," Sophie said. "I'm not going there wearing a plastic fairy costume."
"No time for-"
She waved off Nate's attempt. "Leverage Inc. will shine, my dear. We owe that to our client, and you owe that to me."
"Whatever you have in mind-"
"I don't have anything in mind. I do, however, have a theatre full of first-class costumes. Take a left turn, Eliot. We have to hurry."
.
.
.
.
"So, what's the plan?" Eliot asked when Scarlett O'Hara, sailing across the street, reached the main gate. Her sore throat gave Sophie's southern accent a raw authenticity; her warm alt rolled like a molasses, melting the security guards in their boots.
She passed by the door and corrected her curls – a sign that they didn't need any credentials or invitations. Having a mask was enough.
Eliot looked sideways, then elbowed Nate who was watching Sophie with a look as akin to dreamy as Eliot ever saw from him. Fever did strange things to cold-hearted bastards, indeed.
"Uhm, plan? Yeah, we need a plan." Nate straightened, painfully, and corrected his Rhett Butler suit. "We'll see about the plan when we are all inside and see where Ann Lisa is."
"She isn't answering my calls," Sophie said.
"People bound to do something stupid rarely do," Nate glanced at him while saying that, but Eliot ignored the sting. Nate continued, "We should take her out and stop her from doing anything reckless. Only after that can we think about procuring her photos and – or– taking Manners down. Concentrate only on that first thing for now. Parker, Hardison, you in position?"
"Yeah," Hardison sounded as if he was sulking. "I'm invisible. But hey, that's a mask, too. I should wear the Invisible Man sign openly upon me. Not that anybody would notice that, anyway."
"She has to be Cat-woman, Hardison," Nate emanated a combination of irritated patience and pained grimace. Eliot wasn't that polite; if Hardison was nearby he would have smacked him hard. "Parker might go through her vents again, and skirts and dresses would slow her down."
"I know, but… latex. Black latex. I'm distracted. I'm terribly distracted, and – why couldn't I be Zorro?"
"Because I took it first," Eliot let the growl vibrate through their earbuds. "Stop. I need a mask over my eyes so the security guys won't recognize me. With my hair tied behind, and a hat, they can't-"
"You wanted to look pretty, that's what you wanted. And you got a sword. Sophie, how come your theatre had DC Comics costumes, and when I asked for Marvel, that was all of a sudden outrageous?"
"Her costume isn't from the movies, Hardison," Sophie sang from the building. "It's from Cats, a musical."
"Whateva."
"Be grateful I put you in Caesar's robe. I could have made you into Cupid, with cute tiny wings, and fluffy-"
Hardison's moan covered the rest of her words.
Eliot now could see a strange pair close to the door. A cat burglar in a cat woman costume looked astounding. Her mask covered enough of her face so Manners wouldn't recognize her at first glance; a very important part. Eliot wasn't sure why Hardison whined at all. He was adorned in Roman battle armor; it wasn't as though he had those long white sheets wrapped around his shoulder. Gold and red, leather and metal – he attracted as many glances of approval as Parker did.
"I have a tiny skirt…" Hardison's low murmur was the last thing they heard before they entered the building after Sophie, and music and loud voices covered it.
"Okay, we'll follow them inside," Nate said. "Everybody – scatter and find Ann Lisa before she tries something stupid on her own."
.
.
.
.
Randall Coddington wasn't actually breaking any laws by attending the party without invitation. The thing he was breaking, though, was the bond of trust between partners.
But Ann Lisa started it first.
He snatched a glass of white wine from the bar, completely aware how childish his thinking was. It wasn't important who started this first. It was important to discover whether she was involved in a crime or not. He also had no idea what he was doing here. His presence might compromise their investigation – if someone found out about it – and he was annoyed as hell, mostly at himself.
He just showed up here, hoping he could miraculously find something that would prove Ann Lisa had nothing to do with this agency, or the murders.
Of course, she was the first person he saw when he sneaked in with the group of Avengers.
There was a bevy of pirate women all around him, but only one had that nuance of red colored hair. The black mask covering her eyes didn't help her to stay hidden from him. He was lucky – Batman's mask worked in his favor. Bruce Wayne knew about the hiding business, not like Clark Kent.
There was a slim chance that she came here because of their investigation. Any real partner would tell him that, and ask to back her up, or even help; but he had to keep some trust.
His plan was simple. Keeping himself in the background, he could follow her through the crowd, observe the people she talked to, and maybe even hear snippets of her conversations. Every little bit would help to clear this up.
He positioned himself a few meters from her and engaged in a small talk with a giant squid, when Scarlett O'Hara walked past them.
He glanced at the beautiful woman and almost choked on his drink. That same smile he had seen in Boston, moments before her eyes filled with fury and she smashed his knee, tearing his ACL with the skill of an MMA fighter.
He managed to swallow his wine before he choked himself; when he glanced at her again, the vision disappeared. He couldn't be sure; her eyes were under a small mask of black lace.
It was his mind playing tricks on him, he decided. He thought he'd seen Parker, and that wired his mind into an expectation of the rest of them. That was what his therapist would say.
Relax. Those nightmares wouldn't return. You'll simply see them all over the place… ten Hardisons on the left, ten Hardisons on the right. It was stress talking to him, warning him to slow down a bit.
He took a deep, deep breath, and smiled at the squid.
.
.
.
.
The party was in full swing when they arrived. Eliot couldn't help but think how the entire Portland crème, including all models and actresses, were currently exposed to the virus they carried. In one or two days, there would be many pissed off and sick people.
He left the others to mingle in the first building, while Parker observed the new security measures taking place after their attempted break in. He passed to the back side and entered the garden.
He was positive that whatever Manners was hiding, was in those two warehouses, yet his theory collapsed the moment he saw the first one. The front wall was missing, showing a huge opening into the main hall, complete with dance floor and pool. Stroboscopic lights pierced the night, and his skull in equal measure.
A band played by the pool. The level of noise was excruciating for his headache.
He retreated deeper into the park, towards the glimmering he saw through the bushes.
An entire gallery of ice sculptures twinkled in the night, scattered along small paths. Dozens of animals, human shapes, an Eiffel Tower, even a huge bouquet of flowers. Each and every statue had light seeping through its delicate crystals, and a small ventilator on the ground. The outside wind chill factor helped with preserving them. United, those ventilators created a steady, freezing current of cold air that went through his shirt and cloak, adding to his chill.
To heck with the beauty of it, it wasn't worth this amount of shivering. He turned to leave when he saw a familiar coat standing near a sculpture of a man holding a turtle. Nate had beaten him to it.
He changed his mind and stood by him.
"Admiring the view, or plotting something in peace?"
"Both," Nate said. "In fact, I'm wriggling my way out of a plot hole. Manners' motives are confusing."
"Motives for what?"
Nate waved his hand around the party. "This. If he ran a legitimate casting agency, this would be a very good marketing move. Publicity is everything in that business. But, he runs a prostitution and blackmail ring. What's the last thing he needs in that line of work?"
"Publicity."
"Exactly. So, why has he put himself in the spotlight? Hardison, can you work on your tablet or phone?"
"Working on it all the way already," Hardison replied immediately. "Everybody is busy taking selfies, so it's not suspicious. What do you need?"
"Find out if there is something special about this party, something that would justify endangering himself this way, and pay off in the end. He is risking a great deal with this, and he has to have good reason for it."
"On it."
"The other warehouse is closed, as far as I can see," Eliot said. "Do you want me to take a look?"
"Ann Lisa said they have studios and sets for the shoots in there, and probably lots of props," Sophie trailed in. "I doubt they will have safes filled with photos in there."
Eliot eyed the dark, tall square on the other side of the park. "In the end, there's always something in the warehouse. Mark my words."
"You're a gloomy paranoid. We have had cases without fights in dirty places full of boxes."
"Anybody seen Ann Lisa yet?" Nate asked. "I guess she will be closer to Manners' office. Parker, you there?"
"Yeah. They sealed my ventilation shaft and put a guard in front of it. There is also another guard in front of Manners' office. I can't get in."
Nate sent a smirk in his direction. "If you want to see where the valuables are, find what's being secured the most. The photos are in the main building, not in that warehouse."
Eliot scowled at him. "I'll go around the dance floor and try to find Ann Lisa. She might try to hide; stroboscopic lights are great for that."
"You do that," Nate nodded and turned again to the statue.
Eliot glanced over his shoulder once again before leaving the ice sculpture circle… Nate studied them with the same intensity he had when he first stood by him.
.
.
.
.
They lost fifteen minutes on their search for Ann Lisa, without any luck. She still didn't answer her phone. Nate returned to the main building, knowing Eliot would comb the warehouse with the pool and dancing. Sophie was nowhere to be seen, but he found Parker. She stood by the column and openly glared at the guard blocking her way in to the ventilation shaft.
"Easy, Parker," he said. Her eyes, when she turned to him, were so glazed she looked almost delirious. She was unpredictable enough on a normal day; now, running a high fever, she was a veritable loose cannon. "Sophie, I suggest you and Parker pair up in your search. Unless you found-"
"No, I haven't seen her," Sophie said. "I keep calling her every five minutes, in case she can't hear the ringing because of music. Also, she couldn't enter the party without a mask, so that means she has some sort of the costume. As far as we know, she could be wearing a sandwich on her face – how would we recognize her? Eliot, sweetie, did you happen to notice her measurements, by happy chance? I would say she is 35-23-35 inches. Such a tiny waist! I know you have a keen eye for such details, especially on beautiful redheads and-"
"Stop it, Sophie," Eliot's whisper was barely audible.
"Can't hear you, you have to speak louder."
"Can't. I think my voice is gone."
"Oh my. Do they serve tea at these sort of parties? Or maybe hot chocolate?"
"Ah!" Parker turned on her heel, stiff as a robot, and marched away before Nate's eyes, not once glancing at him.
"Just great." Nate didn't quite moan, but only because it would hurt his throat more than speaking. "Hardison, Parker is headed for some hot chocolate. Stop her, by any means."
"On my way. And, I have the details you wanted, about this party. In short, I couldn't find anything special about this one. You're right about it, though… it is strange for a criminal to drive such attention at his business. More than that, he does it regularly. He hosts these sort of parties every two months. They are renown in Portland; people call them the Ice parties. Those ice sculptures have became a sort of a trademark."
"Again, not logical. Sophie, you said the sculptures are extremely expensive. How extremely?"
"You could host ten of these parties with what you'd pay for only two sculptures."
"And I saw dozens of them in that garden." He thought for a moment; nobody interrupted him. Only the background music and clamor of voices filled the silence in his earbud.
"Eliot?" he finally said.
A husky sound came from afar; it was probably a whispered yeah.
"You'll be happy. Join me in front of the closed warehouse. We'll take a look at the refrigerators they brought the sculptures in with. They aren't anywhere to be seen, so they must be in there."
"Ha!" This reply was unmistakably clear.
"Parker, I need you there, too. Hurry on ahead of us and unlock any small side door you can find. After that, find Sophie or Hardison and stay with them."
Nate joined a river of dancers that flew towards the pool. People laughed and sang; he even saw a few pieces of clothes strewn on the floor. One Egyptian princess was already topless; she danced on the table.
He passed by a tall Roman Emperor, but Hardison's posture, even though he was turned with his back against him, was strangely stiff.
He took a few steps aside so he could see his profile.
There was a Batman pointing his finger at him.
"You're not real." He heard Batman saying. "You aren't even here. I predicted your appearance, and I have means to fight against you. You don't exist."
"Uhm, yeah, okay buddy, easy with that wine," Hardison spread his arms out, in non-threatening manner.
"And, I don't hear your voice. My mind is tricking me. Nightmares can materialize when people suffer from a lot of stress."
"Do you have something against the Roman Empire? Or Italians?"
Batman turned around and disappeared without reply.
"What was that?" Nate asked.
Hardison took one whizzing breath and coughed. "Hkhave no idea," he croaked. "I thought he was a cop at first – Ann Lisa said her partner is dressed as Batman. But I've seen at least five Batmans around, and this one didn't say anything…cop-y? copi-ish? Cop-like?"
"Hardison?"
"Uhm?"
"Stop talking."
"Good idea."
.
.
.
.
Randall Coddington observed his hand inside its black glove. His fingers trembled.
Maybe he should really leave that wine alone. Hardison had looked too damn real. He even sounded the same as the Hardison he met back in Boston, when he visited Ford's apartment. He could recall all their voices with terrifying clarity. Four of them spoke to him that day – the fifth one, The One, was at that time hanging between life and death.
He never heard The One speak.
He was stuck for three days in Massachusetts General Hospital, and Hardison put him on proctology tests twice a day – after Parker fed him with laxatives. He wanted to die.
Turning to the bar to leave his glass on it, he felt a painful twitch in his knee. His torn ACL had healed a long time ago; this was just an imaginary pain, but it brought back Sophie Devereaux's face and her mad eyes.
He changed his mind and grabbed the glass back – when over the bartender's shoulder he saw Nathan Ford passing by.
Another image replaced Sophie – this man advancing on him with heavy throwing knives and lunatic eyes. A handle of one of the knives broke his nose that day and knocked him out.
"M-more wine," he said to the bartender. His therapist called it a psychogenic stuttering, a rare form brought on by traumatic events. His progress was linear. He regulated his breathing and anxiety levels, and he hadn't stuttered for more than two months.
His left eye twitched again. And again.
He waited until his glass was full, then took it and went after Ford.
This nightmare had to stop.
.
.
.
.
It was a short walk from the first to the second warehouse, but Eliot deeply regretted he left the park with the ice sculptures. He froze to death there – now he was cooking alive. He would give anything if he could only wrap his arms around all that ice, and rest his head on it to cool it a little. Breathing was tiresome and it hurt like hell.
He was there first. No one to be seen around him. Bushes and a few small trees made a barrier between this darker part of the park and the hurtful lights.
He resisted the thought of sitting on the cold ground to rest a bit. It would be extremely tiresome to get back up again and continue.
Maybe he should've let Sophie take his temperature; he felt as if his blood boiled in his veins.
Instead of sitting, he circled around the warehouse to check all the exits. The front door was huge, two winged, probably for delivery vehicles, but both sides also had two smaller doors. When he made a full circle and returned in front, he found Parker about to leave. The thief just waved her hand at the open door, and disappeared into the darkness. Cat woman indeed. She made no sound whatsoever. Her fever sped her up as much as his slowed him down.
Nate arrived a minute or two later.
"We have people wandering around," Nate said. "Every dark spot will soon be occupied, so you better close that door behind us."
"Yeah, good idea." Eliot looked across the park full of moving shadows, mostly consisting of giggling couples, and let the door silently click shut.
The smell of motor oil and old dust was the only thing they could sense in the complete darkness. The air was cold and heavy.
"We'll have to-" he whispered and stopped. His voice couldn't penetrate the constant buzzing of all the background noise in his earbud. He took it out and let out a breath of relief when the silence fell around him.
Nate did the same and his phone's light showed the same relief evident on his face.
"We'll have to hurry."
"Couldn't agree more." Nate led the way through the huge storage room.
This was the type of warehouse he was used to. They started zigzagging through the place, entering small passages through stacks of boxes, shooting props and weird scenery. He barely avoided bumping into a cluster of palm trees that were held together with a chain, placed sideways on an artificial small island. No fridges in sight in the first third.
There was a square opening in the middle, and behind it, deeper in the room, they saw barely visible tiny dots of light.
"That's it," Nate whispered. His breath formed a bluish mist in the pale light. "The fridges, plugged in. They probably hold reserve sculptures to replace the smaller ones which melt faster."
They closed in on the group of silvery machines. Smaller ones looked more like capsules than fridges; there were only a few regular square ones. But five taller ones drew their attention. One of them was shaped like the Eiffel Tower, one as a giraffe, and one has resemblance to a human body, with wide outspread arms.
Nate took a step closer to them; Eliot paid more attention to the darkness behind the fridges. He saw two doors leading to rooms divided by a concrete wall. The cables disappeared under them.
Nate broke the silence first. "What did Ann Lisa say was the cause of death of those two clients?"
Eliot followed his gaze to the fridge shaped as a human form.
"She didn't say," he said. His mouth went dry. "You think…?"
"Yes. Suffocation. With dozens of fridges going to and fro, one could easily carry a body around, and get rid of it just as easily. As soon as we find Ann Lisa and her photos, we'll think of some way to direct the cops in here. One of those fridges must have some forensic trail for them."
"And on what basis? They have to have a warrant to come in here. We can't give them that. We are trespassing. And, an anonymous tip isn't enough for that."
"One crisis at the time. Now, Hardison, can you... ah." Nate reached in his pocket for the earbud and put it in his ear. "Hardison, we're back. Can you…what?"
Nate's face froze. Eliot suppressed a curse and fished for his own earbud, right on time to hear Hardison's alarmed voice.
"Parker, no, don't go with him, stay- Shit, Nate, she pulled out her earbud! She met Manners and-"
"Where are they? We're coming-"
"Everybody calm down!" Sophie's voice cut through Nate's words like a knife; nothing calming in her tone. "They are in public, there is no imminent danger. Hardison, meet me at the lobby; we'll go after them together. You two, do your part. We'll call if we need you."
"Call before you need us," Eliot said. Nate waved off his implied question, giving a sign to stay where he was.
"We will." Sophie now sounded a little less sharp, a smile colored her words. "Just take it easy, we'll be there in a bit. I'll call Ann Lisa once more while I walk, and maybe we'll get her as well."
"Hurry up." Nate turned to him again. "One more look, check of those back rooms, and we're done here. We'll join them-"
A quiet melody danced to them from the right; for the moment it seemed as if it came from their earbuds. They both turned around. Eliot cursed under his breath when he saw the light on the floor.
"Sophie," Nate said. "You're calling Ann Lisa right now?"
"Yes, I've told you- why?"
"Because we are watching her phone ringing, discarded on the floor."
.
.
.
.
Hot chocolate had strange effects on her fever. Parker evaded Sophie who was glaringly visible in her broad skirt, and slid through the crowd as slippery as a black latex snake. Invisible in the darkness, she danced on the edges of the lit circle around the pool. Only the little sparkles of lights hitting her costume revealed her shape.
"Parker, where are you? Join me by the pool – we will search together."
Music pulsated in her ears. The team's voices faded, muffled and distant.
Bass and drums resonated with the rhythm of her too fast heart, but she sped up her steps to keep the rhythm going.
Searching for that woman was irrelevant now; she couldn't recognize her and she couldn't take off the masks from every redheaded woman she saw. The rest of the team could do that.
But the rest of the team couldn't do what she could – get to those photos.
The guards in front of her ventilation shaft were a burning pain in her side, as strong as the burning in her throat and eyes.
The building with offices had to be her target.
The dazzling lights in the lobby hit her eyes like spears. She staggered for a second, disorientated. New people arriving, voices, drums, everything attacked her at the same time.
Her knees were strangely rubbery.
A firm hand grasped her upper arm and kept her on her feet.
"Well, well… isn't it my new client? Are you drunk?"
Danny Manners. He stood just an inch away, hovering, all broad and wide – omnipresent – and his smile swirled around her.
She couldn't get past those guards… unless someone took her inside.
She tapped his chest with her finger, trying to find the words. "I want to buy your Tower." No, that wasn't what she wanted to say. She tapped him again. "Your office."
Hardison's voice echoed and she glanced around, confused. He wasn't there. He spoke in her ear and her words couldn't form properly because of that new voice. She took off her cat mask and let her hair fall, taking her earbud out in an invisible move.
"Your outfit excels my expectations," Manners said. Or it was Hardison? She blinked and smiled.
"Your office." She tried again. "Now."
Without any comment, only with a broad smile, he tucked her hand under his arm and took her away.
.
.
.
.
They didn't need words. Nate started from the left, Eliot from the right.
The smaller fridges weren't secured or locked, those were easy to open. The bigger ones had digital keypad locks, but they couldn't wait for the rest of the team to arrive to work their magic on them.
Eliot found a pole strong enough to take his own weight. No matter how expensive and hi-tech, those fridges all had a rubber stripe along the door. It gave way, giving enough room for the pole to gain its leverage.
It took all his strength, while Nate stabilized the fridge, to pry open the doors, one by one.
They found her in the Eiffel Tower.
She had maybe minutes left. When he dragged her out, the stale air splashing at his face almost knocked him down. Coldness wouldn't kill her, at least not that fast, but she would suffocate in less than ten minutes.
"Your cloak, hurry!" Nate was already taking off his coat. Ann Lisa shivered much stronger than she breathed; Eliot quickly checked her vital signs. Strong pulse and normal pupils were encouraging.
"She's been hit on the head," he said while they carried her a few steps away from the fridge, into an open part and level flooring. He found a few drops of blood above her ear.
"Good," Nate panted. He kneeled, holding her head off the floor while Eliot finished wrapping her up. He knew what Nate meant; she didn't know she was in a sealed coffin, left to die.
Nate pulled out his phone. "Calling 911. She's breathing on her own, but she'll still need oxygen. Can you-"
Eliot lifted her up a little so she could rest more comfortably. Damn, the heat the both of them emanated should warm her up in no time – but that only reminded him of her flu. This wouldn't help her health.
His earbud cracked. "Nate, we have a Situation," Hardison said.
Eliot held his breath when he heard him; dull, dead words.
"I located Parker's phone on the third floor of the main building. She is upstairs alone with Manners in his office. Sophie and I are going up, but you two better come quickly."
"On our way." Nate said. He stood motionless a second, holding the phone. "Pick her up," he finally said. "I'll call 911 while we walk – party of this size has surely seen its fair share of collapsing partygoers with possible alcohol poisoning. They would have an ambulance car ready, maybe even nearby."
Eliot secured his bundle and got up with her in his arms. His urge to run was overwhelming, but he didn't let his fear progress into rage. He gritted his teeth and started a quick calculation; distance, steps, speed, time… numbers whirled in his mind. The result was not good.
"Stay where you are!" A flash of light followed the barked words, hitting his eyes, blinding him for a second. Back doors. He turned sideways, shielding his eyes with the rim of his hat.
Nate moved two steps aside, giving him space.
It would take a second to throw Ann Lisa in Nate's arms, and two more to reach-
No. Not this time. Now he could see them through purple spots dancing in front of his eyes. Three of Manner's guards with guns aimed right at them. Too far away to reach them before they all fired. If there had been only one, he could risk charging at the gun, but not with Nate and an unconscious woman behind him and without cover. The bullets would spray.
Another crack in his earbud. Sophie. "Nate? What's going on? Hurry up, Hardison said Parker's phone isn't moving!"
"In a minute," Nate said. He slowly raised his hand, still holding the useless phone, and smiled at the guards. "How can we help you, gentlemen?"
Eliot held his breath.
.
