Author's Note: The phone Aiden uses here is an equivalent of the Samsung i730 in terms of capability. He could probably hack with it if he needed to.
The existence of Profiler is a minor plothole, though. Smartphone apps just weren't there yet. It'd probably only run on a normal computer.
I got very annoyed with google maps during research and rage-quit the browser. I'm afraid I'll be winging that whole port setup. It's a fictional Chicago anyway. I don't think I cut any other corners.
_The Fixer – Part 2
"Are you in?"
"Do you get that question a lot?"
"Not once, but I keep having to ask you."
"Well, it's a lot to take in, you know…"
"I haven't got all night, Damien."
"You've already wasted most of the night anyway. If you want to fly blind, you're welcome. I hear you used to bungle it like that anyway."
Parked across the gatehouse, Aiden looked over what he could see of the port. Quite possibly, it wasn't as busy as it would be during the day, but there was still a significant bustle of coming and going trucks and transporters, around warehouses and stacks of containers. Tall cranes reached high into the foggy sky, only the lights were visible of their highest parts, moving lazily as they unloaded newly arrived ships.
"I hear your first attempt at this landed you in jail," Aiden said.
"Rumours and lies, my boy," Damien said. "I'm in."
"What took so long?" Aiden asked as he started the car and brought it back to the road. The gatehouse was manned, but the barrier was raised permanently, only an occasional searching look to pass over. He did have papers from Mitchell to show he was taking a delivery, but he didn't need them, just one more van didn't seem to warrant any special attention.
"Bad news," Damien said. "Looks like the fixer's already there. He's at the warehouse loading ramp and talking to someone."
"Someone? Profiler misbehaving?"
"They aren't operating on Blume hardware, the cameras have been installed in the eighties and that's about their resolution, too. You're lucky they even have computers."
"How do you know it's the fixer?"
"He's in better view. Stop with the nitpicking, I feel under-appreciated."
Aiden chuckled quietly.
"Send me a pic of the layout."
"You got it."
Aiden gripped his phone again and glanced down, opened the picture Damien had sent. Its quality was even worse than the one from the apartment had been, yielding even fewer details in black and white. A dark SUV was parked at the loading ramp, two men were talking, one up on the ramp, the other standing on the asphalt below, he seemed to be gesturing as he spoke.
Aiden made an extra round, drove past the warehouse to catch a glimpse of his own of the scene. The fixer was still arguing with Mitchell's contact. By the man's stance, Aiden guessed he wasn't happy about it, unwilling to take the deal, but unsure of how to get the fixer to leave him alone. In the long run, the fixer would simply wear him down, but Aiden didn't have to let that happen.
Aiden parked across from the loading bay, in the shadow of a wall of containers and far enough away the fixer would probably think he was just a normal part of the port's usual activity.
Getting out of the car, Aiden said, "Damien? You there?"
"Where else would I be?"
"Keep an eye on us."
"Nothing better on TV anyway," Damien said and cleared his throat before he added, "Make sure I'll like what I see."
"I'll take requests. What do you wanna see?"
"Surprise me," Damien chortled, but his tone became serious again immediately, "What I don't want to see is you fucking it up. There's a lot of money in art and money brings the bad men."
Aiden stood for a moment to survey his surrounding. At the other end of the ramp, a worker was going through several plastic-wrapped crates with a scanner, but he was out of easy earshot and wasn't paying any of them any attention. Other people seemed to be busy in the warehouse behind him, Aiden caught sight of a forklift moving more crates around. But none of these people were close enough to notice if something was off.
Aiden strode slowly towards the loading ramp, keeping the SUV between himself and the fixer as he approached.
"Is that the best you can do?" he inquired dryly. "Bad people? Who do you think I am?"
"A street thug with delusions of grandeur," Damien said.
Aiden smirked a little, asked, "Who do you think you are?"
Damien didn't respond immediately, he was chuckling darkly. "All right, we're all bad. Don't let the other bad people get the better of you."
"You found anything on the fixer?"
"No, but if you get me a good picture, I can run him through other recognition software. He's not in the Profiler database, but that doesn't mean he's nowhere."
Profiler's success was at least partly due to its extreme reliability. It ID'd people at odd angles and in bad quality picture or video, much more so than any other software on the market. It was an old story by then, repeated since the dawn of Silicon Valley, small startup with a good idea and some genius coding. Today, most of the company was owned by Blume, but they weren't too keen to advertise the connection.
"I'll see what I can do," Aiden said. He dropped the phone into his pocket without cutting the connection and pulled a switchblade out as he came close. He plunged the blade deep into the back tyre of the SUV. The air hissed sharply as he pulled the blade back, but it wouldn't be too audible above the general noise of the port, the hissing of trucks and cars, the chattering of heavy metal. He did the same thing to the front tyre as he passed it by, he flipped the blade and snapped it closed, put both hands in the pockets of his jacket before he strode into view, catching the last part of the conversation.
"… now, come on," the fixer was saying, congeniality and impatience warring in his voice. He lifted his gloved hand and the brown envelope it held. "That's the better deal. You can take it. I'm not telling, I promise, but just stop, you know? Stop wasting my time."
He caught sight of Aiden, narrowed his eyes at him. "Excuse me, but I'm having a conversation here. Wait your turn."
Aiden glanced over him, just enough to confirm his earlier assessment. The fixer had almost Aiden's own height, broad shoulders under a pale coat and a dark suit, all of it looked tailor-made, expensive. The way he held himself, Aiden guessed he wore a gun on his belt, right-handed or at least preferring the right.
He'd taken a half step back when he'd spotted Aiden, angling his body into a more defensive stance, giving Aiden the same critical once-over he was receiving. Some of his affected levity bled away, but Aiden made it a point to turn toward the man up on the ramp, pretending to ignore the fixer.
"You," Aiden said. "Nigel, right? I'm here to pick up a delivery. You were told about me. The name's Pearce."
Nigel hesitated, gaze skittered to the other fixer and back. He was young, used to hard work and shaped accordingly, but uncomfortable with and unused to violence.
"I…"
"Ah ah ah," the fixer made and when Aiden looked back at him, a vaguely offended frown had settled on his smooth face. "As I was saying, we are in the middle of a conversation. Nice to meet you, Nigel, by the way, and you'd be much better off taking my deal."
He walked forward and put the thick envelope on the ramp by Nigel's feet, then stepped back. "I'll just leave this here for you," the fixer said.
Nigel didn't move, looked increasingly like a deer in the headlights.
"My van's parked over there," Aiden said, pointed with one hand. "Get the package loaded, I'll sort this thing out."
Now that Aiden was there, Nigel was unlikely to take another deal, even if it turned out to be the better offer. The only reason he still hovered was because the fixer had already softened him up somewhat. He still hesitated, but then seemed to just grasp at the straw he'd been handed and hurried back into the warehouse.
"You'll sort this thing out?" the fixer asked, mock surprise making his eyebrows rise. He rubbed a hand across his forehead. "It's not my day, you know that? This job, I swear, shouldn't have taken it. More trouble than it's worth." He lifted his other hand and gestured at the envelope. "You know what this is? That's more money than this dick sees in a year and he rejects it. Loyalty and all that, terrible invention, causes you to make stupid decisions."
Aiden watched him. The fixer seemed to be constantly moving as he spoke, small shifts of his feet and sweeping gestures with his hands.
"Yeah," Aiden agreed. "How about you let it go?"
The fixer displayed more feigned surprise, curled the corners of his mouth in distaste. He tilted his head to the side. "I could, but I'm far too curious to see how you plan to sort this thing out, because from where I'm standing you look just slightly in over your head here."
Aiden shrugged. "Well, there are a couple ways this can go. One, we keep having a friendly chat until Nigel does his job, I pay him, we part ways. No hard feelings, no bruised knuckles, no reason for the cops to come sniffing around…"
The fixer tapped his chin thoughtfully, "I like that last one, but I don't like where you're coming from with it. You see, I have a reputation and I don't return empty handed. Makes a bad impression."
"You want to fight it out?" Aiden asked.
The fixer made an annoyed sound. "Oh come on, that's what I get for dealing with common thugs, no imagination. Here's a counter offer. This money here that Nigel didn't want, it's up for grabs. You pay him his share, I give you his and I take the package."
He'd swung back a bit as he spoke, glanced up when Nigel reappeared on the ramp, pushing a cart in front of him. The crate was larger than Aiden had expected.
Aiden shook his head, sighed a little to match the fixer's mien. "What about my reputation, though?"
The fixer shrugged, "I'm sure it'll recover. Eventually."
Aiden watched as Nigel rolled the cart down the ramp, leaning his weight against the pull on the way down. He took his sweet time with it, too, more than Aiden would've liked. Once the package was in his van, he could simply make a run for it, incapacitate the fixer quickly and be gone before the fixer even figured out his ride was useless.
The fixer caught the direction of his gaze, though and some long strides brought him right into Nigel's path.
"Hold it right there," he said and slung a companionable arm around Nigel shoulder. "Don't do something you'd regret."
Aiden had turned with him, but hadn't otherwise moved.
"How about I offer you the same deal?" Aiden asked. "Something extra for your bruised ego?"
The fixer arched his brows while Nigel did his best to shrink in his grip, despite being somewhat bigger than the fixer.
The fixer chuckled, leaned forward pretending to try to contain the laugh. He stopped and straightened, gaze fixed on something behind Aiden and the mirth dropped from his face. Aiden turned his head just slightly, guessed the fixer had spotted his deflating tyres and drawn his own conclusion.
"That's it, then?" the fixer asked and made it sound like a rhetorical question. He gave Nigel a little squeeze, then let go and stepped back toward Aiden. "I try to be nice here and that's how you repay me? Have some professional courtesy."
"To muscle in on someone else's deal," Aiden pointed out. "How's that professional courtesy?"
"Now that you mention it…" the fixer snorted dismissively, took another step, it seemed an innocent enough move, but he'd got himself out of easy reach of Nigel and the cart, in case he worked up the courage to interfere, but he was too far away for Aiden to reach easily.
He turned out faster on the draw than Aiden had expected, all the unnecessary grandeur of his gestures was a distraction and it had done its job, even if Aiden hadn't been keen on a shootout in the middle of a busy port. The place was too easy to lock down, not many exits, water on three sides. Even with Damien guiding him through the cameras, it'd be tough to slip away unnoticed.
When the fixer drew a gun, Aiden only shrugged slightly and raised his hands without waiting for the prompt.
Nigel flinched, eyes going wide.
"Hey," he said. "We don't want any trouble. Just tell me what to do."
The fixer barely glanced over him, keeping his gaze fixed on Aiden, who'd still used the tiny diversion to shuffle his feet forward a scant inch.
"Now what?" Aiden said.
"Give me your car keys," the fixer said. "Slowly."
Aiden lowered his arm, keeping eye contact as he put it in his pocket. His fingers slipped over the switchblade and he briefly considered the opportunity. He didn't know how good the fixer was and how long it would take to subdue him, how messy it would be, how much attention it'd attract.
He fished the keys out and removed his hand just as slowly.
"So, Nigel wasn't it?" the fixer said. "Get the key, load the package and double-time it, I'm not being paid by the hour here."
Nigel sidled over to Aiden, tense and unsure, looking for some kind of confirmation as he took the key from Aiden's hand.
Aiden nodded, "I'll handle it."
"Oh, how sweet," the fixer commented as Nigel hurried back, got hold of the cart and started pushing it towards the van. "How are you going to handle it?" He gestured with the gun, but didn't leave an opening. "Your handling so far… well, I'm not arguing, but I feel annoyed rather than challenged."
Aiden smiled faintly, "Let's not take the fun out of it."
Even without an outbreak of violence, they were starting to draw stares. Other workers were craning their necks from further along the ramp and inside the warehouse, some of them had already taken the first few steps in their direction. The fixer's gun was fairly small, it'd take another few moments until it truly registered for what it was.
Nigel had finished loading the van and the cart rumbled louder, bouncing on the uneven asphalt as he returned, somewhat reluctantly. He studied the fixer, then looked at Aiden, waiting for what was coming next.
"No bad feelings," the fixer said, edged backward, took the keys from Nigel's hand. He walked backward to the van, in a series of perfectly coordinated movements, he opened the door, climbed in, put the gun away. Aiden was never out of his sight, never had enough time to pull his own gun, even if he'd tried.
"What...?" Nigel began helplessly as the fixer drove off.
Aiden dropped his hand, pointed at Nigel. "Stay there," he ordered and pulled his phone out.
"Don't lose the van," he said sharply.
"Sure, dark blue van, early morning light, no problem," Damien said sarcastically. "What are you doing?"
"I have a plan."
"Doesn't look like a plan."
"Yes, that's how clever it is."
"Nigel? Something wrong?" another worker called. He'd stepped forward to the edge of the ramp, two more right behind him. One of them jumped down close by Aiden's side, making him take a step back out of reflex.
"No no!" Nigel said quickly, but without much conviction.
"Stay," Aiden said again, this time to all of them. He reached out and picked up the envelope the fixer had left. He opened it and checked the contents quickly, looked up.
"Okay," he said, raised his voice. "This is very important, so listen. Nothing bad happened here, no need for anyone to run their mouths."
"Are you kidding me?" the man on the ground said. "What was this shit?" He looked over at Nigel, frowned. "What dirty business are you mixed up in?"
"Hey, nothing," Nigel said, raised his hands.
"Nothing," Aiden repeated. "And it'd better stay that way."
"Who asked you?" the worker asked sharply. "Piss off before I call security on your ass."
Aiden took a step forward, right into the man's personal space. He didn't have a whole lot of time to waste on arguing with them.
The worker tried hard not to flinch, but he didn't outlast Aiden's stare for very long. Aiden caught the minute change in the man's expression, an indication that he would back down.
Aiden pulled the bundle of money from the envelope, looked back over the others.
"Here, no one said there's nothing in it for you. Two thousand dollars for each and we all forget this ever happened."
He didn't give them the chance to reject the offer, stuffed the first bundle of money into the hand of the man right in front of him, then stepped back and handed the others their share. No one objected once they had the money in their hands, though some of them were quick to hide it away in budding shame.
The other workers dealt with, Aiden walked over and got a hold of Nigel's arm.
"It wasn't my fault," was the first thing he said. "I did my part."
"It's fine," Aiden said. "Here's the money Mitchell promised, but be careful around your co-workers, they'll remember this, even if they don't talk."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't be surprised if some of them want in on your deal, others… well, they'll feel bad and they'll vent it on you. It's best if you keep your head down for a while. I'll let Mitchell know."
Nigel turned the money in his hand, more than Aiden had distributed among the others. He put it away in his pocket quickly, kept his hand stuffed there with it, as if he was afraid it'd drop to the floor and reveal everything.
Aiden let go of Nigel and left him standing there to make peace with himself alone.
He hurried back to the fixer's car, put the phone back to his ear as he quickly searched the car for anything useful.
"You still got it?"
"Of course I do. He's hit traffic and had to slow down," Damien said. "Let me hear your plan."
"In a minute," Aiden said, climbed back out of the SUV. He hadn't found anything, though it wasn't a rental. An umbrella in the glovebox and assorted crumbs and trash that tended to accumulate in there. He doubted it was the fixer's car, more likely it was just a stolen throwaway car.
"I need a ride," he said.
"I can call you a cab if you'd like," Damien offered sniggering.
"A parking lot will do."
"Head to the right, past the warehouse and ta-ta, all you can eat buffet."
"Don't lose the van," Aiden said as he walked into the direction Damien had given.
"I'm not losing the van. As long as he's not going into any blind spots, we're set."
Aiden rounded the warehouse and found the parking lot. Aiden walked along the chain-link fence until he found a gap. He stepped up on a concrete boulder to get a better look over the parking lot.
"I'm still not seeing the bigger picture."
Aiden sighed, disappointed. "Do you think I couldn't have taken down that pimped out poser?"
"If you're angling for compliments…"
"A place like that warehouse? Can't control it. It's too open and it's not just you watching through the cameras. Things get out of hand, shit hits the fan. This fixer, he'll have a quiet setup for a meet."
"His home turf."
"Hmm," Aiden made. He jumped from the boulder and walked through the rows of cars until he stopped at the side of a battered looking 571. It would be easy to break into, but the owner hadn't even locked it.
"He doesn't know about you," Aiden pointed out. "Don't disappoint me."
"I never disappoint."
"Then there's nothing to worry about," Aiden said, bent down to hot-wire the car with the phone wedged between his shoulder and his head. The ignition sparked, followed by the low, oddly chirping sound of the engine.
"Okay, I'm moving, tell me where to go," he said as he drove for the port exit.
Dawn was slowly beginning to creep up on the horizon, just visible above the water, but darkness was still thick among the warehouses and industrial sites around the port. Shift changeover was letting the traffic grow, though. Aiden had no patience for the slow moving cars and their fatigued drivers. He wove his way around them, using even small gaps between the vehicles and ignored the traffic lights when he thought he could get away with it.
It wasn't comfortable in the car. The 571 had a manual transmission and he needed one hand on it, the other on the wheel so he had to keep his phone by his ear with his shoulder. He felt a thin thread of pain begin to run down his neck, darkening his mood. He was beginning to wonder if he'd made a mistake. That fixer wasn't a poser, he knew what he was doing. He'd tortured and killed a man just to get to Nigel, he had some kind of support network working with him, maybe something much more dangerous than a chain-smoking hacker with an overblown ego, which was all Aiden had.
Traffic slowed down in front of him, clogged the street so thoroughly, he had no chance but to stop with them. Aiden took a deep breath, caught his phone in his hand and massaged the side of his neck with the other.
"Where is he?"
"Heading to Mad Mile," Damien said.
"Any idea where he's going?"
"How should I know? You should've asked him when you had the chance," Damien said. There was the rustle of clothes, the squeak of the chair as he moved. In his mind, Aiden saw Damien lean back in the chair and settle his legs up on the table. "Does your plan still seem clever to you?"
"I got it," Aiden said, then cleared his throat when he realised it hadn't sounded very convincing.
He heard Damien move again and after another moment, he said, "Yes, you got a problem."
The line of cars ahead of Aiden was starting to unravel and he stuffed the phone back against his ear and dropped his hands back to the wheel and the gearstick. He pushed through to the middle of the street, using what gaps there were to overtake the slower moving cars before he could be bogged down by them. It earned him a few enraged honks and several passive-aggressive headlight flares, especially when he was forced too close and left scratches in the paint of other cars.
"What problem?"
"He's just gone down into the garage under Fantastic Mile Shops."
Aiden was silent for a moment, traffic pushing to the forefront of his mind as he hit a crossroads and had to brake hard before he slithered into the passing traffic, it was too thick and too fast to force through.
Fantastic Mile was a shopping mall, a mile long and full of brand stores and open nearly at all hours.
"Get a look inside."
"What do you think I'm doing?" Damien said, a little sharper than before, perhaps in response to Aiden's tone. "But what's a good long look going to do? They're exchanging the merchandise, aren't they? Are you going to just keep chasing that van until you run out of gas?"
Aiden scowled. The flow of traffic in front of him trickled out as the lights changed. He hit the gas and shot across the crossroads before any of the other cars had a chance to accelerate. For a few moments, the road was clear in front of him and every second of speed felt precious.
"No," Aiden said. "Can you slow them down?"
"How, pray tell?" Damien asked. "I might be able to turn on the fire sprinkling system, but I don't see that helping much… Wait, ah… I see them. The van parked, no one else in sight yet. But… hmm. I could lock the gate down for a few minutes, but not more than that at one time."
"Right, yes," Aiden said thoughtful. "Do that, but only if it looks like they're getting away. I… " he paused, considered. "Can you turn off the power? That'd lock them in."
"You want to blackout the mall?" Damien asked, then sniggered. "I like that idea, but I can't do it quickly. And I won't be able to see you."
"I'll need only a minute, I can handle myself alone for that long."
Damien was silent, but his concentration came through the connection quite cleanly. Aiden focussed on driving, glad for the respite. He took a sharp right turn, left the main road behind and took the longer, but hopefully less choked path through a residential area, where his main concern were parked cars on either side and some heads-on traffic, but it was generally easier to navigate.
For a while, Aiden had no other company than the humming of the engine and the rare scream of metal if he got too close to a parked car. He took a length of road on the sidewalk, because the street itself was closed down by a delivery truck parked in the middle. He heard someone yell at him and saw a man flip him off through the rear-view mirror.
Past the houses, the street opened up again. Traffic was slightly thinner here, moving a little faster and the streets were wide enough for him to just take the middle and ignore the other cars. He hoped no cop was on patrol and felt the need to reprimand him for his driving. Not a chance in hell he'd make it to Fantastic Mile if that happened.
Aiden was relieved when Fantastic Mile came into sight finally. Ahead of him, a well-lit arrow pointed to the entrance of Fantastic Mile's underground garage.
"I'm nearly there," Aiden said. "What about you?"
"The contact has arrived," Damien said. "I'm in Fantastic Mile's system, but their power distribution is well-secured, I need another moment."
Aiden swerved sharply to the right, took the front spot at a red traffic light to some agitated honking.
"I need to know the layout. Where are they?"
Damien didn't answer immediately, busy with something else and he sounded impatient and distracted when he said, "Two levels down, northwestern end of the garage."
After another moment, Aiden's phone announced a new message and he took it from his ear to look at the picture Damien had send. It was an abandoned corner of the garage, no other parked cars were visible anywhere in the picture. Behind the parked van, a fire exit was could be seen. The fixer had got out of the van, leaned with his back against the front, arms crossed over his chest, watching a second van right in front of him.
Aiden didn't wait for the traffic light to change, the moment there was an opening, he hit the gas again, nearly crashed with an oncoming car, but managed to evade, used the momentum for a wider swing and turned into the garage entrance. Fantastic Mile had a free parking policy during less busy hours, so the barriers were open.
"Can you close the barriers?" Aiden asked.
"Barriers or power, you decide," Damien said.
"Power."
"Then no, I can't."
"We need to work on your multi-tasking," Aiden remarked.
"We need to work on your planning," Damien shot back.
"Actually," Aiden started. "You're the only weak point in my plan."
"I'm your ace and you know it. You don't have a plan without me. Here we are… power goes on your say-so," Damien sounded a little smug about it, too. Penetrating a system this quickly wasn't bad work by any stretch of the imagination, especially because he had to do it without any prior knowledge and no time for any setup.
"Good," Aiden said. "How long do I have?"
"I can block the generator from kicking in for ten minutes and the system reboots after fifteen if nothing works. That'll kick me out, though so you'd better be through by then."
"Fifteen minutes is more than I'll need."
"You're welcome."
Aiden turned off the headlights when he arrived on the right floor. He passed a few random people and saw some parked cars scattered around the area, but they got fewer the deeper he drove into the garage. He suspected the fixer had someone working for Fantastic Mile, otherwise going by so many cameras wouldn't make sense, even if he wasn't identifiable and using a vehicle that couldn't be traced back to him.
He slowed down as the surrounding garage began to resemble what he'd seen in the picture. The 571 wasn't a quiet car, but he hoped he could sneak it past everyone's attention for just long enough.
"They switched the package, yet?"
"No, it's still in the blue van."
Aiden stopped finally completely when he saw the two vans on the other end of the garage, assessed the situation. The fixer and his contact were talking and Aiden spotted another man behind the wheel of the second van. A third man stood back from the group, beside he van. The fixer reached out to shake hands with the man in front of him.
"Damien? Now."
He didn't wait for confirmation, just hit the gas and the 571's engine roared up angrily, tyres smearing over the ground before the car shot forward. Aiden's mind felt sharp, sometimes he thought he could cut himself on it in moments like this, a surge of adrenaline that gave him complete control of the world and everything was simple and obvious. He heard the snap of the power as it went down, the slightest afterglow from the lights, just a snapshot of the scene in front of him before there was only darkness, cut up deceptively by the headlights of a van.
Aiden had aimed carefully, he knew he'd not have time to adjust the direction much when he was already in full spin. He hit the edge of the van with his car and punched one of the men over the hood on the other side. The impact made the tail of his car swing out behind him, swipe over where the fixer had been, though the man had managed to throw himself aside.
He heard yelling, dull sounds of flesh as the man rolled from the top of his car. Aiden, braced for the impact, didn't need time to collect himself. He kicked open the door and dove out, into the darkness, where he suspected the second man was.
One of the headlights had blown out and it hadn't been enough time for his vision to adjust, but he had a sense of his surroundings, edged into his memory, enough to predict where everyone was after a mere few seconds.
Aiden came up right in front of a man, lunged for his throat and smashed him back into the solidity of the van, putting the full weight of his body into it. The man's head hit the van with a dull thud, scrambling hands came up along Aiden's arms. Aiden dragged him back, smashed him into the van again and the man let go, moaning quietly as Aiden dropped him unceremoniously.
By then the van's driver had freed himself and stumbled around the back. He was bleeding from a split brow, just about visible as Aiden's sight began to improve. The man launched himself at Aiden with an angry shout that echoed around the garage, but he didn't have much finesse, confused from the crash. Aiden bent out of the way, letting the man's fury spent itself on empty air, then Aiden stepped into the back of his knee, hard enough to do damage and the man toppled messily. Aiden caught his chin with a kick, flipping him over on his back and the man stayed down, groaning quietly.
The deep sound of an engine starting made Aiden snap his head around, ignore the two downed men and throw himself back around.
The fixer had used the minute he'd had to get into Mitchell's van. The crash had boxed it in, but some rough application of force would free it. The fixer switched on the headlights, washed away Aiden's night vision and forced him to throw himself down blindly right before the first shot hissed past where his head had been.
The van pushed into the 571 and the metal of both cars complained.
Aiden had no interest in getting in the way of the van and in front of the fixer's gun. He pulled himself up and rolled over the roof of the 571, landed on his feet and swung up on the passenger side of the van before the fixer had time to bring his gun around.
Aiden tore open the passenger side door, settled a knee on the seat and dove for the fixer. The man had his hands full, had time to snarl, but couldn't stop Aiden from getting a good grip on his head and smashing it down into the wheel. In the same moment, Aiden went for the fixer's wrist, twisted the gun from his hand. He wanted to twist it around, press it to the man's temple when he recovered, but the fixer delivered a punch in Aiden's direction. It wasn't good enough to do much damage, but it forced Aiden to toss the gun out through the door, out of reach for both of them.
The fixer brought his elbow up, hacked it into the side of Aiden's face, followed up by pulling himself from his seat to bring his full weight to bear. Aiden snapped his head back just in time, didn't relinquish the hold he still had on the fixer's other wrist, though it was tenuous at best. He got his own free hand past the fixer's defence, found his throat and pushed him back into his seat before he could get up. The fixer twisted his hand free and with the same motion, punched it into the side of Aiden's face.
For a moment, Aiden's grip on the fixer's throat lessened, but then he dug his fingers in harder, felt the resistance, the man struggling and throwing a second blow, though this one sloppier and with less power behind it. The fixer tried to bring his arm up, lever Aiden's hand away from him and Aiden let go abruptly before his hold was broken. He shifted his grip and punched the man's face down into the wheel again, hit the horn comically and reached past the fixer while he still tried to muster a defence.
Aiden opened the door on the fixer's side. It wasn't easy to haul the fixer through the door, legs still braced under the wheel and even with the second blow, the fight didn't seem to be going out of him.
Aiden heard him grunt and it sounded almost amused in the moment before a head-butt burst Aiden's nose. Aiden reeled back, blinking, blindly punched for the man, hit his face and he lost his balance at the edge of the door.
Aiden shook his head, didn't allow the pain to confuse him. He could do this blind, force himself through. The fixer had landed awkwardly, but was already rolling back up as Aiden slipped behind the wheel.
Aiden backed up sharply, the van hit the wall and Aiden yanked the wheel so he could push past the 571 and the other van. He hit the gas and the van shot forward and into the darkness of the garage. In the rear-view mirror, Aiden spotted the fixer coming back up, his gun at the ready, firing several shot after Aiden. He'd aimed low, for the tyres rather than the vehicle, too smart to risk damaging the package. Aiden zigzagged the van and turned off the lights, became an unreliable target.
The shooting stopped and he slowed down just a little to orient himself. No point in crushing the van into a wall this late in the game.
He wiped at his bleeding nose as he drove the van back to the exit, much slower now, switching the light on to see by.
When he'd reached the floor above, he finally allowed himself to relax just a little. Even if the fixer made a run for the stairwell, he wouldn't be able to pick up the trail in the dark.
Aiden found his phone again, "You still there?"
"What's going on?"
"You can turn the power back on, I'm almost out."
"You sound a little weird. You hurt?"
Aiden sniffled ineffectively and reached up to feel along his nose carefully.
"Just a nosebleed, don't think anything's broken."
"That's actually a pity," Damien commented, acid humour spilling back into his tone to replace the concern.
Aiden took a deep breath. "Look, I need to call Mitchell. Keep an eye on the garage, I want to know what the fixer's up to. Don't want any surprises before I get this thing done."
"Where would you be without me?"
Aiden made a low growling sound, admittedly not especially eloquent and he heard Damien laughing, cut short when Aiden hung up. He took a deep breath, blood crusted his nose, restricted his breathing. He had an ugly metallic taste in his mouth.
He picked his route through the city with some care, adapting it on the fly to the traffic situation. He didn't want to slow down too much, present an opportunity for the fixer to pick up his trail again.
However, for the moment, he was glad for the silence and the breathing space.
It was true, though, he did need to call Mitchell, remind her not to sit on the paintings, they brought a lot of heat and he wasn't in the mood to help her weather it, or prevent it from coming back to him in some way. He drove for an extra half hour, keeping his attention on the mirrors and the cars around him until he was reasonably sure he'd lost any tail, if he'd ever had it. He had got out of the mess, though it hadn't looked quite so good for a while there.
Damien didn't call him back, either, so at least Damien hadn't picked up any immediate threat.
Aiden shook himself from the quiet revery of the drive, changed lanes and headed back towards Mitchell's store, while he thumbed through the contacts on his phone to call her.
End of _The Fixer – Part 2
Revised on 03/May/2016 and 29/Nov/2016