Chapter 25

Standing in the corner of the surgeon's office, Mao balled his fists at his sides. Well after-hours, there wasn't so much as an assistant, just the bleary eyed surgeon who lived above where he worked. Mao failed to even remember his name in the haste, all that mattered had been reaching the closest surgeon on the syndicate's payroll. In the adjacent room the commotion only served to fuel Mao's anger. Ten minutes ago he had peered through the door, drawn by the sudden din. A disoriented Spike, revived enough from a partial blood transfusion, struggled against the surgeon's efforts to explain what happened.

Vicious rubbed his wounded leg as he sat cocked in a chair. "He took a single bullet, now he's acting like a child."

"A single bullet?" Mao's eyebrows knit. His gaze narrowed at what appeared to be Spike's tie used as a field dressing, considering that Vicious still wore his own. "Neither one of you were authorized for a run on that side of town. Vicious, for the last time, what were you doing? Tell me the truth this time!"

Heaving a sigh, Vicious pointed into the other room. "It was his idea to take a crazy run at the Red Summit Cathedral. The Blue Snakes ambushed us. I had to drag him out, he still wanted to fight them."

"And so you dragged him to the place he secretly bought?" Mao folded his arms. "You dragged him with your wounded leg?"

Vicious returned a steady gaze, inclining his chin. "Anything for my partner. I remember our oath."

"Do you?" Mao's hands shook. The words of a long ago conversation with Leonard flooded his mind …

"I have spent enough time observing, Mao. There is only one course of action if you insist on initiating Vicious." Leonard stood with his hands clasped behind his back staring out the dojo window.

"You have warned me of his fiery nature more than once. But his drive holds great power, something the syndicate desperately needs."

"His drive is inherently destructive. Harnessing it has proven uneven at best. He lacks even a shred of self-discipline. A beast such as he requires a catalyst to focus. No previous candidate has proven resilient to Vicious's arrogance."

"Except Spike."

Leonard nodded slowly. "Do you know why? Comprehending this will be critical in moving forward. For a single misstep will prove disastrous and you will find yourself dragged in the aftermath of a collision you cannot possibly stop."

Mao cocked his head. "You know I respect your counsel, friend."

"Neither boy is like anything we have seen before. By nature both are fearless, touched with survival instincts that run subconsciously to a degree that neither can suppress their innate drive. The difference lies within their spirits. Vicious strives for power, and will do anything to seize it. Every moment of his life is choreographed to display his assumed superiority. Spike's drive shirks what others think of him, thus he bears himself with greater confidence through a healthy regard for self-discipline. When Spike steps to the line, it's not a performance to impress. It is simply an expression of who he is. As long as his actions give him a place he belongs, he will be content."

"That hardly sounds disastrous."

"Mao." Leonard shook his head. "If you let Vicious run solo his desire will remain unchecked to the point where he will sacrifice anything to rise. Anything. I understand your wish to keep your promise to his mother. But giving him a place in the syndicate alone would be a folly." Reluctantly, Leonard continued. "Honor bind him to another that he respects, even grudgingly, and there is a chance that he may prove decisive enough not to bite the hand that made him."

"An honor binding?" Mao's breath caught. "But … you know what that means!"

"I do not take such a ritual lightly. And neither will Spike, I have seen how much trust means to him, it is why he rarely extends it. The question you must ask yourself is ..." Leonard met his eyes, sorrow shifted in their depths, "are you willing to risk them both to fulfill your promise for one? Vicious is not your blood, he belongs to the Basilisk."

Mao bowed his head. "Who abandoned his son ..."

"And you inherited his responsibility by choice when you took Vicious in. Will you shackle Spike with the task of keeping his nature in check until the inevitable day when the balance shifts? Vicious won't deign to be held back once he realizes that is what the binding was meant to accomplish. When that happens the backlash of broken trust will unleash a side of Spike I dare not imagine. Neither will bow—one or both will break. Your empire will crumble." …

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" A pained cry from the room turned their heads.

"Mao!" the surgeon shouted, "I need a hand in here."

Shaking a fist in front of Vicious, Mao snapped, "Don't think for a moment that this discussion is finished." He darted into the room up to the blood-soaked table.

Laying on his left side, Spike panted and thrashed under the surgeon's grip. The transfusion IV still pumped away into his left arm, the bag nearly empty. Spike's eyes darted around the room not focusing on anything. The puncture behind his shoulder blade seeped a slow trickle of blood, a bulge toward the inside edge of the bone told where the bullet was.

The surgeon exhaled with relief as Mao entered. "Grab his right arm. He keeps jerking out of the way."

Taking Spike's trembling arm, Mao pinned it against the table. "You haven't numbed it?"

"Course I did, a local. If I'd had a nurse I could have put him under all the way, but I'm not about to do that to a patient with shaky vitals without someone on the monitor. Especially when that patient is attached to a syndicate where his death would mean my sudden secret disposal. This would be easier if he stayed put. Not that I blame him. The damn thing is wedged in a nest of nerves." The surgeon gabbed a pair of forceps and leaned closer to the shoulder. "I put as much as I could in him to deaden it, but that cluster is an angry mess at the moment with the bullet shifting up into it. Doesn't help that some of the local snuck into a vein. He'll be alright, but I can't say the disorientation from that drug trip is helping any. That shit in a vein kinda screws with perception."

Mao locked eyes with Spike, there was no focus there, just pinpoints of panic. "Take it easy, Spike. Just a bit longer."

"Alright, brace yourself." The surgeon gave Mao a moment to steel his grip. A moment later that proved vital. The second the forceps entered the wound Spike thrashed like a wild beast, nearly tearing his arm loose from Mao's hold. But he redoubled his efforts and leaned forward onto the limb, trapping it beneath his chest. Spike's piercing scream lasted longer than seemed possible before the tink of the bullet discarded into a tray ended it all.

Eyes rolled back, the tension fled from Spike's body.

The surgeon wiped his own forehead. "Tried to tell him it would feel better once I got that damn rock out of there."

Mao kept a hand on Spike's arm feeling the race of his pulse beneath his fingers. "How bad is the damage?"

Closing the wound, the surgeon shook his head. "The bullet entry pegged the shoulder blade, stopped there. However, that wasn't the worst of it. Something caused it to shift, rammed it over and deeper. That force cut into a blood vessel and lodged it against the nerve cluster. Doubt that he was conscious very long after that. The combination of blood loss and the agony would have floored even him. The good news is the pain was from the pressure. I know he can move his fingers, he tried to fist me. Now that it's out, he should heal up fine once that swelling goes down. By the time the anesthetic clears from his head in a few hours, he'll be back to his ornery self."

He tied a bandage around the shoulder, Spike didn't even resist. He just lay there breathing slowly, his eyes half open.

Mao knelt down. "Spike … can you hear me?"

His eyes blinked shut and barely reopening.

Mao's heart sank. His questions would have to wait.

"There was something else." The surgeon cleared his throat and handed a small object to Mao. "This was wedged in the wound."

In his palm lay a shard of blood soaked brick from the Skeleton Key's backroom. Mao's heated gaze shifted out toward the other room. He fought to keep his voice level. "Doctor. It seems that Vicious also took a bullet. Would you see to him as well?"

Without a word, the surgeon collected a few supplies and left the room. Mao wandered after him. The moment the doctor discarded the tie on the floor, Mao picked it up and confirmed that it was indeed Spike's.

Vicious winced as the doctor probed the wound remarking, "Well, there was a bullet. However, someone already removed it and did a swift field dress. I have hardly anything to do."

Mao scowled. I wonder who did that for you, Vicious? Behind the leg is hardly a place you could have reached. How did Spike end up unconscious after dressing your wound? You were supposed to have his back! The tie between his hands nearly tore with the force. He turned and stormed back to Spike's side, laying the tie beside him.

"You don't know how sorry I am." Mao whispered.

Spike's eyes cracked open. The words barely found enough breath to be heard. "I'm going to kill him."

Mao's blood froze.

"Hold on." Ironwall leaned over the map in the meeting house, Mao peered at his side surrounded by the whole group edging to get closer to the map. "How can we be certain that they're still down there, Spike?"

Favoring his right arm, Spike reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone. He fired up a program and tossed it down on the table. The power read out from the local meter was off the charts. "That answer your question? Some of those pricks are still hiding down there. The fact that they haven't moved means they're either up to something or it's a trap. But I see no reason why the plan won't pay off. If nothing else, when we're finished it leaves them no ground to slither back to."

Ironwall rubbed his chin. "It's risky."

"So is leaving them down there. We need to know that got. They jacked the main tower for who knows how long."

Mao nodded. "Proven to be true by the crew who removed it yesterday, which begs the question of how they did it in the first place."

Jovi scratched his head. "Maybe a drone? It's the only way to get something that high without climbing. But they're bold bastards. I agree with Spike, we need to bag them while we know where they are."

All eyes turned to the shortest man in the room, Mao. "Ironwall, let's take them out. Bring a few back alive to the syndicate chamber for questions."

"Yes sir." Turning to Spike, Ironwall leaned over the blueprints of the cathedral and underground. "I want you and a couple good shots up here to catch anything that makes it past the flushers. You up to it?"

Spike nodded.

"Wait!" Vicious limped out if the shadows on a crutch. "You're taking him but I've been ordered to stay here?"

Everyone turned to him, Spike's eyes blazed with anger. But it was Ironwall who remarked coldly, "You're lame from injury. He's not. There's a difference."

"Lame?" Vicious snarled. "I am never lame."

Spike spat out, "You're on a crutch, how will you swing a sword with one hand, moron?"

Stiffening, Ironwall nearly stepped forward when Mao raised a staying hand to him. The gaze warned him to let this come to pass.

Vicious's reply was a scowl.

"Perhaps if you'd thought things through in the first place you wouldn't have blown the first strike! But instead it was better to be a glory hog sacrificing your partner, right? Right?"

"With a wounded shoulder you'll be a terrible shot."

"A bullet I took shoving your ass out the damn door before we both got strafed! You're lucky we each only took one shot. A shot which I pried out of your leg before you slammed me against the wall!" Spike narrowed his eyes. "I didn't black out that quickly! I heard your scathing remarks as you watched me bleeding out. Part-ner."

"Listen to me—"

"You know what I think about listening to you?" Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out the poker chip. With his gun in his left hand, he flipped the chip into the air and fired a shot. The chip spun in a new trajectory, hitting the wall and tumbling into a spin at Vicious's feet. A hole cracked the dead center. Spike glared hard at his stunned reaction. "Screw your opinion, Vicious! Nobody gives a shit what you have to say anymore! Now, I'm going to go clean up the mess you made because you didn't want to listen to me."

Jovi padded over handing a Barrett MRAD sniper rifle to Spike. "Here, you can borrow mine. She's a good shot. With a few quick adjustments you can change it for left handed, if you need."

Slinging the gun over his good shoulder, Spike checked the box magazine and pocketed the spares. Ironwall barked, "Lin and Shin, grab rifles and go with Spike. The rest of you we'll divide in the tunnels when we get there. Let's go."

In a single drove, they dropped down the stairs. Mao lingered, his cold glare fixed on Vicious. "You will do nothing without my permission. And right now that permission will be exceptionally hard to receive."

Vicious met his stare, venom pulsed in his violet eyes. But he remained silent, unreadable.

Mao turned and checked his gun clip as he dropped down the stairs, joining the ranks.

Abandoned in the meeting house, Vicious watched from the window. Slowly, he limped over to the poker chip and picked it up, fuming.

So, this is how you want it? Fine!

See you, Space Cowboy