"The Hand that has no Food to Offer"
Trenton – 1984
He met them on a street corner flanked with rows of red buildings.
Soot was soaked into the cheerily-colored clay, making the bricks look worn and splotchy. The occasional horizontal band of off-color water erosion betrayed the buildings' advanced ages, much like withered veins poking out of wrinkled skin.
Ironically there was a RadioShack in one of those old, dour buildings across the street, its sleek glass storefront adorned with advertisements for all the latest technology and gadgets. Most prominently displayed was a large poster for their new line of computer modems, all of them having so-and-so many 'bauds', whatever that was.
Modems, seriously.
Now there was a mass-market item. He remembered reading some pie-in-the-sky news story about how Sears, IBM and CBS were trying to pool all their efforts into making some kind of computer-based news and shopping service for the nerd crowd, complete with interactive 'message boards' and the like. It could let you connect with your fellow man in a new and interesting way.
Didn't take a prodigy to see that they were biting off way more than they could chew with that one.
And he didn't see much use in such a thing, regardless.
Black Hat, after all, was just about done 'connecting' with anyone, and he was just about done with all the trappings of civilization, entirely. He was back in the wilderness, and he doubted if he'd ever really return.
It wasn't hard to see, watching him stalk down the sidewalk like a hulking monster, hair carelessly tossed, his coat a bedraggled mess and his once impeccably-shaven face bearing uneven stubble. He held his umbrella at the middle, no longer genteelly tapping its tip on the ground with urbane poise, but lumbering along with it like a caveman carrying a spear. The first rays of the sun rose behind him, warm and cheerful, bathing all around him with loving, golden rays; he moved through it like an oil stain oozing across clear waters.
His partner, at least, moved with a little more jaunt to her step.
The dog at his side pranced at an even pace, perfectly matching Black Hat's stride. A deep walnut brown dominated the hound's back and head, almost as if someone had spilled paint on her, while the rest of her body was a dull white, marred by the occasional splotch of a lighter brown shade, as if droplets of the 'paint' from her back had splashed down during the pouring. Her slender tail, pointing upright with enthusiastic whimsy, was also brown but for the very tip, wagging about like a white flag on a pole.
He reached the two black-suited men standing outside a boarded-up storefront. One was that Measan fellow he'd met before, and the other a hulking brute of an African.
"You look like shit, Do-bhàis," Measan unsuccessfully tried to tamp down his bird's nest hair from a gust of wind. "And you're also late."
Black Hat stared at the man without comment, eventually looking to the stern face of his African companion and then back at Measan.
"Where's the polite one?" He demanded.
"Diùlt? He's busy with another matter at the moment. With respect—"
"I doubt that," Black Hat grumbled.
"—the world does not revolve around you, Do-bhàis. Nor does our lady's operation. And, FBI agent or not—"
"Mmm." Black Hat held up one finger. "That reminds me." He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and pressed it into the hand of the burly African cultist, then motioned to follow him. He didn't wait for an answer. He was halfway across the street, canine companion in tow, before Mesan gave the go ahead to follow with an annoyed wave of the hand.
The cultist scanned the hastily scribbled note as he walked, finishing most of it by the time he reached Black Hat at a telephone booth. Measan wagged a finger at the immortal.
"We don't have time for your games—"
"You got time to make sure that your 'lady's' plan is actually going to work?"
Measan didn't appear to have an answer for this, or if he did he kept it to himself. Instead he looked down at the eager brown eyes of Black Hat's companion, flashing the dog a derisive smirk.
"You're keeping appropriate company these days, aren't you, Do-bhàis?"
Black Hat crossed his arms, cocking his head back. Even with his stubble and mangy hair he managed an air of menacing pride.
"If that's supposed to be an insult, Measy, then you picked the wrong dog to make the comparison. Trigg here is one of the finest hounds ever to be bred by the feds. She's better at her job than any other mutt or purebred you'd prefer to pit her against. And she's even got a little 'special trick' that I'm just dying to try out on Penance, in the likely event that your lady's plan goes to pieces."
Measan appeared ready with his own cutting retort to this, but then he tilted his head in confusion.
"Uh, 'Trigg'? She?"
Black Hat's haughty smirk grew into a more devilish grin.
"Sure," he said. "It seemed appropriate to use a girl dog with a boy's name to go after a boy immortal with a girl's name. Kind of a yin-yang thing, or something like that, at least. Don't you agree?"
If Measan found any humor in Black Hat's logic then he certainly didn't show it. That was fine.
In any event Black Hat found enough humor in it to go around. And he found more than enough satisfaction thinking about Trigg's little 'special trick' that would be sure to bring Penance to his knees. He was eager enough to see it in action for him to risk one final return journey to the Delmorr Bed and Breakfast to pick the dog up. She'd only been dropped off for him yesterday morning, and under stern protests from his FBI colleagues, but then Connall Noirbarret had a blank check to requisition such 'specialized equipment' to help in his serial-killer manhunt.
Trigg would be the last of the late Agent Noirbarret's requisitions. And 'risk' was the right word to use in swinging by to retrieve her. Black Hat was still damp with river water when he crept into that B&B in the dead of night, stealthily moving for his room to get the damn dog. He didn't disturb a dormouse.
He did, however, manage to wake that nosey little brat. Of course.
And that was unfortunate.
Black Hat picked up the telephone receiver and looked to the African cultist, who was giving the note a second go-over.
"You understand?" Black Hat said. "You get it?"
The man wordlessly took up the phone and nodded.
"Good."
Black Hat deposited his coins and dialed the number. As it rang he motioned for the looming cultist to lean down, allowing Black Hat to put his ear up near his, listening in as a familiar voice sounded on the other end of the line.
"Operations. Agent Pierce speaking."
During his multiple stints as a lawman— in various capacities— Black Hat had learned that it almost always behooved you to judge a book by its cover, regardless of the conventional wisdom. He could count the 'hidden depth' surprises of people he'd ever encountered on two hands, actually. The truth of it was that a gut feeling was a correct feeling, most of the time. Maybe he figured that his 'gut' was just better than most. There was a reason that his favorite movie was Touch of Evil, after all.
Even if the hero ended up getting killed by the end of it.
That said, he'd admit to being surprised by the voice that came out of that towering cultist as he read from Black Hat's note: it was a pitch and timber far from the harsh, booming voice he'd counted on. It was a voice more suited for a reedy accountant than the agent of a mass-murdering madwoman, but Black Hat couldn't very well complain.
In fact, it almost made him laugh.
"Your man was good," the cultist spoke into the phone. "He got close to me. Almost made me lose my latest head."
"Uh, who is—"
"Almost," the cultist interrupted with his nasally, whiney voice. "But I took the head, like all the rest. Took your man, too. What was left of him, anyway. Left a bit of his brains along with a red carpet; it's all rolled out for you at 5414 York Street, in Salem."
"What're you... are you saying—"
"Since he seemed to be the only one of you with any brains in your outfit I figure I've heard the last from you feds. Sweet sorrow. Left some parting gifts for you on the US-1, right over the water, just to show my appreciation. Figure we can end things with a nice bang, huh?"
The cultist handed the receiver to Black Hat, who then slammed it back down in the cradle even as Pierce's panicked reply whined through the speaker.
"See how much 'time and treasure' you pour into that hot tip, old chum." Black Hat ran a few fingers down the stubble on his chin, a vindictive smile on his face. He looked over his shoulder at Measan. "That'll get the flies buzzing in the right direction. Once they check out the house they'll shut down the southern bridges for certain, and Penance'll prick his ears up at the commotion. If your lady's right then he'll go north to cross the river, running right into her arms. And if I'm right, well," he cocked his head down at Trigg, "we'll need to sic the dogs on him, won't we?"
"Doubt you'll be called out of the kennel," Measan grumbled. "Speaking of which..." He motioned across the street at the boarded up storefront. "I suppose you'll want to inspect the safehouse, yes?"
Black Hat shrugged, looking down at Trigg with a mocking quizzical brow, as if asking her the same question.
"Yes," he said, "I suppose we will."
X
X
X
The rooms were on the second floor, up a decrepit and narrow flight of wood stairs. They had to stop halfway up and wait for Trigg to join them; the dog paused in the foyer, sitting down near one wall, her head raised in a dignified manner, and then she moved to the opposite wall, where she also sat in the same regal way.
"An easily distracted animal," Measan grumbled.
"Oh, she can be quite focused when she puts her mind to it." Black Hat whistled and Trigg dutifully pattered up the stairs, following the men into a half-furnished apartment.
"Not the Ritz," Measan admitted as he showed Black Hat into the sitting room, "and certainly not the cathair, but—"
"Serviceable," Black Hat grumbled, absently tossing his umbrella onto an old leather couch with as many holes in its hide as a colander. "And— all due respect—"
"I doubt that," Measan mumbled.
"—you couldn't drag me back to your lady's tower with a team of wild horses."
"I doubt you'll have to worry about being invited again, Do-bhàis."
The dog circled around that holey leather couch, eventually sitting down again with that noble flair. Black Hat ambled over to the window and pulled back the dreary, stained curtains, staring down at the street with one eye. Measan and the other cultist whispered to each other in their Celtic language, after which the other cultist left the apartment without a word. Measan came to Black Hat's side.
"I do have a question: that address you used in your message to the FBI, it's—"
"What about it?" Black Hat glared at Measan with dangerous eyes. It was a threatening enough glare to remind the man who he was talking to— what he was talking to— and Measan went so far as to lower his voice and look down as he spoke.
"I, uh, nothing. I'm sure it's not important—"
Black Hat felt a strange skip in his chest and an uncharacteristic chill at the base of his neck. He willed it gone, refusing to massage away such a phantom pain. And it was a phantom pain, certainly. There was simply nothing more to consider, especially when it came to Medici. His story was simply a closed book— well, a burned book, technically— and it was unworthy of any further thought.
After all, if he simply hadn't antagonized Black Hat—
Was it really 'antagonizing', though? Wasn't it more 'embarrassment'?
Again he felt his heart skip a beat. The blood pumping to his head seemed loaded with ice.
He shivered, and that only made him angrier. What exactly should Medici be to him, given what he was to Medici: merely a dog to be 'tamed'. To be beaten with a stick, not a carrot in sight. No morsel of a treat at all, in fact.
Black Hat had played his part almost to perfection: he really was quite the whipped cur in almost every respect. Almost. All he ever wanted, ever so often, was just the one little forbidden 'treat'. One little bite; one little 'frolic' to help sow his oats. To quiet them, more like. Why didn't Medici understand that? Why couldn't he see it?
It didn't matter, in the end. It was nothing.
He was nothing.
And now he was gone.
"And now there's no one left to chronicle your passing, Palmiro..."
Measan looked over at Black Hat, head cocked.
"What was that, Do-bhàis?"
Black Hat shook his head.
"Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all."
It wasn't Black Hat's obsession with Penance that did Medici in; it wasn't his fault at all, really. The simple fact is that Medici had hurt him, doing what he did, and so Black Hat hurt him back.
Yes, simple. And just.
And nothing more need be said about the matter.
There must have been something in his face as he stared out the curtains that put Measan off, because the man hesitated to speak, waiting for Black Hat to finally drop the curtain away and cut off that bright line of sunshine falling over his face. The bright light of morning was irritating, to say the least. He found himself having to wipe at his eye.
"Assuming your little stunt does the trick," Measan said, "I'd say the whole thing's almost over."
Black Hat suppressed his smile.
"Yes. I would, too," he mumbled.
"Penance Cameron should be safely in the Aurelia Arms' ritual room this very night, or at least before the next sunrise." Mesan smiled haughtily. As an afterthought he made an overly-dramatic gesture to the immortal, genteelly bowing his head. "After you've received your 'payment', seeing him face-to-face one last time, letting him know who it was that brought him to our Banrigh, of course."
"Of course." Black Hat returned the respectful nod, his insides crawling with revulsion as he smiled at the man.
He never could stomach the stench of a practiced liar, after all.
"It would just about be time for everyone to get what's coming to them, isn't it?" Black Hat snapped a finger, causing the hound to bolt up off the floor and come to his side. "And speaking of that: I'll be seeing you around."
He walked across the room to the door, the dog at his heel. Measan followed behind him like a timid waiter waiving a bill.
"But, Do-bhàis: this place is to be the staging area for—"
"For tonight," Black Hat stopped at the door, looking over his shoulder with irritation. "I happen to have some things to do today. Not the least of which is to find a can of dog food for my four-legged friend, here. "
Black Hat descended the stairs; Measan watched him from the doorway.
"Take it from my experience," Black Hat called back to him. "A hound will only goes so far on an empty stomach..."
