Chapter Four – Alliance & Reprisal
Captain Bruno Dante sat at his desk behind a closed door staring out the small, dirty window of his office that was obscured only by a cheap set of mini-blinds. The sky was dark and gloomy, thunder rumbled in the distance, coloring his mood even more. Unconsciously, he rocked his chair. His anger was building. Petzini could do nothing right in his mind and he was getting tired of her arrogance and insubordination. She was just like her father, the holier than thou son of a bitch. Clinching his teeth, he buzzed his secretary.
"Get me Petzini." He was on his third cup of coffee and it was only seven in the morning.
Joanna had been his secretary for only the last three months. He had run off two others prior to her and he was about to loose her. He was a pompous ass, she thought. There was never a 'Good morning, Joanna'. He barked orders like she was a trained seal. Joanna had known and respected James Pezzini and his daughter Sara. Reluctantly, she called Sara's cell phone, knowing it was too early in the morning.
Sara's phone rang as she was restlessly turning on the hard cot for the umpteenth time. It lay on the nightstand to her right. Grabbing it quickly, she hit the send button to stop the racket and headed out of the room. Annie had not stirred but Nottingham had been disturbed. He inhaled a deep breath and snuggled closer to Annie, perhaps falling back to sleep she hoped. He would be sore having slept in that position all night.
"Pezzini here."
"Sara? Sorry to call you so early but Captain Dante has requested I reach you. Can you take the call?" Joanna's tone was polite and professional, but Sara knew her underlying sentiments for her latest boss.
"Of course, Joanna. What else am I going to say?" Sara had wandered into the quiet halls of the St. Elizabeth hospital, pacing in front of the room. It was shift change for the nurses.
"Smart girl." Joanna connected her to Dante.
"Petzini?"
"Yes, Captain? What can I do for you?" It was difficult to show respect for a man who couldn't even pronounce her name. She knew he did so deliberately. This sign of disrespect had started with her father.
"Where the hell did you get this APB description? I heard your witness is catatonic, Petzini." His sarcasm was apparent.
"Annie Kensington, sir. Our witness' name is Annie Kensington. That's the description we'd like to go with, sir." She skirted the issue of how it was obtained.
"And you want police protection for a so-called 'witness' who's gonna be spending the rest of her life in an asylum. Is that right, Petzini?" He barked.
"We don't know that, sir. She could come out of this anytime. We have to be ready."
"Your police protection is denied. Our limited resources can be better spent. If you want to spend your time nursemaid to that catatonic kid, then do it, but you'd better keep up with your caseload. Is that clear?" He was enjoying this moment. She could hear it in his voice.
"Yes, sir." Sara did not try to hide her resentment.
There was a long moment of silence. She had thought the phone had gone dead. There was no such luck.
"Been talking to your partner Woo about this plan of yours. I've got the order sitting in front of me…just needs my signature." The contempt in his voice was unmistakable even over the fiber optics…and it was not just another case of 'bad cellular'.
"I appreciate your promptness, sir." She pandered to him. She hoped she could keep the disrespect out of her voice for the feeling was mutual.
"I just want you to know, Petzini, if this doesn't work, it's your job. I am holding you personally accountable." He enjoyed making her life miserable, as if finding a potential serial killer was not enough on her plate right now.
"Understood, Captain. Anything else?" It was imperative she keep her temper, remain professional. She knew it would get to him the most.
"I'm personally going to oversee implementing the plan to trap the suspect. Our limited resources are better spent under my supervision. There will be a press conference this morning at nine."
"Should I be in attendance, sir?" She inquired but knew what his answer would be. If the plan worked, he would take credit for the idea. If it failed, he would have someone to blame.
"No, Detective. Just do your damn job." He rudely ended the conversation.
"Well, thank you, sir. Just doing my job. No need to thank me, Captain." She mocked as she clipped the phone to her jeans.
"Anything I can do, Sara?" She turned to find Nottingham stretching his stiff back at the door to Annie's room.
"No, Nottingham. I wish there were." He looked perplexed at her last statement.
"Nothing that a new boss wouldn't cure." She clarified. "How about I get us some breakfast since you scored me dinner last night?" He accepted with a sleepy nod of his head. The cobwebs had not cleared yet.
Back at the 11th precinct, Dante executed the order to set the trap for the killer at the hospital. Tossing the paperwork into his outbox, he sent for Orlinsky. The corrupt and secret police brotherhood within the precinct headed by Dante, calling themselves the White Bulls, would be ready to pick up the pieces of Petzini's failure.
Either way, he would win.
*****
The streets of New York were congested with traffic as Danny drove into the city. The rain and storm clouds had a tendency to make people overly cautious, driving more slowly. It gave him time to think as he drove straight to St. Elizabeth's with only the cadence of his windshield wipers to keep tempo with his thoughts and the steady drone of rain as it buffeted his car. Nottingham's appearance at the hospital yesterday had concerned him yet it didn't seem to have such an effect on his partner. Was there something going on there that she had not confided in him? As long as he had known Sara, she seemed to be attracted to men who lived on the fringes of society. Normalcy would not do for Sara Pezzini, he thought. There would be no house in the suburbs for her.
Sara seemed to be attracted to Nottingham, but he sensed a deeper connection than merely physical. Danny did not think of himself as a particularly spiritual person, but Sara was different. He had always thought she had an old soul, something in her eyes conveyed this. Strangely, he had seen the same thing in Nottingham's eyes. He was still pondering this when he finally reached his destination, pulling into the parking lot at the hospital.
As he got off the elevator on the third floor, he turned right and headed for Annie's room. He had bought a small stuffed bear in the gift shop that he hoped she would get to see if she ever came out of this. He noticed the 24-hour police protection had not been initiated. Walking into the room, he noticed Nottingham and Sara were just finishing a breakfast of cranberry muffins and Starbucks coffee. They both looked up as he entered the room.
"Hey, partner." Sara greeted him with a smile, grabbing the bear and setting it near Annie.
"Hey, Sara." He returned the greeting without taking his eyes off Nottingham, who raised his chin in return, nodding his salutation.
"We saved you some muffins…and there is an extra container of java, just the way you like it." She added.
"Thanks, Pez. You're the best." He finally smiled in her direction. An awkward moment of silence had followed. It was Sara who spoke next.
"I don't want to disturb Annie. Let's take a walk, partner." She grabbed his arm as she walked past him. The small waiting room down the hall would be their destination.
"Dante didn't approve the police protection for Annie. He said 'our limited resources can be better spent'. It's just you and me, partner…and Nottingham." Sara informed him. Danny was used to Dante's roadblocks but he remained strangely silent.
"What's up, Danny? I know you've got something on your mind." She did know him well.
He looked into the eyes of his long time partner before he spoke.
"What is going on between you and Nottingham, Sara? He's an assassin, for cryin' out loud." Danny knew Sara was a deeply private person. He hated to ask her about Nottingham, but his apprehension for his partner far outweighed his political correctness. Nottingham was a dangerous man, surely Sara could see this.
Sara knew Danny hated being in the position of asking her about her personal life. He was usually patient, waiting for her to spill her guts over a beer. He was obviously quite worried. Sara knew her partner deserved an answer. She just wasn't sure herself what that answer would be.
"I can honestly say…I don't know, Danny. I've been trying to figure that one out myself." She knew that she had to reason this out more and was not prepared to tell him about the Witchblade and its control over her…or its ties to Irons and Nottingham.
"Is there something…Are you sleeping with him?" Danny knew he had no right to ask that question, but he could not help himself. He tried hard to sustain a look into her eyes, but failed.
"No, I am not sleeping with him." Sara struggled to keep the emotion from her voice.
Anyone else and she would have been angry, but she knew Danny well. He had only asked out of concern for her. The telepathic sex was yet another secret to keep from her partner. Hell, she didn't even understand it herself. And Danny may have believed telepathic sex before he'd believe Nottingham to be a virgin.
"It's just that I know how you are attracted to…let's just say, you are attracted to men off the beaten path, but Nottingham? Hell, he's not even from the same planet, Sara."
"That's not like you to be so judgmental, Danny." After a very long moment, he nodded in agreement. He knew he would have to be satisfied with just trusting Sara. That was all the answer he would get today. Normally, it was enough.
"If it makes you feel any better, I think Nottingham has been helping Annie. Somehow, he is making a connection to her. I don't claim to understand it, but I have seen it many times now." She offered.
"I'm glad, Sara…for Annie's sake. Not to bring up a nasty subject, but what else did Dante say this morning?"
"Yeah…Gotta tell you, partner. I love getting an early morning wake up call from the devil himself. He's supposed to have a press conference at nine this morning. He's taking over the plan to trap our guy. Guess if it goes well, he takes the credit. If not, I get the blame."
"He grilled me yesterday, too. How much does Nottingham know about this?" He asked.
"I told him everything this morning. I think Annie needs him…so I thought he should know what the risks are."
"Guess so. Is he going to stick, Sara?"
"I don't think I could remove him with a crane, Danny. He wants to help her."
Danny and Sara briefly discussed how their time would be spent, both day and night. Keeping up with their caseload and protecting Annie would be a real commitment, but a resolution both were willing to make. With Nottingham's help, they could do it.
"Let's get back to the room. Why don't you get a change of clothes, reacquaint yourself with your apartment? I can stay with Annie."
"Nottingham needs to stay with Annie, too. She had a horrifying nightmare the other night. He was the only one that could get her stable. I'm afraid of another episode. A break for him may be in order though."
Sara explained to Nottingham that she was making a quick trip to her apartment, but that she would be back shortly. If Annie were not the primary concern for them all, Sara would have been very apprehensive to leave the two of them alone together. Sara had faith they would behave, at least until she got back. She left Danny and Ian staring at each other as she departed with a smile on her face.
"Boys will be boys." She shook her head as she walked down the hall, muttering under her breath. "I hope they don't go marking their territory."
Danny pulled a chair next to Annie's bed on the opposite side as Irons' protege, sitting with his arms across his chest in a defensive posture not unnoticed by Nottingham.
"Please…have some breakfast, Detective." Ian offered.
"We need to get some things straight between us, Nottingham." Danny ignored his offer.
"By all means, Detective. Let us clear the air. What is on your mind?" Nottingham sat in exactly the same fashion, mirroring Danny's position. He glared at the man across the room; his voice was even yet guarded.
"I don't know what your interest is in Sara, but I will not stand by and watch her get hurt. She and I have been partners and friends for a long time. I want what's best for her."
"Then we have no argument, Detective. I live to serve, Sara. I would die to protect her." His answer was so simple, so matter-of-fact.
"Are you mocking me, Nottingham?" Danny was getting perturbed, confused by his last remark.
He seemed sincere but what he said did not make sense. This was not the first time he had witnessed Nottingham saying something cryptic. Danny also reminded himself this man kills for a living. Confucius says, 'Don't piss off a rattler when he's coiled up in front of you'…something like that.
Ian knew not how to explain why he was in service to Sara, especially as it regarded the Witchblade. Yet, he wanted to reach Danny, to make him understand. Ian had been trained to lower his eyes in deference to his master. The only time he looked directly into someone's eyes was just before taking their life or inflicting harm at his master's command. He was not accustomed to making eye contact as a method of communicating. Nottingham lowered the arms across his chest, and leaned forward in his chair resting his hands on his knees, looking Danny in the eye. No more games.
"I would not mock anyone who means so much to Sara. I apologize if that is how it appears. If Sara would allow me to do so, I would serve her exclusively…and yes; I would die to protect her. I feel the same for Annie. She does not deserve any of this."
Danny was taken back by his sincerity. He had not expected this. He was beginning to understand Sara's willingness to accept Nottingham's assistance with Annie. Could they trust Irons' henchman with this innocent child? Would he trust his own child to this man? Danny thought his answer would have been negative, but his gut told him otherwise. After a long moment of silence, he responded, relying on his instincts.
"Truce?" He asked of Nottingham, extending his hand.
Direct contact with another human being, like a handshake, was foreign to Nottingham, who still wore his black, leather gloves. They had become second nature to him. This moment with Danny was significant. He slowly removed his right glove and returned the gesture. Danny had no idea the gravity of this display.
"Truce." Ian reached across the bed to shake Danny's hand. They both hoped this peace treaty would not be the death of them.
When Sara returned, she was dressed in jeans and a soft gray, long sleeved sweater, looking refreshed, carrying an overnight bag with her. She had half-expected to find Danny and Ian glowering at each other, having sat in silence the whole time. They were strangely civil to one another. She wanted to ask what had transpired, but she thought it was best to leave well enough alone.
"Hey Nottingham…you probably could use a break and get freshened up, too. You probably need to check in with Irons." She offered.
Nottingham had almost forgotten Irons would be expecting him back from Paris today. He dreaded the subterfuge required with Irons. He would take a cab back to the airport to pick up his luggage from the locker he had rented. Deep in thought, he was visualizing his conversation with his master. He did not notice the camera crew that was filming live in front of the St. Elizabeth hospital as he departed the front of the building.
The rains had subsided, but a real storm was brewing.
*****
There was a chill in the air of the dining room of the Irons' estate. It could have something to do with the dark and dreary day outside, but perhaps it had more to do with the sole occupant of the room, who was reputed to be able to suck the warmth from any chamber. The décor was opulent and formal, some might even say pretentious. Well-paid artisans had specially designed the cherry wood paneling for him. The crystal chandelier hanging overhead was created in accordance with his specifications. Billionaire Kenneth Irons surrounded himself with the best of everything. The elaborate and ornate interior reflected the ego of the estate's main inhabitant. Irons' white blond hair was perfectly combed straight back from his face, not a hair out of place. His Nordic good looks were a testament to the finest pampering money could buy. Vanity would not permit him to indulge in anything less. His cold and pale, blue eyes perused the newspaper casually. He was still attired in his navy blue silk pajamas with a black, silk robe. The robe did little to keep him warm.
"Did someone not pay the utility bill this month? Why is it so blasted cold in here." He bellowed. A servant quickly ducked into the room to throw another couple of logs into the fireplace across the room and turn up the thermostat.
"Anything else I can do, sir?" Irons noted the way the little man trembled as he spoke. He smirked at how easily the man was intimidated.
"Refill my coffee, then you may go." Irons enjoyed seeing the servants jump at his every command then disappear like roaches into the woodwork. The servant trembled as he poured the coffee, then scurried from the room.
He expected Nottingham back from Paris today. The quickly arranged trip had been a diversion. Irons had hoped to get his faithful servant out of town to distance him from Detective Sara Pezzini, the wielder of the Witchblade. It was becoming painfully obvious to Irons that Nottingham was growing increasingly more loyal to Sara. He had counted on Ian's ineptness with women and Sara's aversion to his freakish servant to keep them apart. In retrospect, this strategy may not have been adequate. He may have to devise another plan.
The news had been playing silently on the television monitor tucked away behind one of the automated cherry wood panels. The television and the panel were both controllable by a remote. He turned up the sound as a local news story caught his attention.
The talking head was a blond young newswoman from VCN, the Vorschlag Cable Network.
"…Captain Bruno Dante of the NYPD held a press conference this morning to inform the public of the latest development in the "Lonely Hearts Killer" case. It appears the police may have a witness to the brutal murder of Sandra Kensington, the latest victim. Sources are not speculating on the identity of this witness, but this reporter has learned the mystery witness may be hospitalized at the new cardiac wing of the St. Elizabeth's hospital under armed guard. We are here outside the hospital…"
As the camera crew panned the front of the hospital, Irons noticed a very familiar figure, dressed in black, leaving the front of the building. The mannerisms and the way he walked confirmed it. What was Nottingham doing there? Sara must not be far away. He was not expected back from Paris until later today.
"Get me a damned phone!" He bellowed, sending servants scurrying in all directions.
Irons first call was to the Vorschlag jet hangar where he learned that Nottingham had returned yesterday afternoon. His next few calls were to the arms markets Nottingham was to meet with in Paris. It seems his meetings had gone exceedingly well and he had made Irons millions in arms sales, but he had still failed to report his success to Irons. His next call would be to Nottingham himself.
As Nottingham left the airport by cab, luggage in hand, his cell phone sounded. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. Let the games begin.
"Yes, sir?" Nottingham answered.
"Where are you, young Nottingham?" Irons tried to appear casual.
"I am just leaving the airport…on my way to the estate." He replied artfully.
"Did you just return from Paris?" Irons asked, waiting to determine how far his servant would go to lie to him.
"It was a successful trip, sir. I think you will be pleased." Nottingham warily dodged yet another verbal bullet.
"I will be in the Great Room upon your return. Please join me." Irons clicked off. Nottingham tensed as he prepared himself for another bout with his master. Irons, the great chess master, never telegraphed his next moves. Ian had no idea what to expect.
The Great Room was quiet as Nottingham entered, the only sound coming from the blazing fire in the hearth and the gentle, rhythmic sound of the grandfather clock in the far corner. Irons sat at his favorite, leather wingback chair, gazing hypnotically into the fire. He let Nottingham stand, head bowed in silence, for over ten minutes before he spoke.
"When did you plan on telling me you had returned yesterday…and not today from Paris? You have learned to dodge a straight question it seems." Irons still glared into the fire.
No response would be adequate. It was a no win scenario for Nottingham. He prepared himself for Irons' retribution. His mind started to shut down as it always did before Irons' abuse. His physical body would suffer the consequences, but his mind was free to escape.
"You are correct, master. I did return yesterday. I sought out Sara so that I may provide you an updated report upon my return." It was the best he could manage.
He knew it would not keep him out of the hurricane's path. Irons knew nothing of his telepathic abilities or he would have tried exploiting them for his own purpose. Nottingham would also keep his involvement with Annie a secret for fear Irons would prevent him from helping her, out of petty cruelty and spite.
Irons grinned wickedly, turning toward his servant finally.
"When did you start to think me such a fool? You have learned to be quite cagey in your answers of late. What you fail to realize is…you can't fool me, young Nottingham." With that, Irons barked an order.
"Security!" Three armed guards, that normally patrol the estate, entered the room in a rush. It was obvious that Irons had planned this all along. It was too well rehearsed.
Nottingham conceded his fate, holding out his hands in front of him. He had been wearing a black shirt and trousers under his heavy black coat. The coat and shirt were stripped from him. The guards bound him in shackles linked to an iron chain suspended from the ceiling. Pulled up by the chains, his feet were unable to touch the floor, so the shackles cut into his wrists, a result of his own weight. As the guards left the room, one of the senior men looked back upon the scene that he had witnessed many times before. This was a relationship he truly did not understand, he thought.
The guards departed the room, leaving him alone with his abuser. Nottingham could have killed the guards and escaped Irons' cruelty once and for all, but he would not be able to keep an eye on Irons and his plans for Sara. To best serve Sara, he would have to remain and submit to Irons' abuse and violations.
Nottingham had not resisted. Irons knew that he would not do so. This little exercise had been played out so many times before. Still, the punishment never dissuaded Nottingham from doing what he would do. In all the years he had tried to manipulate his behavior, Irons knew this would be yet another futile attempt to break him. He had failed in the past, and he would fail here. The punishment was more for Irons' benefit, for his own personal gratification, to release his anger. As Nottingham struggled for air to fill his lungs as he twisted from the ceiling in irons, his abuser continued.
"I am sure you realize this pains me more than it will you. You bring this on yourself." A depraved smile crossed his lips, giving rise to speculation that he had not been sincere in his last remark.
The first of many lashes were laid upon Nottingham's back, cutting into his flesh with a cat-of-nine-tails leather whip. Resisting the urge to cry out in pain, Nottingham suffered in silence as the leather straps did what they were designed to do. Large welts and open cuts were layering across his back, on top of old scars of similar abuse. Irons in his fury struck Ian countless times, loosing count after ten lashes. The abuse escalating as his lust for punishing Ian's deceit grew out of control. Nottingham, however, counted all twenty lashes. His disassociated mind reflected upon the many facial expressions of Sara Pezzini. For every lash that tore open his back, he would recount his favorite ones.
As Nottingham dangled from the iron chain, his body was sticky with his own blood and his sweat stung the open wounds on his back. He struggled for air as he fought for consciousness. Irons dropped the bloody whip at his feet. The cold reality of what he had done was manifest in the droplets of Nottingham's blood that mottled his face and stained his dress shirt and trousers. He departed the Great Room to shower and change clothes before the shame of what he had done overwhelmed him, leaving Nottingham to hang in pain and degradation, like a piece of meat.
Nottingham drifted in and out of consciousness. He did not know how long he had hung there. His thoughts turned again to Sara. The pain seemed to ease when he was reminded of her soft green eyes and her long dark hair. Her smile could sustain him. Images of the wielder came and went through his mind. He became aware of men in the room again. Tension from the chain loosened and he was unceremoniously dropped to the floor. He fought to stay upright, but could not stand. He had sunk to his knees as they freed him from the shackles that bound his cut wrists. Shaking with the pain, he could not raise his head.
"You put up with this to stand between me and the wielder. You know this…and I know this." Irons revealed, attired in clean clothes once again.
Nottingham could not see him, nor did he want to see the man that had just lain open his back. It took him a long while before he could stand with the assistance of a nearby wall and a strategically positioned chair. Still, he had not cried out in agony, not wanting to give his abuser the satisfaction. Irons had watched his exertion without aiding him. He almost did not hear Nottingham's faint response.
"Do with me what you will…I have long since stopped caring."
He left the room with as much dignity as he could muster. His only thought was of returning to Sara and Annie at the hospital under the cover of darkness, escaping Irons once again in order to do what he needed to do.
Nottingham had returned to his room and collapsed on his bed, not having the strength or the ability to clean and treat his own wounds. He lapsed into unconsciousness as the sun went down, casting shadows on the walls of his room.
Irons tried to deny his accountability by attempting to enjoy a hearty dinner and a solitary evening of fine music and a good book, none of which could distract him. He passed the threshold of Nottingham's room on his way to bed, deliberately listening at the door for any sound within. Hearing nothing, he opened the door slightly, peering into the dark room. He spied the silhouette of Nottingham, as he still lay shirtless atop his bed. Irons had suspected as much. He entered the room, turning on a desk lamp near the door, to better inspect the damage. In his fury, he had lost control, inflicting far more injury than he had thought. Nottingham's normally tanned skin was pale with the loss of blood. His breathing was shallow and erratic. His back looked like raw meat.
In a quiet voice, Irons made a phone call from Nottingham's bedside phone, requesting the assistance of a medical doctor he knew would make a house call and be discreet. His servant would need stitches. By the dim light in the room, Irons gazed upon Nottingham, as he lay unconscious before him.
"Why do you push me so? You have brought this upon yourself, you know." Irons was never guilty of anything, not when he could pass the blame elsewhere.
Irons knew his anger had gotten the better of him. In retrospect, Nottingham had made him millions of dollars in arms sales. He had far exceeded Irons' expectation in that regard, yet Irons had reacted to his deceit. He had not tempered his anger. Nottingham was as close to family as Irons would ever have. He had many servants but this one was special. This one knew all his faults and his secrets and did not pass judgement or betray him. This newly found independence of Nottingham's scared Irons. That was why he could become so enraged with Ian. He could not imagine his life without young Nottingham in it.
Not being able to look upon his handiwork any longer, Irons left the room to wait for the doctor downstairs. Denying his own culpability, he would do what he could to repair Nottingham's flesh as contrition for his sins. Mending his relationship with him would take a great deal more thought.
