Back in Business.
Written by Fleur Rine
newgoyle@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Gargoyles belong to Disney and Beuna Vista. I'm making no profit, please don't sue.
This is a stand-alone piece, and doesn't have a particular place in the time-line, beyond being after 'The Journey'. I realised recently how much I'd been neglecting the cannon characters in my fanfic series. So consider this canon-only fic both an apology, and an attempt to rectify the situation. :)
*****
His first day on the outside, and Tony Dracon spent it getting the most important thing in his line of business: Information. Glasses had gotten out a month before, and used his time well.
"Word is that David Xanatos has gone to the other side," he said, having outlined their financial holdings and the small-time gangs that had sprung up in his absence and would have to be dealt with. "Just thought I'd mention it, since the reason is supposed to be that those gargoyles have taken over his castle, and Detective Maza's got them keeping a friendly eye on him."
That would be Glasses' idea of a joke. The gargoyles were never friendly.
"We should send him a condolence card," Dracon said, and went on to more important matters. If the gargoyles were watching Xanatos, all the better. It meant they weren't watching him.
*****
Matt Bluestone contemplated the contents of his fridge, then shrugged, and pulled out cheese, carrots, milk, eggs and capsicum. All he needed was the pasta and he'd have a passable 'inthapot'.
He'd just finished boiling the water when he heard a scratching at the window. Tossing the pasta in, he went to answer it, his heart no longer going into palpitations to see a massive blue gargoyle standing on his balcony.
"Hey Broadway," he said, opening his window. The gargoyle grinned as he climbed in.
"Hello Matt, how's things?" At that moment, the water boiled over, and Matt bolted back into his kitchen to deal with it.
When he re-emerged, he saw Broadway curiously looking at the folders, files and papers that were winning the territory war for his desk.
"Hey Matt, what's this?" The gargoyle pointed one talon (and, Matt noticed absently, their sheer strength and sharpness still stunned him) at his rough drawing of the Illuminatti symbol.
"Remember when Elisa first introduced me to you guys? Those people I was investigating?" Even though Broadway knew about the Illuminatti, he kept it vague, for reasons he wasn't entirely sure of, "That's their symbol."
"Really? A guy we stopped on Tuesday night had a badge like that." He had that look on his face, the one that said he was, in his mind, playing the role of a rough diamond in a trench coat and a fedora. Then what he was saying slammed into Matt.
"What? A badge? What did it look like?"
"Little gold rectangle – with that symbol on it. Do you think he's part of the Illuminatti?" Typically, Broadway had no reluctance to say the name, no interest in useless discretion.
"Tell me what happened," Matt replied, feeling himself morph from man into detective as smoothly and naturally as taking another breath.
"Brooklyn and I were patrolling. We saw a police car chasing another car. They lost them, but we didn't." he grinned, then paused, clearly thinking back, "They went down 22nd Street, then one of the side streets off that. I didn't get the name of the street, but there was a Chinese Restaurant on the corner. They were driving a black Cadillac. I remember Brooklyn saying that if they wanted to be discrete, they should have picked a different car. Anyway, we dropped down and stopped them. There were three guys. The guy wearing the badge was in the back seat. He had brown hair, probably in his mid to late forties, slender build, roughly 6'2" tall, Caucasian, brown eyes, and a gold wedding ring with a diamond on it. He had a satchel he seemed to think was pretty important, one of those ones that are used to carry notebook computers. Brooklyn and I tied them up and radioed for Elisa to pick them up. She said she'd get the officers in the squad car that had been chasing them to book 'em."
Matt grinned, both at the gargoyle's choice of phrase, and the lead he had given him. "Thanks, Broadway." Just then, the timer in his kitchen beeped. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"
It really was an unnecessary question.
Twenty minutes later, there was another tap on the window. This time, it was Lexington, with Angela hovering in the background. Lex waved at Matt, then gestured pointedly to Broadway. The other gargoyle shrugged sheepishly.
"Gotta start patrolling now. Thanks for the food, Matt."
"Anytime, Broadway." Waving at the gargoyles, the detective watched them glide away, over the city.
*****
Dracon muttered a curse. The idea that the gargoyles were bugging somebody else had been pleasant. Pity it hadn't been true. Things had been quiet on that front for a few weeks, but like all good things, it wasn't meant to last. In the middle of a very important shipment, they were severely interrupted. Thankfully, it wasn't Goliath, who would have creamed all of them, but the chick – Angela, wasn't it?, the little green one, and Broadway. The battle, if you could call it that, lasted all of three minutes, before they were left, tied up with metal bars, in the middle of the alley.
Minutes later, Dracon heard the sound of an engine… on the roof. Which meant that little green gargoyle had given him a concussion when he'd punched him, because that was impossible. Fortunately, it soon faded.
Then a shadow climbed down the fire escape. As the sound of police sirens grew closer, the shadow reached the ground and became people.
One of them holding a pair of the biggest bolt cutters he'd ever seen.
*****
Matt frowned, and checked the records again. But the result was the same: Nothing. Zippo. Zilch.
According to the records, nobody had been taken in for questioning on any street off 22nd on Tuesday night, let alone a trio of men in a black Cadillac.
Searching again, this time for a black Cadillac alone, he managed to get the details of the chase that had first caught the gargoyle's attention.
*****
From the outside, the apartment building was run-down. The windows in the lower floor were boarded up, those in the upper three storeys were covered with dirt, or made impenetrable to the light by grimy curtains.
"You're bringing me here?" Tony Dracon sneered. The blonde woman only shrugged. Dracon regarded her suspiciously – she hadn't given him her name, had said nothing at all beyond 'come with me' just after she cut him free, then pulled him up the fire escape before he could object. He'd only gone with her because those sirens had been damn close. She'd had a dark-haired guy with her, but he'd stayed behind and now Dracon had no idea where he was.
She drew out a set of keys on a chain around her waist, and shoved open the rusted wrought iron gates that served as some sort of security. They'd have been a lot more effective if the lock hadn't been busted. At the door, she had to twist the key in the lock several times before it gave way. It groaned pathetically as she pushed it open.
The foyer inside was as gloomy as the exterior. The walls might once have been white, but now they were a combination of dusty grey and mould green. The air stank of urine, vomit, and perhaps a hint of blood. There was no elevator, only sagging stairs, and it was up these that his mysterious rescuer led him further.
Three flights later, the stench thankfully improving, even if the décor did not, they stopped in front of an apartment door.
That gave Dracon his first clue. Beside this door was the last thing he expected to see in a dump like this: a high quality card-swipe socket. When she swished a thin card through it, then announced her name, Dracon contemplated getting the hell out of there. But he had not gotten where he was by backing down when the heat was on. So he raised his chin and followed her in.
Here, the décor improved. Infinitely. The living room was easily half the size of the entire apartment, and the view Dracon got of the rest of the apartment suggested that each of the doors on this side of the building had been false, or lead merely to other parts of this single apartment. The windows were covered by paintings, while real, natural light poured in through large skylights. The furniture was expensive, the carpet ankle-deep, the electronics state of the art.
There were two men waiting for them in the living room. A blonde man in glasses stood at attention beside another man, who sat comfortably on the antique leather wing-back in the corner of the room.
Dracon vaguely recognised the blonde, though he couldn't remember his name. The man in the chair, however, he knew at once.
"Tony, how nice of you to join us," David Xanatos said with a smirk. He raised his glass, "Care for a drink?"
*****
Bluestone exited the program, frowning. According to the records, and given that the officer who'd written the report was Morgan, so he had no reason to doubt them, although they had, on an anonymous tip, found the black Cadillac they had been chasing, it was abandoned. No three men, no satchel, no Illuminatti pin. Closest thing to a clue was a pile of metal that, in Morgan's words 'Looked like it had been ripped, then cut'.
Leaning back in his chair, Bluestone considered the matter. Somehow, in the five minutes between the gargoyles leaving three guys bound up in trashcans and Morgan and his partner arriving, somebody had intercepted.
Somebody was watching the clan. This was Very Bad Shit.
Wait…
*****
By the time Dracon had recovered from his surprise, he was comfortably seated opposite Xanatos, with his own glass. The contents gave him enough Dutch Courage to ask,
"What's going on?"
"It's quite simple. I'm utilising my resources. The gargoyles, as you may be aware, are now guests in my home. They provide myself and my family with invaluable protection, and I owe them."
"For what?" Dracon asked without thinking. At the cool look Xanatos gave him, he reconsidered, "Never mind. Go on."
"I have found, however, that it has become necessary to somewhat… curb some of my financial endeavours in their presence. Hence, I now require a middleman who can act on my behalf, without arousing suspicion among my guests. There will, of course, be no evidence of a link between us, however, I'm sure you will find the ventures very profitable."
"What about the gargoyles? How do you intend to keep them out of this?"
"Has it occurred to you yet to wonder how it was that we knew where you were?" Xanatos replied. When Dracon blinked, he continued, "the gargoyles use a simple radio transmitter to communicate with each other. It was no problem at all to replace it with one of our own devising, one that serves a second function: a homing device. It allows us to observe their actions and know their location at all times, giving us adequate warning should the need arise."
"And when you saw that they'd busted me, you decided to take advantage of the situation," Dracon continued, "Xanatos, I am impressed. What about Glasses and the others?"
"A few necessary sacrifices will be made, but Glasses was not one of them. A good assistant is hard to find, and I would not deprive you of yours."
"Thanks. You're playing a dangerous game, what with them living with you, and all,"
"It's a calculated risk. You are only the second person to be 'rescued' since we switched the transmitters."
"I'm flattered," Leaning back in the chair, another thought occurred to Dracon, "Say, this would be a great way to earn you a few favours. When the risk is worth it, of course."
Xanatos smirked, "There are times when I imagine the gargoyles, in their naiveté, will involve themselves with people who consider themselves to be above the law," he grinned then, "for a price, I will ensure that these people are not given, shall we say, unwanted attention."
Dracon laughed, and raised his glass in a toast, "For a price, huh? It'll be a pleasure doing business with you, Xanatos. Let's talk terms."
*****
Bluestone could only cool his heels for so long, and by the time Xanatos finally returned to his office, he was good and pissed.
"Detective Bluestone, what a pleasant surprise. Visiting the gargoyles?"
"Are you following them?"
"The gargoyles?"
"Yes or no, Xanatos. An Illuminatti member vanished last night between getting caught by the gargoyles and the police arriving. Either you're keeping them safe, or they've got their eye on Goliath again."
"Again?" That got a reaction.
"They put Goliath and I through some mind blowing hotel, trying to break him. Since I don't even want to imagine what Elisa would do to me if they got him again, I'm only going to ask this one more time," He moved closer and got in the billionaire's face. "Are. You. Following. Them?"
"Yes." It said a lot that Xanatos gave him a straight answer. "The Illuminatti has been most curious about the gargoyles. I was not aware that they had already encountered them. That may explain why it was the decision of the Council to leave them be. With one exception: their fondness for 'stopping the bad guys'. So I was ordered to ensure that, if that happened to a member of the society, it would go no further."
"Do the Clan know about this?"
"Do you think they would still be here if they did?"
"Good point." Bluestone crossed his arms, "If I tell them about this?"
"The Illuminatti begins 'observing' them. Possibly even taking what they call an active role."
Bluestone winced, remembering the last time they'd taken an active role. He sighed, deeply and reluctantly. Then he got back into Xanatos' face and growled, "If anything happens to the clan, I will take you down. Clear?"
"I wouldn't concern yourself, Detective. Nothing will go wrong."
Bluestone left the office, head down. For a moment, he seemed to be torn by indecision, before he turned left, heading for the elevator and away from the castle roof.
Behind him, Xanatos smirked,
"Owen," he said, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction, "it's nice to be back in business again."
fin