Nineteen. What a nice number but we aren't done yet. I wasn't planning on
posting this today, I didn't think I would have time but here it is anyway.
*-*-*-*-* Anthony bought a ticket on the first flight to Los Angeles and arrived a few hours later. He hated not knowing how Dylan was but an old contact of his in Chicago said he would keep Anthony apprised of what was going on with the angels condition. "Sometimes having a questionable job has benefits," thought the Thin Man as he drove in his black Z4 north up the Pacific Coast Highway to visit another old contact.
Anthony wasn't even sure if Dimitri still lived in the same location. It had been years since he had seen the old man but he knew if anyone could help Dylan it would be him. He had met Dimitri when right after he had left the orphanage and the old Russian had quickly become a mentor to young Anthony. Dimitri had been a top military scientist in the Brezhnev era until he "defected" in 1982. In reality the man hadn't defected but was a spy for the USSR until its collapse. He taught Anthony sword play, and trained him in hand to hand combat.
Now Anthony zipped along the winding road breaking the speed limit and several other traffic laws but he didn't care. They weren't the first laws he had broken. He patted the pocket of the tuxedo he was still wearing, to make sure the second viral dart was still there. He didn't want to lose it Dimitri would need something to use to make a cure with. If making a cure was possible.
He pulled his car up into the driveway, overgrown with tangles of branches and vines not caring if the paint was scratched. Dimitri's old LeBaron was in the garage. Anthony shook his head; Dimitri could never remember to close the garage door. He hopped out of the convertible, rushed to the door and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again harder knowing that the Russian's hearing had been declining over the years, yet no one came to the door. He sat defeated on the porch and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't had much sleep over the past couple days and it was starting to catch up with him.
"Anton! Is that you?"
Anthony turned his head and there stood Dimitri Aleskandrov. The man looked much older than Anthony remembered of course it had been five years. He berated himself for ignoring the man all that time. Dimitri came closed and clapped an arthritic hand on Anthony's shoulder. "Come let us go in and you can write me a novel about where you have been and what you have been doing," he said with a laugh and opened the weather worn door.
Anthony stood and followed the old man into the once fabulous house. The hallway dingy and everything seemed to be covered with a layer of dust. Dimitri led them into the living room. "I haven't had a maid in years, Irena quit in.when was that.right, that was after the last time you visited and I never managed to find anyone I liked as well as her. Come, come, have a seat."
Anthony sat on the olive green velvet sofa and pulled out his small notebook and pen. "Would you like some tea," asked the Russian. Anthony shook his head 'no'. "It's already made. It is perhaps a bit cold but iced tea is good too, no?"
The quiet assassin quickly wrote, "No thank you. I am here on urgent business."
"Ah young people, everything is so urgent. Hurry hurry hurry. Especially you Anton, you need to find yourself a young woman who likes you for who you are and settle down. Have some children." Dimitri said as he watched Anthony scribble a note and take the dart from his pocket.
"What is this," asked the old man taking the items from his friend. He read the note: "I need a cure for this. It's very important."
"Anton. I would love to help you. You know you are the son I never had, but my eyes. They aren't so good anymore. Work with the microscopes is difficult."
Anthony wrote another note, "Have I asked you for anything before?"
"No Anton you haven't. I see this is very important. I will try. Come, we go to the cellar, see if I can do what you ask."
*-*-*-*-*-*
"Doctor Johnson," said a nurse joining the crowd in the waiting room. The doctor turned and saw the nurse approaching. She whispered something in his ear and walked back through the door.
"Ladies, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me," he said starting to leave.
"Is it Dylan," asked Natalie tightly holding Pete's hand.
"Her temperature went up another degree. It's not good we need to get it down. I'll let you know when we do."
Dylan drifted in and out of consciousness. She was so hot and wanted a drink. Her mouth felt dry. There were so many people around, where was she? "What's her temperature now," asked Dr. Johnson.
"She it's at 105. That is a half a degree warmer than when I went to get you. . The ibuprofen doesn't seem to be having any affect." replied the nurse.
"Any further vomiting?"
"None, she has been hallucinating. She's been talking about wanting to kill a man named Seamus, that she wouldn't let him hurt her friends."
"Don't die. Don't die," mumbled Dylan her eyes wide and glassy. In her fevered mind she relived the night on the roof of the Hollywood theater over and over again. The heated kiss and watching Anthony plummet from the rooftop impaled on his own sword. Seamus O'Grady's words, "Mind if I cut in," echoed in her mind.
"Shh, Sweetie," said the nurse placing a cool cloth on her forehead and giving the doctor a worried look.
The doctor ran his hand down his face. "Okay I'm going to up the dosage of antibiotics and hope that it helps."
*-*-*-*-*
Dimitri had been making progress with the virus. It was well made but nothing he hadn't seen before. In fact he had helped design the first designer virus. This one was basically the same thing with a little tweak here and a tweak there a protein re-sequenced to attack and attach to certain DNA strands. It was a little marvel, a wonder of science and creativity. "Such a shame to have to kill it," he muttered as he placed a drop of solution onto the petrie dish and placed it in the special microscope.
The Russian looked over to the small sofa he kept in the far corner of the basement. Anthony was asleep on it. "Poor boy," thought Dimitri. In all the years he had known Anthony he had never seen him upset. He had always kept his emotions in check and bottled up, part of the reason he was such a good and efficient assassin. He had seen that in the young man from the start. He could only wonder who had the man wearing his heart on his sleeve.
The microscope hummed as it magnified the specimen. "Ah ha!" The old man's cry awakened Anthony with a start. "My boy I am sorry to wake you." Anthony rubbed his eyes and joined his friend while writing a note.
"Any progress?"
"A little."
Anthony slammed his fist down on the table causing the vials and beakers to jump. Dimitri was the best, if he couldn't find a cure no one could. He didn't know how much longer Dylan could hold on. "Anton, I have never seen you in such a state- ever. I have known you since you were seventeen tell me what is the problem. Why is this so important?"
Anthony looked at the man. Part of him was ashamed to admit his weakness, his love for the angel. Part was afraid if he did the old man would laugh at him. He didn't know what to say, so he lit a cigarette and hoped it would calm him.
"All right. Keep your secret. I will still help you, but if and when I find the cure I want to know everything. Ev-ry-thing do you understand." Anthony nodded and inhaled the cigarette deeply letting himself relax.
The phone rang and Dimitri answered it. "Hello?...Yes he is here. One moment please," he said to the person on the other end of the line. Anthony took the receiver.
It was his contact in Chicago. "Hey quiet man its me. I called the hospital a few minutes ago. She isn't any better and isn't any worse. They are pretty worried though so whatever you are doing I hope it works out man. I'll call when I know more." Anthony hung up the phone.
"So Anton, you give out my number to strangers," asked the old man angrily. Anthony knew that the old man valued his privacy more than anything, but he needed to know what was going on. "Tell me everything or I won't go any further with the virus."
Anthony, with hard eyes, pulled out his sword and held it to the old man's heart. "So you would rather kill me? Do you think I haven't heard that threat before? You forget I worked for the Soviets. I am an old man now. If you want to kill me fine. I have done my time in this world. Strike me down Anton."
The Thin Man lowered the sword and his eyes. "So who is she Anton? I am old but not a fool. Who has gotten into that cold heart of yours? The owner of the hair you treasure so?"
Anthony arched an eyebrow in question, "How did he know?"
"My eyes aren't what they once were but I am not blind. I watch you with the hair. Your way of indulging in her. Keeping her near you," said Dimitri.
Anthony took out his pen and paper and began writing. "Can you handle a long story?"
"Of course," said the old man.
"But as you work?"
"Fine, deal. You tell me the story and I will take care of the job you brought me."
With that Anthony sat down and began writing the story from the beginning starting with being hired by Vivian Woods, the fight in the alley outside of Corwin's. He described the way his employer had taunted Dylan and shot her out the window, how the angels had fought at the mission making sure to recall the details of the missile that led them to why he was there on Dimitri's doorstep. Eventually he worked his way up to the kiss on the rooftop and concluded with Vivian and her plan.
"So," said the Russian, "you are in love. I see I didn't have to tell you to find a young lady who understands you earlier. You seem to have found one."
Anthony looked at his feet. "Don't be embarrassed . Love is a natural part of life even for men like us." Dimitri paused and looked into the microscope. "Well my boy, it looks like we have a success." For the first time since Dimitri had known him, Anthony smiled.
*-*-*-*-* Anthony bought a ticket on the first flight to Los Angeles and arrived a few hours later. He hated not knowing how Dylan was but an old contact of his in Chicago said he would keep Anthony apprised of what was going on with the angels condition. "Sometimes having a questionable job has benefits," thought the Thin Man as he drove in his black Z4 north up the Pacific Coast Highway to visit another old contact.
Anthony wasn't even sure if Dimitri still lived in the same location. It had been years since he had seen the old man but he knew if anyone could help Dylan it would be him. He had met Dimitri when right after he had left the orphanage and the old Russian had quickly become a mentor to young Anthony. Dimitri had been a top military scientist in the Brezhnev era until he "defected" in 1982. In reality the man hadn't defected but was a spy for the USSR until its collapse. He taught Anthony sword play, and trained him in hand to hand combat.
Now Anthony zipped along the winding road breaking the speed limit and several other traffic laws but he didn't care. They weren't the first laws he had broken. He patted the pocket of the tuxedo he was still wearing, to make sure the second viral dart was still there. He didn't want to lose it Dimitri would need something to use to make a cure with. If making a cure was possible.
He pulled his car up into the driveway, overgrown with tangles of branches and vines not caring if the paint was scratched. Dimitri's old LeBaron was in the garage. Anthony shook his head; Dimitri could never remember to close the garage door. He hopped out of the convertible, rushed to the door and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again harder knowing that the Russian's hearing had been declining over the years, yet no one came to the door. He sat defeated on the porch and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't had much sleep over the past couple days and it was starting to catch up with him.
"Anton! Is that you?"
Anthony turned his head and there stood Dimitri Aleskandrov. The man looked much older than Anthony remembered of course it had been five years. He berated himself for ignoring the man all that time. Dimitri came closed and clapped an arthritic hand on Anthony's shoulder. "Come let us go in and you can write me a novel about where you have been and what you have been doing," he said with a laugh and opened the weather worn door.
Anthony stood and followed the old man into the once fabulous house. The hallway dingy and everything seemed to be covered with a layer of dust. Dimitri led them into the living room. "I haven't had a maid in years, Irena quit in.when was that.right, that was after the last time you visited and I never managed to find anyone I liked as well as her. Come, come, have a seat."
Anthony sat on the olive green velvet sofa and pulled out his small notebook and pen. "Would you like some tea," asked the Russian. Anthony shook his head 'no'. "It's already made. It is perhaps a bit cold but iced tea is good too, no?"
The quiet assassin quickly wrote, "No thank you. I am here on urgent business."
"Ah young people, everything is so urgent. Hurry hurry hurry. Especially you Anton, you need to find yourself a young woman who likes you for who you are and settle down. Have some children." Dimitri said as he watched Anthony scribble a note and take the dart from his pocket.
"What is this," asked the old man taking the items from his friend. He read the note: "I need a cure for this. It's very important."
"Anton. I would love to help you. You know you are the son I never had, but my eyes. They aren't so good anymore. Work with the microscopes is difficult."
Anthony wrote another note, "Have I asked you for anything before?"
"No Anton you haven't. I see this is very important. I will try. Come, we go to the cellar, see if I can do what you ask."
*-*-*-*-*-*
"Doctor Johnson," said a nurse joining the crowd in the waiting room. The doctor turned and saw the nurse approaching. She whispered something in his ear and walked back through the door.
"Ladies, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me," he said starting to leave.
"Is it Dylan," asked Natalie tightly holding Pete's hand.
"Her temperature went up another degree. It's not good we need to get it down. I'll let you know when we do."
Dylan drifted in and out of consciousness. She was so hot and wanted a drink. Her mouth felt dry. There were so many people around, where was she? "What's her temperature now," asked Dr. Johnson.
"She it's at 105. That is a half a degree warmer than when I went to get you. . The ibuprofen doesn't seem to be having any affect." replied the nurse.
"Any further vomiting?"
"None, she has been hallucinating. She's been talking about wanting to kill a man named Seamus, that she wouldn't let him hurt her friends."
"Don't die. Don't die," mumbled Dylan her eyes wide and glassy. In her fevered mind she relived the night on the roof of the Hollywood theater over and over again. The heated kiss and watching Anthony plummet from the rooftop impaled on his own sword. Seamus O'Grady's words, "Mind if I cut in," echoed in her mind.
"Shh, Sweetie," said the nurse placing a cool cloth on her forehead and giving the doctor a worried look.
The doctor ran his hand down his face. "Okay I'm going to up the dosage of antibiotics and hope that it helps."
*-*-*-*-*
Dimitri had been making progress with the virus. It was well made but nothing he hadn't seen before. In fact he had helped design the first designer virus. This one was basically the same thing with a little tweak here and a tweak there a protein re-sequenced to attack and attach to certain DNA strands. It was a little marvel, a wonder of science and creativity. "Such a shame to have to kill it," he muttered as he placed a drop of solution onto the petrie dish and placed it in the special microscope.
The Russian looked over to the small sofa he kept in the far corner of the basement. Anthony was asleep on it. "Poor boy," thought Dimitri. In all the years he had known Anthony he had never seen him upset. He had always kept his emotions in check and bottled up, part of the reason he was such a good and efficient assassin. He had seen that in the young man from the start. He could only wonder who had the man wearing his heart on his sleeve.
The microscope hummed as it magnified the specimen. "Ah ha!" The old man's cry awakened Anthony with a start. "My boy I am sorry to wake you." Anthony rubbed his eyes and joined his friend while writing a note.
"Any progress?"
"A little."
Anthony slammed his fist down on the table causing the vials and beakers to jump. Dimitri was the best, if he couldn't find a cure no one could. He didn't know how much longer Dylan could hold on. "Anton, I have never seen you in such a state- ever. I have known you since you were seventeen tell me what is the problem. Why is this so important?"
Anthony looked at the man. Part of him was ashamed to admit his weakness, his love for the angel. Part was afraid if he did the old man would laugh at him. He didn't know what to say, so he lit a cigarette and hoped it would calm him.
"All right. Keep your secret. I will still help you, but if and when I find the cure I want to know everything. Ev-ry-thing do you understand." Anthony nodded and inhaled the cigarette deeply letting himself relax.
The phone rang and Dimitri answered it. "Hello?...Yes he is here. One moment please," he said to the person on the other end of the line. Anthony took the receiver.
It was his contact in Chicago. "Hey quiet man its me. I called the hospital a few minutes ago. She isn't any better and isn't any worse. They are pretty worried though so whatever you are doing I hope it works out man. I'll call when I know more." Anthony hung up the phone.
"So Anton, you give out my number to strangers," asked the old man angrily. Anthony knew that the old man valued his privacy more than anything, but he needed to know what was going on. "Tell me everything or I won't go any further with the virus."
Anthony, with hard eyes, pulled out his sword and held it to the old man's heart. "So you would rather kill me? Do you think I haven't heard that threat before? You forget I worked for the Soviets. I am an old man now. If you want to kill me fine. I have done my time in this world. Strike me down Anton."
The Thin Man lowered the sword and his eyes. "So who is she Anton? I am old but not a fool. Who has gotten into that cold heart of yours? The owner of the hair you treasure so?"
Anthony arched an eyebrow in question, "How did he know?"
"My eyes aren't what they once were but I am not blind. I watch you with the hair. Your way of indulging in her. Keeping her near you," said Dimitri.
Anthony took out his pen and paper and began writing. "Can you handle a long story?"
"Of course," said the old man.
"But as you work?"
"Fine, deal. You tell me the story and I will take care of the job you brought me."
With that Anthony sat down and began writing the story from the beginning starting with being hired by Vivian Woods, the fight in the alley outside of Corwin's. He described the way his employer had taunted Dylan and shot her out the window, how the angels had fought at the mission making sure to recall the details of the missile that led them to why he was there on Dimitri's doorstep. Eventually he worked his way up to the kiss on the rooftop and concluded with Vivian and her plan.
"So," said the Russian, "you are in love. I see I didn't have to tell you to find a young lady who understands you earlier. You seem to have found one."
Anthony looked at his feet. "Don't be embarrassed . Love is a natural part of life even for men like us." Dimitri paused and looked into the microscope. "Well my boy, it looks like we have a success." For the first time since Dimitri had known him, Anthony smiled.