XIII. Money for Nothing
Vicious paced the length of Mao's office in quick strides, moving the blinds to look at the street outside and then crossing the room again. Marcus sat in the chair opposite Mao, following Vicious with only his eyes, fingers laced over his stomach. Mato stood beside his father, while Lin leaned against the closed door, hands in his pockets.
"How did they know?" Vicious burst out, any pretense of self-control gone. "We were all together when Spike found out about the sale, and we went. Who did you talk to before you left?" He rounded on his audience.
"A better question would be why you did not call me," Mato replied darkly.
"You run your own team. You were not here. I did not think I would need you." Vicious finally sat in the chair beside Marcus.
"Perhaps it is just as well," Mao said. "To have had all of you in the same place would have been an even greater risk. You were instructed to operate your teams separately. That you and Spike would take your seconds and set out for a confrontation without so much as a word to anyone in the Syndicate, and without any other backup, disturbs me greatly."
Vicious shook his head, running through the events of the night in his mind. "Discipline me later if you wish, but our decision is not the problem we should be discussing."
Mao stood. "You have been disciplined sufficiently, I think. We can only hope Spike survives, so you will come to appreciate how lucky you were that this did not end worse."
Unthinking, Vicious' hand went to the hilt of his katana as he rose to face Mao. "Spike said he'd been warned someone within the Red Dragon wanted to sabotage the distribution agreement. I told no one of our action because of his warning. It seemed like an opportunity to identify the infidel."
"And so you left me out of it?" Mato asked. "Draw your sword, and you'll not draw another breath."
Vicious seemed to realize his stance for the first time, and let his hands drop to his sides.
Marcus put a hand on his arm, encouraging him to sit, as he spoke. "I wasn't here when Spike got the heads-up about the sale. Were you?"
Vicious nodded. "He got a phone call from Lin's brother."
All eyes turned to Lin, and he hesitated.
"Shin buys from Rocket," he finally admitted. "A problem I have been working hard to curb. Rocket called him and offered him first shot at a new shipment. At least Shin had the good sense to call Spike and I, and tell us about it. Vicious said we hadn't sold anything to Rocket since the agreement went into effect."
Mao sat again, turning in his chair to face Lin. "Does Rocket know Shin is your brother?"
"It's possible," Lin allowed, "but I doubt it. Shin has lived with my grandmother his whole life. He's never been offered work with the Syndicate..."
"Because he abuses its products," Mao cut in. "Did you know Rocket before this assignment began?"
Lin shook his head. "You know I worked weapons before this. The first time Rocket saw me was last night. Vicious' team has been in charge of him up until now."
"Which makes it even stranger that Shin would call Spike about the sale," Mao concluded. "Unless he was instructed to do so."
The meaning of his words sunk in.
"Vicious, you need to tell us everything you know about this warning Spike received." Mao sat back in his chair expectantly.
Vicious' eyes glittered. "I hope you understand my hesitation, especially after the events of tonight."
"I do not," Mao said, his tone grave. "It is apparent to me that Spike was targeted for elimination, and that the call he received from Shin was orchestrated somehow. Whatever you know, you need to share it, or I will bring you up before the Van and they can take it from you by force."
"You do not need to threaten me," Vicious replied sullenly. "But I know very little. He was apparently given a large sum of money, and told later by someone he did not know, someone who implied ties to the White Tiger, that the money was intended to convince him to look away while other distributions continued to take place in the warehouse district."
"Why haven't we heard about this?" Mato blurted out.
"Shut up and listen, and maybe you will be able to figure it out," Vicious retorted. "The White Tiger who contacted him said a Red Dragon made the transfer to his bank account, and that he would face retaliation from within the Red Dragon if he did not do what he was paid to do. Obviously, he is above suspicion, as he has continued to carry out the mission and identify sales that were not our own."
"Has he been contacted again?" Mao asked.
"If he has, I have not been told about it." Vicious dropped his face to his hands, rubbing his eyes. "And now he is at Julia's, and there is far too high a chance he will be found."
"Why do you say that?" Lin pushed off the wall and crossed to the window.
"I left him," Vicious said to himself. "I thought he was dead. He had a bullet in his heart. And he walked from the warehouse to Julia's."
They all fell silent, contemplating that trek.
"He left a trail of blood from the warehouse to her door," Vicious went on. "She had her neighbor help take him upstairs. Too many people are involved in this."
He rose, but Mao stopped him with a warning. "Their involvement will become all the more troublesome if they start disappearing."
"What are we supposed to do?" He tried not to show it, but Vicious felt closer to panic than he'd ever been. He hadn't recovered from the shock of believing Spike dead, and now he bore the weight of leaving him behind, and of Julia being drawn into the mess.
"We pray that Spike survives the night," Mao replied, much more gently. "We do not speak of this outside this room, even between ourselves. I will work on arranging a safehouse for Spike, so that he can be moved as soon as it is practical. I suggest you all stay here at the tower tonight," he concluded. "And Vicious, I wish to speak with you alone before you retire for the evening."
The other three men recognized the dismissal and rose to leave. As Lin passed him on the way to the door, he put a hand on Vicious' shoulder, but dropped it when his look went unreturned.
When they were alone, Mao opened his desk drawer, and Vicious watched warily until he came up with two tumblers and a bottle of Scotch. "Sit," Mao offered, waving a hand at the chair across from him.
Vicious obeyed, his mind racing.
"You blame yourself." It was not a question.
Vicious took the offered drink and leaned his elbows on Mao's desk, looking into the glass.
"You are strong and worthy of power," Mao went on, "but you have not yet earned it. Lessons like this help make us ready to wield it."
"I fail to see a moral to this story," Vicious replied.
"It has not yet been revealed. The task of uncovering it falls to you. For myself, I see that suspicion has spread like a virus, between you and Spike and your men, so that none of you trusts the order of the Syndicate, even though it is the only thing that can protect you."
Vicious took a swallow of scotch and gritted his teeth, letting the vapors rise up into his sinuses and dull the headache that formed there. "If someone within the Red Dragon set us up, it can hardly be considered good protection."
"I do not wish to seem flippant," Mao said, "but what assurance do you have that there is involvement on the part of the Red Dragon? Nothing but the word of a White Tiger, from what I know."
"The transfer of money was made electronically, directly into Spike's Syndicate account. The only way someone could do that would be to know the Red Dragon financial system, to be able to recognize the pattern of transactions in order to identify his account." Setting the glass down on the blotter, Vicious sat back in the chair and rubbed a hand over his eyes.
Mao did not reply for some time. He refilled his glass again before he finally said, "You make a strong case. It would be difficult for anyone, even someone involved in the legitimate side of our financial affairs, to know where money comes from and goes to, and in what quantities, and for what reason."
Vicious spread his hands. "I did not even know, until he told me, that Spike received a benefit for his father's death. I assumed he did, since I do as well, but the subject never came up."
"And it should not," Mao said sharply.
Vicious nodded without answering.
"You should not contact Julia or Spike unless you absolutely must, for the next few days. I will speak to Annie and instruct her not to talk about Spike's absence or whereabouts." Mao put the bottle away and began assembling his papers. "I will investigate this financial transaction."
Vicious rose to his feet. "Marcus worked directly for Ichido before he was assigned to my team. I will ask him to assist you."
"That will not be necessary," Mao replied. "In fact, have you spoken of this matter with Marcus or anyone else?"
"No, the most anyone has heard is what was said tonight." Vicious looked at him closely.
"That should be all they hear," Mao mused. "I will go directly to Ichido about the accounting. He answers directly to the Van, as do I – I will not bother with anyone lower in the chain of command."
Vicious bowed low, and then rose to look Mao in the eye. "I have been blessed with many wise fathers," he said, and left the office, shutting the door softly behind him.
***
Julia lay on the couch, wrapped in an afghan, listening to Spike breathe in the next room. She had been staring at the sculpture of leaping fish – another gift from Vicious – for so long they seemed to ripple like real animals. Sleep would not come; every time the sound of breathing slowed or changed, she was instantly alert. Her comm. had been silent for hours, and though she did not expect to hear from Vicious until morning, it bothered her all the same.
She rose and padded into the bedroom to look down at Spike as he slept. His lips were dry, almost cracked, and she stroked his forehead gently. "Spike? Can I get you some water? Do you think you could drink it?"
He stirred slightly, but did not reply. She went for a glass anyway, and sat beside him on the mattress, sliding a hand around his shoulders to lift his head, raising the glass to his lips. After a moment and a short cough, he swallowed a drink, and then turned his head against her.
"Later," he mumbled, and she eased his head back down to the pillow; he was out again. She lay down beside him with a hand on his right shoulder, and meant to stay for only a moment – but sleep stole over her with the steady rise and fall of his skin under her fingers.
Vicious paced the length of Mao's office in quick strides, moving the blinds to look at the street outside and then crossing the room again. Marcus sat in the chair opposite Mao, following Vicious with only his eyes, fingers laced over his stomach. Mato stood beside his father, while Lin leaned against the closed door, hands in his pockets.
"How did they know?" Vicious burst out, any pretense of self-control gone. "We were all together when Spike found out about the sale, and we went. Who did you talk to before you left?" He rounded on his audience.
"A better question would be why you did not call me," Mato replied darkly.
"You run your own team. You were not here. I did not think I would need you." Vicious finally sat in the chair beside Marcus.
"Perhaps it is just as well," Mao said. "To have had all of you in the same place would have been an even greater risk. You were instructed to operate your teams separately. That you and Spike would take your seconds and set out for a confrontation without so much as a word to anyone in the Syndicate, and without any other backup, disturbs me greatly."
Vicious shook his head, running through the events of the night in his mind. "Discipline me later if you wish, but our decision is not the problem we should be discussing."
Mao stood. "You have been disciplined sufficiently, I think. We can only hope Spike survives, so you will come to appreciate how lucky you were that this did not end worse."
Unthinking, Vicious' hand went to the hilt of his katana as he rose to face Mao. "Spike said he'd been warned someone within the Red Dragon wanted to sabotage the distribution agreement. I told no one of our action because of his warning. It seemed like an opportunity to identify the infidel."
"And so you left me out of it?" Mato asked. "Draw your sword, and you'll not draw another breath."
Vicious seemed to realize his stance for the first time, and let his hands drop to his sides.
Marcus put a hand on his arm, encouraging him to sit, as he spoke. "I wasn't here when Spike got the heads-up about the sale. Were you?"
Vicious nodded. "He got a phone call from Lin's brother."
All eyes turned to Lin, and he hesitated.
"Shin buys from Rocket," he finally admitted. "A problem I have been working hard to curb. Rocket called him and offered him first shot at a new shipment. At least Shin had the good sense to call Spike and I, and tell us about it. Vicious said we hadn't sold anything to Rocket since the agreement went into effect."
Mao sat again, turning in his chair to face Lin. "Does Rocket know Shin is your brother?"
"It's possible," Lin allowed, "but I doubt it. Shin has lived with my grandmother his whole life. He's never been offered work with the Syndicate..."
"Because he abuses its products," Mao cut in. "Did you know Rocket before this assignment began?"
Lin shook his head. "You know I worked weapons before this. The first time Rocket saw me was last night. Vicious' team has been in charge of him up until now."
"Which makes it even stranger that Shin would call Spike about the sale," Mao concluded. "Unless he was instructed to do so."
The meaning of his words sunk in.
"Vicious, you need to tell us everything you know about this warning Spike received." Mao sat back in his chair expectantly.
Vicious' eyes glittered. "I hope you understand my hesitation, especially after the events of tonight."
"I do not," Mao said, his tone grave. "It is apparent to me that Spike was targeted for elimination, and that the call he received from Shin was orchestrated somehow. Whatever you know, you need to share it, or I will bring you up before the Van and they can take it from you by force."
"You do not need to threaten me," Vicious replied sullenly. "But I know very little. He was apparently given a large sum of money, and told later by someone he did not know, someone who implied ties to the White Tiger, that the money was intended to convince him to look away while other distributions continued to take place in the warehouse district."
"Why haven't we heard about this?" Mato blurted out.
"Shut up and listen, and maybe you will be able to figure it out," Vicious retorted. "The White Tiger who contacted him said a Red Dragon made the transfer to his bank account, and that he would face retaliation from within the Red Dragon if he did not do what he was paid to do. Obviously, he is above suspicion, as he has continued to carry out the mission and identify sales that were not our own."
"Has he been contacted again?" Mao asked.
"If he has, I have not been told about it." Vicious dropped his face to his hands, rubbing his eyes. "And now he is at Julia's, and there is far too high a chance he will be found."
"Why do you say that?" Lin pushed off the wall and crossed to the window.
"I left him," Vicious said to himself. "I thought he was dead. He had a bullet in his heart. And he walked from the warehouse to Julia's."
They all fell silent, contemplating that trek.
"He left a trail of blood from the warehouse to her door," Vicious went on. "She had her neighbor help take him upstairs. Too many people are involved in this."
He rose, but Mao stopped him with a warning. "Their involvement will become all the more troublesome if they start disappearing."
"What are we supposed to do?" He tried not to show it, but Vicious felt closer to panic than he'd ever been. He hadn't recovered from the shock of believing Spike dead, and now he bore the weight of leaving him behind, and of Julia being drawn into the mess.
"We pray that Spike survives the night," Mao replied, much more gently. "We do not speak of this outside this room, even between ourselves. I will work on arranging a safehouse for Spike, so that he can be moved as soon as it is practical. I suggest you all stay here at the tower tonight," he concluded. "And Vicious, I wish to speak with you alone before you retire for the evening."
The other three men recognized the dismissal and rose to leave. As Lin passed him on the way to the door, he put a hand on Vicious' shoulder, but dropped it when his look went unreturned.
When they were alone, Mao opened his desk drawer, and Vicious watched warily until he came up with two tumblers and a bottle of Scotch. "Sit," Mao offered, waving a hand at the chair across from him.
Vicious obeyed, his mind racing.
"You blame yourself." It was not a question.
Vicious took the offered drink and leaned his elbows on Mao's desk, looking into the glass.
"You are strong and worthy of power," Mao went on, "but you have not yet earned it. Lessons like this help make us ready to wield it."
"I fail to see a moral to this story," Vicious replied.
"It has not yet been revealed. The task of uncovering it falls to you. For myself, I see that suspicion has spread like a virus, between you and Spike and your men, so that none of you trusts the order of the Syndicate, even though it is the only thing that can protect you."
Vicious took a swallow of scotch and gritted his teeth, letting the vapors rise up into his sinuses and dull the headache that formed there. "If someone within the Red Dragon set us up, it can hardly be considered good protection."
"I do not wish to seem flippant," Mao said, "but what assurance do you have that there is involvement on the part of the Red Dragon? Nothing but the word of a White Tiger, from what I know."
"The transfer of money was made electronically, directly into Spike's Syndicate account. The only way someone could do that would be to know the Red Dragon financial system, to be able to recognize the pattern of transactions in order to identify his account." Setting the glass down on the blotter, Vicious sat back in the chair and rubbed a hand over his eyes.
Mao did not reply for some time. He refilled his glass again before he finally said, "You make a strong case. It would be difficult for anyone, even someone involved in the legitimate side of our financial affairs, to know where money comes from and goes to, and in what quantities, and for what reason."
Vicious spread his hands. "I did not even know, until he told me, that Spike received a benefit for his father's death. I assumed he did, since I do as well, but the subject never came up."
"And it should not," Mao said sharply.
Vicious nodded without answering.
"You should not contact Julia or Spike unless you absolutely must, for the next few days. I will speak to Annie and instruct her not to talk about Spike's absence or whereabouts." Mao put the bottle away and began assembling his papers. "I will investigate this financial transaction."
Vicious rose to his feet. "Marcus worked directly for Ichido before he was assigned to my team. I will ask him to assist you."
"That will not be necessary," Mao replied. "In fact, have you spoken of this matter with Marcus or anyone else?"
"No, the most anyone has heard is what was said tonight." Vicious looked at him closely.
"That should be all they hear," Mao mused. "I will go directly to Ichido about the accounting. He answers directly to the Van, as do I – I will not bother with anyone lower in the chain of command."
Vicious bowed low, and then rose to look Mao in the eye. "I have been blessed with many wise fathers," he said, and left the office, shutting the door softly behind him.
***
Julia lay on the couch, wrapped in an afghan, listening to Spike breathe in the next room. She had been staring at the sculpture of leaping fish – another gift from Vicious – for so long they seemed to ripple like real animals. Sleep would not come; every time the sound of breathing slowed or changed, she was instantly alert. Her comm. had been silent for hours, and though she did not expect to hear from Vicious until morning, it bothered her all the same.
She rose and padded into the bedroom to look down at Spike as he slept. His lips were dry, almost cracked, and she stroked his forehead gently. "Spike? Can I get you some water? Do you think you could drink it?"
He stirred slightly, but did not reply. She went for a glass anyway, and sat beside him on the mattress, sliding a hand around his shoulders to lift his head, raising the glass to his lips. After a moment and a short cough, he swallowed a drink, and then turned his head against her.
"Later," he mumbled, and she eased his head back down to the pillow; he was out again. She lay down beside him with a hand on his right shoulder, and meant to stay for only a moment – but sleep stole over her with the steady rise and fall of his skin under her fingers.