XXVII. Angel of Oblivion
Pale gray edged the horizon, though the rest of the sky was still dark, when Vicious' comm. vibrated off the edge of the bedside table. He grumbled and reluctantly rolled away from Julia's sleeping form.
"This had better be important," he muttered when he saw Mao's code. He hit the audio-only key before answering. "What?"
"You met our Red Eye manufacturer through a freight pilot known as Long Haul, did you not?" Mao sounded as exhausted as Vicious felt.
"Manfred. Yes. Why?"
Mao cleared his throat. "He set up the distribution for the White Tiger."
The last vestiges of sleep drained away, and Vicious sat up, holding the blankets over Julia with his free hand so the cold wouldn't wake her. "Are you certain?"
"Without a doubt. Moreover, he made the overture to them the same day you returned from Ganymede. They knew about our production facility almost as soon as we did." When Vicious didn't respond, Mao went on. "Needless to say, the Van holds you responsible in some measure. But I have convinced them that you would be best suited to deal with the problem."
He sighed. "I can think of a simple and efficient way to deal with Manfred."
"I am sure we are thinking the same thing," Mao replied with a humorless laugh.
"I'll leave this morning," Vicious said, and Julia turned and opened her eyes. "In a few hours." He smiled down at her.
"I wanted you to know about it before anyone else spoke to you, but there is no need for that much urgency."
"I would think everything is urgent at this point. Unless you mean to imply I do not need to be here for the White Tiger summit." Five days remained before the date of the meeting; he'd begun to wonder when Spike would return, but having Julia at his side for the past weeks – during the mostly quiet days and the nights that followed – lessened the impact of his absence.
Mao seemed to hear his thoughts. "I'm calling Spike in this morning," he said. "When he confirms he is on his way, you'll be cleared to leave. In the unlikely event something happens ahead of schedule, it would not be fair to Julia for both of you to be away."
Vicious chuckled. "You do not express much confidence in your son, Mao."
"In the matter of an ambush assassination, I do not have much confidence in him," Mao admitted. "You and Spike are both needed here."
"Is my target aware of his situation?" Vicious ran a hand down Julia's back as she turned away from him, burying her head in her pillow.
"Our source for this information obtained Manfred's identity – or rather, his transport code name – from the sealed evidence files of the Ganymede police after a shipment was intercepted. Through our intervention, we've convinced the police to leave him for us to deal with. So he suspects nothing, and continues to receive his commission payments. You're to be at the chamber at ten o'clock to discuss it further. And you are to come alone."
Vicious frowned and got out of bed, padding into the bathroom. "Julia was with me when I saw Manfred last time, in the guise of my wife," he said when his voice was muffled by the closed door. "He will be suspicious if she does not accompany me now." He knew it was a bald-faced lie; when he left Ganymede, he'd warned that he would never bring Julia back, lest Manfred forget their exchange was complete. But he got a thrill that bordered on sensual when he imagined giving her the opportunity to end Manfred's life – and watching her carry it out.
"You defied my personal direction regarding your appointment of Julia, probably because you knew I would forgive it. But an act of defiance against the Van's direction would jeopardize your future in a way I can only describe as final," Mao replied. "I will see you at ten. Please extend my apologies to Julia and assure her that this does not reflect on her performance."
Vicious snorted. "Of course not. It reflects on mine."
"You are nothing if not perceptive," Mao said darkly. "Go back to sleep." He hung up.
Julia knocked at the bathroom door. "What's going on?" she mumbled, trailing off into a yawn.
He emerged from the room and kissed the top of her head. "I have an errand to run later today. Mao informs me I'm supposed to go alone." He took her hand, pulling her back toward the bedroom.
"What errand?" She collapsed back into bed, curling against him as he pulled the blankets up.
"Manfred sold us out. Double-crossed us with the White Tiger. So I will pay him a visit and repay his kindness."
She raised her eyebrows, though she couldn't keep her eyes open. "How did he double-cross us?"
"He put the White Tiger in contact with the same supplier, right after we paid our visit to him." Vicious paused, thinking. "Which explains why we have had so little to do these past few weeks."
"You're going to have to fill in that blank for me," Julia mumbled.
He nodded. "Just before – actually, the same day that you came to the chamber for the first meeting as my partner – the Van announced they'd taken control of the manufacturing facility. Once Ichido took over the accounting, the White Tiger would not have been able to arrange new purchases. Their well dried up."
She sighed and draped an arm over his stomach. "When do you have to leave? Why do you have to go alone?"
"I will find out at ten why I have to go alone. I will leave as soon as we know Spike is on his way home. Mao is calling him in."
She felt a twinge of something – almost anxiety – at the thought of Spike coming back. "How long will you be gone?" she asked, just to avoid the silence.
"Two days, I would estimate. Home in plenty of time for the festivities."
She nodded. "Wake me before you go to the chamber," she murmured against his chest, already drifting off.
"Oh, I will," he whispered.
***
Mao paced his office until the city clock chimed nine; it was only six o'clock in Alva City, but he had to have an answer from Spike before he returned to the Van's chamber at ten.
He dialed Spike's code and waited while it rang. He'd given up on getting a response when a woman's face appeared on the viewscreen, young and dark.
"Yes?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
"You must be Astrid," Mao said, as casually as he could.
"I am. And who are you?"
He nodded and smiled. "Mao Yenrai. Deeply indebted to you for your generosity to Spike."
Any trace of civility left her expression. "Spike is... sleeping. I can have him call you when he wakes."
He opened his mouth to protest, but remembered Spike's admonishment for contacting her husband in the first place, and said instead, "Please do. And please tell him it is urgent. He must return my call within the hour."
She sighed and nodded, and he watched her scrutinize the comm. for a moment before she found the disconnect key and the screen went dark.
***
Astrid dropped the comm. on top of Spike's duffel bag and shielded her eyes against the rising sun, watching her husband spar with her childhood friend at the edge of the bluff. It still amazed her that Spike had been up and training after less than a week at their camp; his excellent physical shape before the injuries had no doubt given him as much of a boost in recovery as the medicines Bull concocted. She knew Mao's call would be as unwelcome to Spike as it had been to her. Their strange little foursome, grown close and comfortable while Spike and Mayan discovered their mutual passions for martial arts and old music, boosted her spirits, and she longed for at least a few more days, since his leaving would herald her own return to Alva City. Bull continued to assure her she was at least a week away from giving birth, but she lay awake most nights uncomfortable, the child he claimed was a boy kicking like he'd learned Jeet Kun Do by blood rights. As much as she longed to be done with the pregnancy, she knew that this interlude of normalcy and friendship would never come again, for any of them.
Mayan told her about the visit from the Syndicate the night he returned from the city. He so rarely issued an edict, rather than a suggestion, but that night he made clear that Spike stayed only because she deserved the right to say a proper farewell. When their child was born, she'd promised to have no more contact with him. She bit back a wave of sadness that threatened to turn to tears and walked toward the two men.
Spike saw her coming, and in acknowledging her, missed a jab from Mayan that was too late to halt. He yelped when Mayan's fist connected with his shoulder and doubled over – but when Mayan bent to offer an apology, he delivered a blow to the gut of his own and then cackled with laughter. She rolled her eyes.
"End of the round, you two," she called out.
"First punch either of us landed in an hour," Spike said with a chuckle, clapping Mayan on the back.
Mayan nodded. "You might say we're fairly matched."
She looked between the two of them, thinking how much more true the statement was than would be polite to admit. "Spike, I'm sorry, but Mao Yenrai just called, and wanted you to call him back within the hour."
The smile faded slowly, and he finally nodded. "Thank you for answering it. Even though I can't think of anyone I want to talk to less, right now."
"I know. But he gave me the impression it couldn't wait." She squeezed Mayan's hand as he walked past her toward the camp, leaving her with Spike.
"It never can, with him. With them. This was a reprieve no one else in my position has ever gotten." His eyes glittered. "Astrid, I know what happens now. Mayan told me."
She bit her lip and looked away, but the admission had done its damage and a single tear rolled down her cheek. She couldn't find the words to reply.
He put his arms around her, and his wiry frame still felt familiar after all the years apart, though she knew her body must have seemed like that of a stranger. "This was also a chance to know you again that I thought I would never have," he said gently. "Better to have had it than not. Better to know you're happy." He pulled back and lifted her chin with a finger. "Mayan is more of a man than I will ever be." He seemed about to say more, but instead simply smiled and dropped his hand.
She swallowed hard. "You'd better make that call." She kissed him on the cheek, her hand lingering on his much-improved shoulder, and then followed after Mayan.
Spike walked to the edge of the bluff and dropped to the ground, looking at the message notes he'd ignored for the last two weeks. Knowing it was procrastination, he hit the playback.
Mao's face appeared first. "Spike, you must contact me as soon as possible. You can put your suspicions toward Vicious to rest."
He shook his head, skipping forward to the message from Vicious himself.
"Spike – Britt has been arrested. It is safe for you to return home. I cannot promise you the same accommodations you had when you left, but Annie did say you were paid up front for your rent." The thin line of his mouth arced in a small smile. "It would be a shame if you could not tell Marcus farewell before he is dispatched."
Spike sighed. He'd avoided the message for two long weeks, afraid Julia had disclosed his indiscretion, but judging from Vicious' demeanor, she had not. Though he still dreaded having to face her, some comfort came from the fact that at least they shared the secret.
He dialed Mao's code while he toweled the perspiration from his face and neck, letting the sunlight warm his bare shoulders. Mao picked up almost immediately.
"Spike. Please give Astrid my inadequate thanks for relaying my message."
Spike nodded, but the mention of her name left a lump in his throat that prevented him speaking.
Mao sighed and went on. "I'm sorry to do this, but the time you said you would be absent is running out, and several serious matters have come to a head today. I need you back in Tharsis City before nightfall."
"You're lucky I feel up to fulfilling that request," Spike grumbled.
"Let me be clear: it is not a request. It is an order, and it comes from the Van, not me. Vicious is being dispatched to Ganymede. The reason why you are needed here will have to be discussed when you arrive."
"I'll leave before noon. That will put me home by the dinner hour." Spike rubbed his eyes and looked out over the view of the rocky terrain below, trying to memorize it.
Mao nodded. "Plan to meet with the Van at six; I believe their schedule is open. If anything changes, I will contact you. Otherwise, I will see you then."
"Forgive me if I'm not looking forward to it," Spike replied, and hung up.
He turned and looked back toward camp, watching Astrid and Mayan preparing breakfast, the wind over the top of the bluff buffeting the open flap of Bull's tent, vaporizing the blue wisps of smoke that drifted out. He'd borrowed a short lifetime here, steeped in memories, a tantalizing glimpse of what his life might have been if he'd chosen a different road, and yet he could summon no regret when he remembered Julia. One act of defiance remained to be completed: a last attempt to ask her to justify her choice, a desperate plea for her to reconsider. Her answer would dictate the rest of his days, and knowing it was out of his hands brought him some semblance of peace. He squared his shoulders and went to make his farewells.
***
Vicious shook his head to clear the haze of the solitary flight, watching the last Ganymede guide ring glide past. As with every assignment to play the angel of oblivion, this one left his mind mostly empty, and he'd filled it with thoughts of a future where he and Julia, with Spike as their might and their anchor, could finally avenge the deaths of fathers and grow accustomed to power and comfort. Actions spoke loudest: giving stability seemed the only one worth pursuing when it came to his friends and partners. He smiled to himself as he passed through the gate and set his course toward Manfred's apartment building.
After a wide circle, verifying that Manfred's car was not parked at the building, he touched down on the roof, parking the craft far enough away from the edge that it would be invisible from the ground below. Out of routine, he checked his store of weaponry – throwing knives holstered at his waist and inside the lapels of his coat, a coiled garrote in the left pocket. The katana, sharpened until it would split a falling leaf, hung familiar at his side. He'd left his antique Sig Sauer, wrapped in an oil rag and last fired at the range, in its box in Julia's apartment. Whether the omission was superstition or something more primal, he'd watched Spike survive too many bullets to rely upon them for dispensing death.
The lockpick kit, with its battery-operated surge generator, made entry into the building almost too easy. He smiled and nodded to a woman who passed by, holding the hand of a small child, outside Manfred's door; she avoided his look and he watched her until she boarded the elevator. Satisfied she had not seen his face well enough to remember it, he took out the picks again and let himself in.
Only the ticking of the clock and the muffled noise from outside disturbed the silence of the apartment. Leaving the lights off, Vicious prowled the rooms, flipping through the mail on the kitchen table, curling a lip at a stack of moldy coffee cups in the sink. According to the clock, it was ten past eight – Monday night, and if he were still a creature of habit, Manfred would be home within the hour. Satisfied he knew the layout, Vicious settled on the couch, arranging his coat and scabbard, to wait.
He couldn't help seeing Julia when he looked from the couch to the bedroom door. The image was burned into his memory: her naked form luminescent, the door closing. Right here, on this spot, he thought, I waited out the night for her. And he slept beside her. Conscious or not, he slept beside her. No man who would take that from me, even if I offered it, deserves to live. He'd barely listened to the Van, prattling on earlier that morning about the need for discretion and how visible it would be if he and Julia both disappeared from Tharsis City, even for just a few days. She'd kept him in bed until he was nearly late for the meeting, and even before he reached the tower, the political motives for murder had twisted themselves into a penance for what he'd asked her to do here instead.
The rattle of keys in the lock drew no more than a slightly raised eyebrow from him. He folded his hands neatly in his lap and looked expectantly toward the door, eyes half-closed in anticipation of the lights coming on. They did, and Manfred lumbered through the doorway, unobservant and apparently half-drunk. The moment of entry was always the most charged with danger: would the target be alone? On guard or off? Manfred shut the door and reached to bolt it – and then froze.
He turned slowly, one hand going to the small of his back. Vicious watched the hand and nothing else, wound tight and ready to twist himself sideways if a weapon came out. He heard the wet rush of an exhale, and the hand appeared again, empty. "Vicioush!" Manfred burst out.
Vicious smiled and met his eye. "Manfred. I was in the neighborhood."
Manfred barked a nervous laugh. "You are not in the neighborhood, you are in my apartment."
"I hope you will forgive my trespass," Vicious said, in a voice as heavy and malleable as mercury. "We are but one degree from being intimate, after all."
"What?" Manfred frowned and took a few steps forward, but checked himself. "Oh. Right. How ish Julia?" He tried a half-smile in return.
Vicious stood, sleight of hand keeping his coat over the scabbard. "She sends her regards."
"Are you looking to buy?" Manfred asked.
"To buy? No, Long Haul. Remember, we are the sellers now. I hear our agreement has treated you quite handsomely."
The faint sheen of perspiration showed on Manfred's brow, and he stammered a little before answering. His one eye darted back and forth, and then trained on the floor, the telltale sign of a liar searching his brain for a plausible falsehood. "I do all right. The commission is good."
Vicious nodded and grinned. "Naturally, the only thing better than a good commission is two good commissions." He began to close the gap between them, stifling a laugh at the way Manfred's head jerked at his words, and the way he seemed rooted to where he stood.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he huffed, eye wide. "You got exactly what you came here for lasht time."
Vicious stopped an arms' length away, and the grin slid from his face, though his eyes remained bright. "I did indeed, Manfred. So did you. But you could not resist offering a hand to the White Tiger, as well. What did they give you in return? Certainly nothing as good as my trade."
Manfred drew himself up. "I never shaid anything about your deal being exclushive."
"It did not need saying," Vicious replied. He cocked his head to one side. "It pains me, to tell you the truth. To know that you hold Julia in such low regard."
"It hash nothing to do with her," Manfred grumbled. "Hash to do with money. Your gang rivalry ish your own problem."
The cold smile crept over Vicious' face again. "I have a confession, myself, Long Haul. This has nothing to do with your greed or my gang rivalry." The katana hissed and sang while it arced through the air, no more than a flash of silver; Manfred looked down at it, the point already through the leather of his coat and the silk shirt beneath, and then back up at Vicious with a mixture of terror and fury.
"Don't threaten me, boy." His voice shook, despite the bravado.
"This is not a threat."
"Then what do you want?"
Vicious shrugged. "You put your hands on her. If you had been properly grateful, I might have suffered you to live."
His expression did not change while he drove the sword forward until it stuck, with a thud, in the wall behind Manfred. Letting go of the grip with one hand, he wrapped his long fingers around the dying man's throat, lifting his face so he could see that rheumy eye, flashing pain and confusion and finally nothing. When the last breath and faint pulse had faded, he let the body fall, retrieving his sword and wiping it across Manfred's pantleg before putting it back in the scabbard. He stood looking down for a long moment, and then laughed.
"To tell you the absolute truth," he said conversationally, "I would not suffer any man who touched her to live."
***
A/N: Couldn't have gotten inside Vicious' killing head without the help of Einsturzende Neubauten. Listen close, you can hear it.
Pale gray edged the horizon, though the rest of the sky was still dark, when Vicious' comm. vibrated off the edge of the bedside table. He grumbled and reluctantly rolled away from Julia's sleeping form.
"This had better be important," he muttered when he saw Mao's code. He hit the audio-only key before answering. "What?"
"You met our Red Eye manufacturer through a freight pilot known as Long Haul, did you not?" Mao sounded as exhausted as Vicious felt.
"Manfred. Yes. Why?"
Mao cleared his throat. "He set up the distribution for the White Tiger."
The last vestiges of sleep drained away, and Vicious sat up, holding the blankets over Julia with his free hand so the cold wouldn't wake her. "Are you certain?"
"Without a doubt. Moreover, he made the overture to them the same day you returned from Ganymede. They knew about our production facility almost as soon as we did." When Vicious didn't respond, Mao went on. "Needless to say, the Van holds you responsible in some measure. But I have convinced them that you would be best suited to deal with the problem."
He sighed. "I can think of a simple and efficient way to deal with Manfred."
"I am sure we are thinking the same thing," Mao replied with a humorless laugh.
"I'll leave this morning," Vicious said, and Julia turned and opened her eyes. "In a few hours." He smiled down at her.
"I wanted you to know about it before anyone else spoke to you, but there is no need for that much urgency."
"I would think everything is urgent at this point. Unless you mean to imply I do not need to be here for the White Tiger summit." Five days remained before the date of the meeting; he'd begun to wonder when Spike would return, but having Julia at his side for the past weeks – during the mostly quiet days and the nights that followed – lessened the impact of his absence.
Mao seemed to hear his thoughts. "I'm calling Spike in this morning," he said. "When he confirms he is on his way, you'll be cleared to leave. In the unlikely event something happens ahead of schedule, it would not be fair to Julia for both of you to be away."
Vicious chuckled. "You do not express much confidence in your son, Mao."
"In the matter of an ambush assassination, I do not have much confidence in him," Mao admitted. "You and Spike are both needed here."
"Is my target aware of his situation?" Vicious ran a hand down Julia's back as she turned away from him, burying her head in her pillow.
"Our source for this information obtained Manfred's identity – or rather, his transport code name – from the sealed evidence files of the Ganymede police after a shipment was intercepted. Through our intervention, we've convinced the police to leave him for us to deal with. So he suspects nothing, and continues to receive his commission payments. You're to be at the chamber at ten o'clock to discuss it further. And you are to come alone."
Vicious frowned and got out of bed, padding into the bathroom. "Julia was with me when I saw Manfred last time, in the guise of my wife," he said when his voice was muffled by the closed door. "He will be suspicious if she does not accompany me now." He knew it was a bald-faced lie; when he left Ganymede, he'd warned that he would never bring Julia back, lest Manfred forget their exchange was complete. But he got a thrill that bordered on sensual when he imagined giving her the opportunity to end Manfred's life – and watching her carry it out.
"You defied my personal direction regarding your appointment of Julia, probably because you knew I would forgive it. But an act of defiance against the Van's direction would jeopardize your future in a way I can only describe as final," Mao replied. "I will see you at ten. Please extend my apologies to Julia and assure her that this does not reflect on her performance."
Vicious snorted. "Of course not. It reflects on mine."
"You are nothing if not perceptive," Mao said darkly. "Go back to sleep." He hung up.
Julia knocked at the bathroom door. "What's going on?" she mumbled, trailing off into a yawn.
He emerged from the room and kissed the top of her head. "I have an errand to run later today. Mao informs me I'm supposed to go alone." He took her hand, pulling her back toward the bedroom.
"What errand?" She collapsed back into bed, curling against him as he pulled the blankets up.
"Manfred sold us out. Double-crossed us with the White Tiger. So I will pay him a visit and repay his kindness."
She raised her eyebrows, though she couldn't keep her eyes open. "How did he double-cross us?"
"He put the White Tiger in contact with the same supplier, right after we paid our visit to him." Vicious paused, thinking. "Which explains why we have had so little to do these past few weeks."
"You're going to have to fill in that blank for me," Julia mumbled.
He nodded. "Just before – actually, the same day that you came to the chamber for the first meeting as my partner – the Van announced they'd taken control of the manufacturing facility. Once Ichido took over the accounting, the White Tiger would not have been able to arrange new purchases. Their well dried up."
She sighed and draped an arm over his stomach. "When do you have to leave? Why do you have to go alone?"
"I will find out at ten why I have to go alone. I will leave as soon as we know Spike is on his way home. Mao is calling him in."
She felt a twinge of something – almost anxiety – at the thought of Spike coming back. "How long will you be gone?" she asked, just to avoid the silence.
"Two days, I would estimate. Home in plenty of time for the festivities."
She nodded. "Wake me before you go to the chamber," she murmured against his chest, already drifting off.
"Oh, I will," he whispered.
***
Mao paced his office until the city clock chimed nine; it was only six o'clock in Alva City, but he had to have an answer from Spike before he returned to the Van's chamber at ten.
He dialed Spike's code and waited while it rang. He'd given up on getting a response when a woman's face appeared on the viewscreen, young and dark.
"Yes?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
"You must be Astrid," Mao said, as casually as he could.
"I am. And who are you?"
He nodded and smiled. "Mao Yenrai. Deeply indebted to you for your generosity to Spike."
Any trace of civility left her expression. "Spike is... sleeping. I can have him call you when he wakes."
He opened his mouth to protest, but remembered Spike's admonishment for contacting her husband in the first place, and said instead, "Please do. And please tell him it is urgent. He must return my call within the hour."
She sighed and nodded, and he watched her scrutinize the comm. for a moment before she found the disconnect key and the screen went dark.
***
Astrid dropped the comm. on top of Spike's duffel bag and shielded her eyes against the rising sun, watching her husband spar with her childhood friend at the edge of the bluff. It still amazed her that Spike had been up and training after less than a week at their camp; his excellent physical shape before the injuries had no doubt given him as much of a boost in recovery as the medicines Bull concocted. She knew Mao's call would be as unwelcome to Spike as it had been to her. Their strange little foursome, grown close and comfortable while Spike and Mayan discovered their mutual passions for martial arts and old music, boosted her spirits, and she longed for at least a few more days, since his leaving would herald her own return to Alva City. Bull continued to assure her she was at least a week away from giving birth, but she lay awake most nights uncomfortable, the child he claimed was a boy kicking like he'd learned Jeet Kun Do by blood rights. As much as she longed to be done with the pregnancy, she knew that this interlude of normalcy and friendship would never come again, for any of them.
Mayan told her about the visit from the Syndicate the night he returned from the city. He so rarely issued an edict, rather than a suggestion, but that night he made clear that Spike stayed only because she deserved the right to say a proper farewell. When their child was born, she'd promised to have no more contact with him. She bit back a wave of sadness that threatened to turn to tears and walked toward the two men.
Spike saw her coming, and in acknowledging her, missed a jab from Mayan that was too late to halt. He yelped when Mayan's fist connected with his shoulder and doubled over – but when Mayan bent to offer an apology, he delivered a blow to the gut of his own and then cackled with laughter. She rolled her eyes.
"End of the round, you two," she called out.
"First punch either of us landed in an hour," Spike said with a chuckle, clapping Mayan on the back.
Mayan nodded. "You might say we're fairly matched."
She looked between the two of them, thinking how much more true the statement was than would be polite to admit. "Spike, I'm sorry, but Mao Yenrai just called, and wanted you to call him back within the hour."
The smile faded slowly, and he finally nodded. "Thank you for answering it. Even though I can't think of anyone I want to talk to less, right now."
"I know. But he gave me the impression it couldn't wait." She squeezed Mayan's hand as he walked past her toward the camp, leaving her with Spike.
"It never can, with him. With them. This was a reprieve no one else in my position has ever gotten." His eyes glittered. "Astrid, I know what happens now. Mayan told me."
She bit her lip and looked away, but the admission had done its damage and a single tear rolled down her cheek. She couldn't find the words to reply.
He put his arms around her, and his wiry frame still felt familiar after all the years apart, though she knew her body must have seemed like that of a stranger. "This was also a chance to know you again that I thought I would never have," he said gently. "Better to have had it than not. Better to know you're happy." He pulled back and lifted her chin with a finger. "Mayan is more of a man than I will ever be." He seemed about to say more, but instead simply smiled and dropped his hand.
She swallowed hard. "You'd better make that call." She kissed him on the cheek, her hand lingering on his much-improved shoulder, and then followed after Mayan.
Spike walked to the edge of the bluff and dropped to the ground, looking at the message notes he'd ignored for the last two weeks. Knowing it was procrastination, he hit the playback.
Mao's face appeared first. "Spike, you must contact me as soon as possible. You can put your suspicions toward Vicious to rest."
He shook his head, skipping forward to the message from Vicious himself.
"Spike – Britt has been arrested. It is safe for you to return home. I cannot promise you the same accommodations you had when you left, but Annie did say you were paid up front for your rent." The thin line of his mouth arced in a small smile. "It would be a shame if you could not tell Marcus farewell before he is dispatched."
Spike sighed. He'd avoided the message for two long weeks, afraid Julia had disclosed his indiscretion, but judging from Vicious' demeanor, she had not. Though he still dreaded having to face her, some comfort came from the fact that at least they shared the secret.
He dialed Mao's code while he toweled the perspiration from his face and neck, letting the sunlight warm his bare shoulders. Mao picked up almost immediately.
"Spike. Please give Astrid my inadequate thanks for relaying my message."
Spike nodded, but the mention of her name left a lump in his throat that prevented him speaking.
Mao sighed and went on. "I'm sorry to do this, but the time you said you would be absent is running out, and several serious matters have come to a head today. I need you back in Tharsis City before nightfall."
"You're lucky I feel up to fulfilling that request," Spike grumbled.
"Let me be clear: it is not a request. It is an order, and it comes from the Van, not me. Vicious is being dispatched to Ganymede. The reason why you are needed here will have to be discussed when you arrive."
"I'll leave before noon. That will put me home by the dinner hour." Spike rubbed his eyes and looked out over the view of the rocky terrain below, trying to memorize it.
Mao nodded. "Plan to meet with the Van at six; I believe their schedule is open. If anything changes, I will contact you. Otherwise, I will see you then."
"Forgive me if I'm not looking forward to it," Spike replied, and hung up.
He turned and looked back toward camp, watching Astrid and Mayan preparing breakfast, the wind over the top of the bluff buffeting the open flap of Bull's tent, vaporizing the blue wisps of smoke that drifted out. He'd borrowed a short lifetime here, steeped in memories, a tantalizing glimpse of what his life might have been if he'd chosen a different road, and yet he could summon no regret when he remembered Julia. One act of defiance remained to be completed: a last attempt to ask her to justify her choice, a desperate plea for her to reconsider. Her answer would dictate the rest of his days, and knowing it was out of his hands brought him some semblance of peace. He squared his shoulders and went to make his farewells.
***
Vicious shook his head to clear the haze of the solitary flight, watching the last Ganymede guide ring glide past. As with every assignment to play the angel of oblivion, this one left his mind mostly empty, and he'd filled it with thoughts of a future where he and Julia, with Spike as their might and their anchor, could finally avenge the deaths of fathers and grow accustomed to power and comfort. Actions spoke loudest: giving stability seemed the only one worth pursuing when it came to his friends and partners. He smiled to himself as he passed through the gate and set his course toward Manfred's apartment building.
After a wide circle, verifying that Manfred's car was not parked at the building, he touched down on the roof, parking the craft far enough away from the edge that it would be invisible from the ground below. Out of routine, he checked his store of weaponry – throwing knives holstered at his waist and inside the lapels of his coat, a coiled garrote in the left pocket. The katana, sharpened until it would split a falling leaf, hung familiar at his side. He'd left his antique Sig Sauer, wrapped in an oil rag and last fired at the range, in its box in Julia's apartment. Whether the omission was superstition or something more primal, he'd watched Spike survive too many bullets to rely upon them for dispensing death.
The lockpick kit, with its battery-operated surge generator, made entry into the building almost too easy. He smiled and nodded to a woman who passed by, holding the hand of a small child, outside Manfred's door; she avoided his look and he watched her until she boarded the elevator. Satisfied she had not seen his face well enough to remember it, he took out the picks again and let himself in.
Only the ticking of the clock and the muffled noise from outside disturbed the silence of the apartment. Leaving the lights off, Vicious prowled the rooms, flipping through the mail on the kitchen table, curling a lip at a stack of moldy coffee cups in the sink. According to the clock, it was ten past eight – Monday night, and if he were still a creature of habit, Manfred would be home within the hour. Satisfied he knew the layout, Vicious settled on the couch, arranging his coat and scabbard, to wait.
He couldn't help seeing Julia when he looked from the couch to the bedroom door. The image was burned into his memory: her naked form luminescent, the door closing. Right here, on this spot, he thought, I waited out the night for her. And he slept beside her. Conscious or not, he slept beside her. No man who would take that from me, even if I offered it, deserves to live. He'd barely listened to the Van, prattling on earlier that morning about the need for discretion and how visible it would be if he and Julia both disappeared from Tharsis City, even for just a few days. She'd kept him in bed until he was nearly late for the meeting, and even before he reached the tower, the political motives for murder had twisted themselves into a penance for what he'd asked her to do here instead.
The rattle of keys in the lock drew no more than a slightly raised eyebrow from him. He folded his hands neatly in his lap and looked expectantly toward the door, eyes half-closed in anticipation of the lights coming on. They did, and Manfred lumbered through the doorway, unobservant and apparently half-drunk. The moment of entry was always the most charged with danger: would the target be alone? On guard or off? Manfred shut the door and reached to bolt it – and then froze.
He turned slowly, one hand going to the small of his back. Vicious watched the hand and nothing else, wound tight and ready to twist himself sideways if a weapon came out. He heard the wet rush of an exhale, and the hand appeared again, empty. "Vicioush!" Manfred burst out.
Vicious smiled and met his eye. "Manfred. I was in the neighborhood."
Manfred barked a nervous laugh. "You are not in the neighborhood, you are in my apartment."
"I hope you will forgive my trespass," Vicious said, in a voice as heavy and malleable as mercury. "We are but one degree from being intimate, after all."
"What?" Manfred frowned and took a few steps forward, but checked himself. "Oh. Right. How ish Julia?" He tried a half-smile in return.
Vicious stood, sleight of hand keeping his coat over the scabbard. "She sends her regards."
"Are you looking to buy?" Manfred asked.
"To buy? No, Long Haul. Remember, we are the sellers now. I hear our agreement has treated you quite handsomely."
The faint sheen of perspiration showed on Manfred's brow, and he stammered a little before answering. His one eye darted back and forth, and then trained on the floor, the telltale sign of a liar searching his brain for a plausible falsehood. "I do all right. The commission is good."
Vicious nodded and grinned. "Naturally, the only thing better than a good commission is two good commissions." He began to close the gap between them, stifling a laugh at the way Manfred's head jerked at his words, and the way he seemed rooted to where he stood.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he huffed, eye wide. "You got exactly what you came here for lasht time."
Vicious stopped an arms' length away, and the grin slid from his face, though his eyes remained bright. "I did indeed, Manfred. So did you. But you could not resist offering a hand to the White Tiger, as well. What did they give you in return? Certainly nothing as good as my trade."
Manfred drew himself up. "I never shaid anything about your deal being exclushive."
"It did not need saying," Vicious replied. He cocked his head to one side. "It pains me, to tell you the truth. To know that you hold Julia in such low regard."
"It hash nothing to do with her," Manfred grumbled. "Hash to do with money. Your gang rivalry ish your own problem."
The cold smile crept over Vicious' face again. "I have a confession, myself, Long Haul. This has nothing to do with your greed or my gang rivalry." The katana hissed and sang while it arced through the air, no more than a flash of silver; Manfred looked down at it, the point already through the leather of his coat and the silk shirt beneath, and then back up at Vicious with a mixture of terror and fury.
"Don't threaten me, boy." His voice shook, despite the bravado.
"This is not a threat."
"Then what do you want?"
Vicious shrugged. "You put your hands on her. If you had been properly grateful, I might have suffered you to live."
His expression did not change while he drove the sword forward until it stuck, with a thud, in the wall behind Manfred. Letting go of the grip with one hand, he wrapped his long fingers around the dying man's throat, lifting his face so he could see that rheumy eye, flashing pain and confusion and finally nothing. When the last breath and faint pulse had faded, he let the body fall, retrieving his sword and wiping it across Manfred's pantleg before putting it back in the scabbard. He stood looking down for a long moment, and then laughed.
"To tell you the absolute truth," he said conversationally, "I would not suffer any man who touched her to live."
***
A/N: Couldn't have gotten inside Vicious' killing head without the help of Einsturzende Neubauten. Listen close, you can hear it.