A Family Affair
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. I'm just playing. Enjoy!
Chapter 17.
Sara Pezzini took the stairs to the second floor of the 11th Precinct two at a time. The warmth of the stationhouse was a welcome relief from the frigid temperatures outside. She had nearly become frozen just on the brief walk back from the Greek diner, her too-thin leather jacket little protection against the wind-chill-exacerbated cold. Tomorrow, she would be sure to wear her down jacket and a scarf.
A quick trip to the diner's ladies room had allowed her to clean off her boots and jeans as best she could with just hand soap and paper towels. Although she felt bad about the unpleasant surprise she had just sprung on Gabriel Bowman, her conscience was clear now that she knew her sickly, inadequately dressed stalker was someplace warm, albeit as the guest of a highly reluctant host. Exactly why the fact that Kenneth Irons' bodyguard and henchman would probably avoid catching pneumonia should set her mind at ease was something Sara didn't want to examine too closely at the moment. It was enough that she no longer had to think about Nottingham standing outside in that freezing alley all day. Now, all she had to worry about was whether Gabriel would survive the next five or six hours in one piece.
As she passed Captain Bruno Dante's office, she saw that Jake McCartey and Orlinsky were in there behind closed doors.
"Long line again?" Danny Woo asked mildly as she plopped a cup of coffee on his desk before taking off her jacket and hat.
"Um, no. I took a little detour. On the spur of the moment, I decided to drop by Gabriel Bowman's place for a bit. It's only a few blocks from here and I haven't seen him for a while," she told her partner, deciding she owed him at least part of the truth.
"Oh, yeah. Him. How's he doing?"
"Good, good."
Sara knew Danny didn't quite know what to think about her burgeoning friendship with the youthful owner of Talismaniac. Although he was aware that she sometimes consulted with the younger man on some of the weird symbols that had lately begun to turn up at their crime scenes, she sensed that the swiftness with which she'd befriended Gabriel surprised her longtime partner and friend. He, maybe more than anyone else, realized that she didn't make friends easily.
With an effort, Sara managed to refrain from asking Danny whether he'd heard anything about that night's planned drug bust while she'd been gone, knowing that he would have mentioned any developments as soon as she walked in. She glanced toward Dante's office.
"They've been in there for about ten minutes," her partner said, noticing the direction of her gaze. "Vicky finally released her findings on the kids' clothing and the gun. She stopped by to give you a heads up, but you were out."
"She tell you what she found?" Sara asked.
"Nope. She said to give her a call when you got back. As far as tonight's operation goes, I think Dante might be putting Jake and Orlinsky in the loop."
"Do you really think narcotics and the DEA might actually let them take part in it?"
Danny shrugged. "Stranger things have happened. If Medina makes the pickup and they grab him up, the undercover guy will immediately finger him for the Gutierrez shooting and that's their case, so, yeah, they might get an invite to tag along."
"That's gotta be a first for the rookie," Sara commented, wishing it were she who was going in his stead. She picked up her phone and called Vicky Po.
"Hey, girlfriend," the ME said by way of greeting. "Dante was breathing down my neck for the results on the gun and the clothing, and I couldn't stall him or Jake and Orlinsky any longer. I tried to give you a heads up, but Danny said you'd stepped out."
"That's okay. I was out on a coffee run and then decided to look in on my friend Gabriel, who lives just up the block. What did you find on the clothes?" Sara inquired, although she already knew what her friend was going to tell her because of what the Witchblade's vision had shown her.
"Amanda was definitely the shooter. Joey only had traces of gunpowder residue on his left sleeve, which means he was standing to her right when she fired," Vicky told her. "I take it Jake and Orlinsky already discussed my findings with Dante."
"They're in there right now, but from the look of things, the meeting is winding down. Thanks for everything, Vic. I owe you big time."
"Any time, girlfriend. See you later." She hung up.
Briefly, Sara relayed to her partner what the ME had told her.
Five minutes later, the meeting across the hall broke up, and Jake and Orlinsky left their captain's office. Dante shot a smirk Sara's way before deliberately closing the blinds in his office. Instinctively, she knew he was up to no good where she was concerned.
"God, Danny, what if Medina gets spooked between now and that freighter's arrival? If he sniffs out that undercover detective, he's toast," Sara said suddenly, a wave of panic seizing her. "Then who'll testify that Angel offed Paco? Joey could be brought up on accessory to murder charges."
"That's not gonna happen, Pez, so don't even think about it," her partner said firmly.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I just feel like if I don't do something, anything, soon, I'm gonna jump out of my skin!" Sara groaned.
On her wrist, the Witchblade amplified that feeling, sending tiny jolts of adrenaline coursing through its Wielder's body. It, too, was eager for action, preferably on a massive, bloody scale. This realization disturbed Sara, but not as much as she thought it should. She had to constantly remind herself that the innocent-looking bracelet she wore was famous for magnifying its Wielder's bloodlust during battle, when it instantaneously transformed into various weaponry, each of which was capable of inflicting enormous damage to the human body. So far, Sara had willed it to become a light, streamlined glove, which, despite its delicate, filigreed appearance, packed quite a punch; an armored gauntlet, complete with vicious-looking metal spikes, that when used to put an assailant down tended to make certain he or she stayed down -- permanently; a short sword, more of a stiletto actually, perfect for stabbing torsos and slicing throats with; a gauntlet with a chain, on the end of which was a wicked mace that, with one powerful swing, could bash skulls in with astonishing ease; and a long, frighteningly sharp, double-edged broadsword, her personal favorite and the one that she was most comfortable wielding.
More than once, she had been tempted to take Kenneth Irons' up on his repeated offers to help her better learn how to wield the various weaponry. On the one occasion she had faced another swordsman in battle, she had felt at a distinct disadvantage owing to her inexperience. Only her Witchblade-aided reflexes and quickness had enabled her to triumph (okay, her opponent had been Nottingham, and she strongly suspected he had allowed her to win). With the proper training, she knew she could become pretty much invincible. However, Sara was loathe to put herself in the position of being beholden to the ruthless billionaire, even if it meant becoming a better fighter, thereby considerably increasing her odds of survival in future battles. She just didn't trust him. But, for some reason, her instinctive distrust of the master no longer appeared to extend to his servant, at least not completely. Her blithe dismissal of Gabriel's legitimate objection to the fact that Irons' pet assassin had once threatened his life was grounded in her intuitive belief that Nottingham was a man of honor, strange as that concept might seem when applied to someone who killed people for a living.
Nevertheless, Sara had gradually come to realize that Nottingham's courtly manner and diffident demeanor when in her presence were not affectations. As he had told her on numerous occasions, he considered himself her guardian. Actually, "Protector" was the term he had used more than once, and from the way he said it, she got the strong impression that it was a role he took very, very seriously. She made a mental note to ask Gabriel the next time she saw him if he had ever come across anything in Witchblade lore that explained the significance of this title.
As if it were aware of her thoughts -- and Sara did not for a minute doubt that it was -- the Witchblade stroked her wrist with warmth and swirled gently, exactly the way it always did whenever Nottingham was nearby. She actually glanced around, expecting to see him, before she remembered where he was and why.
Shaking her head at this moment of lunacy, Sara picked up a folder from her inbox, but before she could open it, Jake entered her and Danny's office.
"Hey, Pez, Woo," he said by way of greeting, sitting down in Sara's guest chair.
"Have a seat, why don'tcha, Rookie?" Sara invited sardonically.
"Hey, Jake, what's shakin'?" Danny said, taking a folder from atop the pile in his inbox.
"Same old, same old," the blond man murmured. "Pez, do you maybe want to grab some lunch with me and Vicky in about an hour?" he asked her, flicking a brief but significant glance toward their captain's office.
"Sure, I'd love to," she said. "Where we going?"
"Just down the street to the diner. That okay?"
"That's fine by me."
"Don't mind me, guys," Danny said, reaching into his desk drawer and taking out a paper bag. "I'm brown bagging it today." He sniffed it. "Mmm, egg salad sandwich. Nice and ripe."
"Okay, we won't mind you, but something tells me that after you eat that thing, it'll be really hard to ignore you" Sara snarked, grinning.
"So, so cold, partner," Danny pouted, "but, sadly, so, so true."
"You're welcome to join us, Danny," Jake said, smiling.
The Asian man promptly threw the oil-stained bag in the garbage. "Thank God. But don't breathe a word of this to Lee."
"Maybe if you, um, actually bothered to refrigerate the sandwiches your wife goes to the trouble of making, they would be edible come lunchtime," Sara suggested.
"Have you seen the refrigerator in the break room lately, Pez? I swear there's stuff in there from when they bought the damn thing, which was, what, five years ago?" Danny said. "Plus, Orlinsky is famous for pinching anything that isn't booby-trapped! He seems to have some kind of weird sixth sense that alerts him whenever anybody puts anything even remotely edible in there."
The three of them enjoyed a good chuckle about this well-known fact. "Point taken, partner," Sara said. "We'll meet you and Vic out front in an hour, Jake, all right?"
"Sure thing, Pez. Later," said the young, blond detective, rising from his seat and leaving.
Both Sara and Danny studiously attacked paperwork until it was time for them to go meet Vicky Po and Jake McCartey.
"Brrrr. Remind me again why you left Southern California for the Northeast, Jake?" Vicky Po said, when Sara and Danny joined her and Jake out in front of the stationhouse at the appointed time.
"Why to experience the changing of the seasons, of course!" Jake grinned, throwing an arm around the petite, dark-haired ME's wool-clad shoulders. "Sunny skies and temps in the 80s day in and day out can get real old after a while."
The three native New Yorkers groaned at this.
'They make a cute couple,' Sara thought, smiling to see color bloom on her friend's pale cheeks at the physical contact from the handsome Californian.
"They're talking 30 inches of snow by the time everything's said and done, starting late tomorrow night, early Friday morning," Danny said, casting an anxious eye at the now completely overcast sky.
"Where do you store your motorcycle come winter, Pez?" Jake asked as they passed the Buell's parking space.
"Ugh! Don't remind me! I so hate mass transit!" Sara groaned, shoving her hands in her pockets in a vain effort to warm them. Her thin riding gloves were little protection against the cold, just like her jacket.
"You leave it in Joe and Marie Siri's garage, right?" Vicky said.
"Yeah. I guess I'm gonna have to head over there after work tomorrow," Sara sighed.
"So, I heard you filed your findings on the kids' clothing and the gun, Vic," Danny said. "How'd Dante react when you told him what she found, Jake?"
"I'm surprised he didn't order Joey to be dragged back in here and booked on suspicion of being an accessory to murder, just to spite me and Joe Sr.," Sara said bitterly, then noticed the uncomfortable look on Jake's face. "Please tell me he didn't order you and Orlinksy to do that, Jake."
"Um, no, but, and he'd have my ass if he found out I told you this, Dante wants the kid brought up on gun possession charges," Jake reluctantly admitted.
"WHAT?" Sara yelled, incredulously. "That vindictive, small-minded, conniving bastard! He can't do that, can he? I mean, Joey brought me that gun first thing the next morning. It wasn't even in his possession for very long. He hid it in an alley next to a freakin' police precinct, for Christ's sake!"
Jake shook his head apologetically. "His prints were on it and he admitted in his statement that he kept it after he disarmed the drug dealer, plus the weapon was used to commit a crime. Unfortunately, under the letter of the law, it's enough to charge him with possession of an illegal firearm. I'm sorry, Sara."
"It's not your fault, Jake. Besides, Joey's lawyer will get those charges bounced so fast, Dante's head will spin," Sara pointed out, but then realization dawned on her. "But he doesn't care about that, all he cares about is embarrassing Joe Sr. And me, of course. That son of a bitch! He probably can't wait to rub my face in this. Thanks for the heads up, Jake. I gotta call Robbie and Paula and let them know what to expect. Excuse me for a minute, guys," Sara said taking out her cell phone.
"We'll go grab a table," Vicky said, as they reached the diner. She hooked her arms through Jake's and Danny's and frog-marched them inside. The blast of warmth that escaped through the door beckoned Sara, but she didn't want to chance being overheard by anyone. Because of its proximity to the 11th Precinct, the eatery was a favorite of the station's personnel. So, she paced up and down the sidewalk in front of the place, her breath frosting in the air as she spoke to her surrogate older brother, whom she reached at work.
Minutes later, she plopped down into a booth next to Danny and opposite Jake and Vicky, grimacing. "They're upset, but then who wouldn't be? Joey's an A student and great kid who's never been in trouble before in his life. This whole mess has got his parents and grandparents reeling. I just hope we catch Angel Medina soon so Joey and Amanda won't have to keep looking over their shoulders," Sara said, hoping this comment would prompt the rookie to share what he knew about the impending drug bust.
Cooperatively, Jake said "Well, as it so happens -- and, again, Dante would go nuts if he knew I leaked this -- narcotics and the DEA are planning on busting Medina. Tonight, as a matter of fact. Apparently, they have a guy inside who thinks Angel is getting ready to pick up some major weight. Although they still haven't been able to get an exact fix on the location or the time, word is that the product is arriving by water right before midnight."
"Wow, that's a relief!" Sara said, hiding her disappointment that she hadn't learned anything new. "This means Joey's troubles could all be over if everything goes according to plan. Thanks for sharing, Jake."
"I think we'll all feel relieved when Sara stops losing sleep over this!" Danny cracked.
"A bit cranky in the morning these days, is she?" Vicky inquired, hiding a smile behind her hand.
"You mean crankier than her usual I-Haven't-Had-My-Fourth-Cup-of-Java- Yet-So-Don't-Start-With-Me 'tude? Yeah, a bit," Danny smirked. Both Jake and Vicky could not refrain from sniggering at this.
"Ha, ha. Go on, laugh at the exhausted-from-worry aunt. See if I care," Sara pouted, but her twinkling eyes gave her away.
Despite the bad news about Joey courtesy of Jake, the friends passed an enjoyable hour eating and ragging on each other mercilessly. After divvying up the check, they hurried back to the warmth of the stationhouse and went their separate ways.
"I'm gonna hit the can. Be back in a few minutes," Danny said, hanging up his coat.
"Thanks for sharing, guy" Sara said, rolling her eyes. As soon as her partner left the room, the Witchblade imparted its familiar swirly warmth thing to her wrist, and Sara remembered her promise to call and see how her stalker was doing. She picked up her phone and dialed Gabriel Bowman.
He answered on the fourth ring.
"Hey, kid. How's it going over there?" she asked her friend. She was relieved to hear that his voice didn't sound stressed -- or like the life was being strangled out of him.
Gabriel told her that, thanks to the amazing healing powers of peppermint tea, Nottingham had stopped vomiting but that he was still sneezing and coughing and now had a bad case of laryngitis. Gabriel started to ask her if she wanted to talk to her stalker, but then she heard him say, voice rising with alarm "Hey, hey, Invasion-of-Personal-Space Alert, Dude!"
A ragged whisper of a voice came on the line. "Hello, Sara." Only his distinctive way of pronouncing her name identified the speaker as Nottingham.
Feeling a quiver of compassion in her stomach, Sara gently asked him how he was feeling, expressing the sincere hope that it was better than he sounded.
He told her that he was warmer and that his stomach had stopped hurting him, and she responded that that was good news at least. Glancing toward her captain's office, Sara lowered her voice until she was practically whispering herself, informing Nottingham about the lack of developments in the planned drug bust, that it had remained strangely quiet in the homicide division, and that Dante hadn't yet seen fit to release her from desk duty. She reiterated her promise to be at Gabriel's at 5:10 p.m., telling the sick man to take it easy until then and to try and get some more rest. He said he would try, and then Sara requested that he put his host back on.
Unfortunately, at that moment, Danny walked back into the room. Putting her hand over the mouthpiece, she observed "That was fast!"
"Yes, I'm a regular speed pooper. Pun intended. Must be all the fiber in my diet," Danny grinned.
Sara pulled a face at his candidness. "I'm talking to Gabriel. His, uh, cousin is visiting him, and he's got a bad case of the flu, so I'm just checking in to see how things are. I'll try to be brief."
"Don't mind me," Danny said, sitting down. He appeared to become engrossed in his paperwork, but Sara was all too aware that he was avidly listening to her side of the conversation.
"So, Gabriel, did he get any rest?"
Pause.
"A client, hunh?" Sara winced. "Gee, I'm sorry about that, Gabe. I hope he didn't cost you a sale, what with the all the coughing, sneezing, and extreme weirdness." When she had imposed on Gabriel's hospitality, Sara hadn't given a thought about what Nottingham's presence at Talismaniac might mean in terms of her friend's clients.
Longer pause.
"Her?"
Pause.
"Well, to each her own, I guess. He actually carried on a normal conversation, hunh? I didn't think Mr. Cryptic was capable of that. And then there's that no-eye-contact thing he does. Your client probably just thought he was shy." Suddenly, Sara remembered Joey Siri, Jr. describing Nottingham as just that.
Pause.
"Wait a minute, he's feverish?"
Pause.
"Yeah, well, he didn't mention it to me either."
Pause.
"Is his fever already so high you really have to worry about that? Sara asked, alarmed.
Longer pause.
"Oh, come on, Gabriel, don't be such a wuss! Aside from that little incident a couple of months ago, he's never shown the slightest interest in harming you, even though he obviously realizes that you're still doing, um, research for me from time to time. Besides, I've felt many things ever since I discovered that he's shadowing me, but I've never felt threatened by him. In fact, he's helped me out on more than one occasion in his own maddeningly cryptic way."
Pause.
"I still think you're worrying about nothing," Sara told her friend, not missing the fact that he'd used the term 'Protector.' She started to ask him about it, but then remembered that she had an audience. "Give him a couple of aspirins, and the fever should come down. In fact, I bet it'll be lower by the time I get there."
Pause.
"Bye, Gabriel." She hung up.
Danny's gaze met hers speculatively. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but overhear. Is Gabriel's cousin stalking you, Pez?" he asked her.
"Uh, not exactly. It's kind of complicated," Sara said evasively, belatedly wishing she had stepped outside for this phone call.
"Stalking is no joking matter, partner," Danny said seriously.
"I know, Danny, and I appreciate your concern, but I'm a big girl and I can handle this."
Thankfully, he let the subject drop after that, but she could tell he was disturbed by what he'd overheard.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Too uneventfully.
As five o'clock approached, Sara wondered if the narcotics squad and the DEA had decided to call off the drug bust. There was no word from Mike Morgan on the details, and no more powwows between Dante, Jake, and Orlinsky.
Then at five minutes to five, Danny's phone rang.
"Detective Woo," he said. "Oh, hey, Mike!" He listened for a moment, and then gestured for Sara to close the door, which she swiftly did. "I'm putting you on speakerphone, Mike. I've turned the volume down really low and the door to our office is closed." He pressed a button on the phone.
"Hey, Mike, glad to hear from you," Sara greeted the narcotics squad detective and Danny's friend.
"Hey, Pez. I'll be brief because I only have a few minutes: the operation is taking place on the docks tonight. The name of the freighter that's allegedly carrying the drugs is the Dominican Star, and she's due to dock at Berth 11, Pier 62, at 11:00 tonight. We'll have our people in place, just waiting for Angel and Joaquin Medina to show up. Once they take possession of the product, we'll move in. As a courtesy, I'm pretty sure my sergeant intends to invite the lead detectives working the Gutierrez murder case to tag along."
"Thanks for passing this info along, Mike," Sara said. "For a while there I didn't think this thing was gonna happen."
Danny jerked his chin toward Dante's office, and Sara glanced over to see Jake and Orlinsky entering it.
"Looks like you were right about the leads riding along, Mike. They're in with Dante getting the details right now," Danny told his friend.
"I gotta go, guys. Hopefully, everything will go as planned, and we can put the scumbag Medina brothers away for the rest of their natural lives."
"You take care tonight, Detective," Sara cautioned him, "and good luck!"
"Yeah, Mike, keep your head down. We'll touch base with you tomorrow morning to find out how things went, okay?" Danny said.
"Sure thing." He hung up.
"Whew! What a relief!" Sara said, standing and grabbing her coat and helmet. "I honestly thought they'd decided to call the whole thing off."
Danny studied her, dark eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Pez, by any chance, are you planning on doing something foolish like, for instance, going down to the docks tonight?"
She gave her partner her most innocent look. "What, do you think I'm stupid, Danny? I wouldn't dream of doing anything that might jeopardize this operation. Joey's future might very well depend on its success."
"Uh-hunh. Just make sure you stay out of sight, Pez. From what Mike told us, this Medina guy is easily spooked. And I don't even want to think about what Dante might do if he found out you went there on your own."
"I'll be freakin' invisible, partner. See you in the morning, hopefully well rested!" she grinned, and jogged out of the precinct.
Outside, the temperature seemed to have risen slightly, which didn't make Sara happy as she knew that this was not uncommon before a major snow event. She decided to leave her bike in its parking space in front of the precinct while she revisited Gabriel's place. She pushed his buzzer at 5:10 on the dot.
"Come on up, Chief," Gabriel answered, buzzing her in.
Once again, the door to Talismaniac was ajar when she reached the third floor. But this time no music blared from within. She entered the dimly lit apartment with some trepidation.
"He's still sleeping. Didn't even stir at the buzzer," Gabriel whispered, greeting her at the door and indicating the motionless, quilt- enshrouded figure on the large sofa. "Sara, his fever is still rising."
"Did you give him any cold or flu medicine?" she asked her friend, staring worriedly at the sleeping man.
"No. He refused to take anything. Said it wouldn't help."
"Why would he say that? He's got the flu, right?"
Gabriel didn't say anything, just stared at her.
The Witchblade suddenly came alive, the bracelet's stone a bright, pulsing red, and Sara abruptly recalled Nottingham's words from earlier that morning.
"You know, now that I think about it, when I suggested he take some cold medicine earlier this morning, he insisted that what he had wasn't a cold. Later, when I asked him how long he'd been feeling sick, he denied that he was sick. He said something like 'It's a test,'" she murmured. "Do you know what he meant by that, Gabriel?"
"I do, but he asked me not to tell you what I figured out," her friend said quietly.
"Okay, let's play a little guessing game, shall we?" Sara said, raising her eyebrows. "But if I guess right, you have to say so."
"Deal," Gabriel agreed instantly.
"Let's see: what could sicken a big, strong guy like Nottingham so quickly? I mean, he seemed perfectly fine yesterday. A little more subdued than usual -- for him -- but not even a hint of sniffles or anything," she said slowly and thoughtfully, unconsciously stroking the Witchblade's pulsating stone, as if seeking to calm it. "Vorschlag Industries is in the genetics business, so maybe it's an engineered virus of some type?" she hazarded.
Gabriel remained silent.
"No, hunh? Okay, something fast-acting but not completely disabling. Something that starts out innocently enough, mimicking the symptoms of a bad cold or flu. Like some kind of poison. Could Nottingham have been poisoned?" Sara theorized.
"I knew you'd figure it out, Chief," Gabriel sighed with relief. "Yeah, apparently his evil boss man decided that Nottingham needed to be reminded just who butters his bread. He injected the poor guy with some kind of toxin that is slowly but surely killing him."
"Oh my God!" Sara gasped, appalled. "I mean, I knew the guy was not to be trusted, but you're right, this is just plain evil. Is there an antidote? And how much time does he have?"
Gabriel shrugged. "Nottingham seems to think so, and he's not sure how long he has. From the way his fever is spiking, I'd say no more than a day or two, maybe less. Naturally, Irons is the one holding, or maybe I should say withholding, the antidote. He wants his wayward servant to come crawling back to him, probably to beg for his life."
"He doesn't have to crawl. I'm gonna drive him there tonight. And while I'm there, I'm gonna give that stinking-rich bastard a piece of my mind!" she said angrily.
"Lady Sara."
She turned to see that Nottingham's eyes were open and focused on her. Even in the low light, Sara could see the febrile glitter in them.
"Hey, Nottingham," she said softly, walking toward the sofa. "How you feeling?"
"Lady Sara, if you insist on following your stated course of action you will kill me as surely as the toxin will if I do not receive the antidote," the assassin said, his voice less hoarse than it had been.
"You need that antidote, Nottingham. Now. Tonight. And I mean to make sure that Irons gives it to you."
"He is looking for just such an excuse to deny me it, my Lady. Unless I prove to him that I am strong enough to protect you, in spite of being poisoned, he will let me die. Should you confront him on my behalf, he will see it as a sign of my weakness. A weak servant is a useless servant to my master's way of thinking. If he ever found out that I stayed here just to please you, my life would be forfeit. My orders are to stay close to you, and I cannot deviate from them until he expressly tells me to do otherwise."
"You can barely stand, let alone protect me, Nottingham," Sara said, exasperatedly.
"On the contrary, I am feeling stronger for the warmth and rest you so thoughtfully arranged for me to have," he said, throwing off the quilt and rising gracefully to his feet.
"But Gabriel says your fever is rising," she pointed out, noting that aside from the flags of color along his high cheekbones and his too-bright eyes, he did look better. He hadn't sneezed or coughed since her arrival.
"Yes, it is, but it would have to become much higher to incapacitate me," the black-clad man said dismissively.
"How high is it now?" Sara asked.
"The last time I checked, it was 101.6," Gabriel interjected. "That was a couple of hours ago."
"How high do you think it can go before you can't function?" she asked the tall, dark-haired man.
"Having never had a dangerously high fever before, anything I said would be merely conjecture, my Lady," Nottingham shrugged.
"How high?" Sara insisted.
"I would guess that a temperature of 106 would cause me to become delirious, followed by convulsions, followed shortly thereafter by death," he responded bluntly.
"Most people become delirious when their temps reach the vicinity of 104; fatal convulsions typically occur at 105 or higher. But then, you're not most people, are you?" Gabriel said to the older man.
"No, I am not," Nottingham agreed.
"So, what's your plan? Follow me around until I head home for the night, and then go back to your sick bastard of a boss and hope he pats you on the head and says 'job well done, here's your antidote'?" Sara asked
"Actually, yes, that is precisely what I had planned on doing," her stalker said equably. "I usually wait until you have fallen asleep before returning to the estate."
Sara bit her lip, thinking about her plans to stake out Pier 62, Berth 11, later that night. Somehow, she highly doubted that she could give her shadow the slip by pretending to retire for the night and then sneaking out of her loft. Nottingham had an uncanny ability to locate her wherever she went, no matter how hard she tried to lose him -- and in the beginning, she had tried very, very hard. Lately, he even appeared to be able to anticipate her destination on occasion. They were "connected," he'd told her the other day. And although at the time she had mocked him, Sara's curiosity had been piqued by his choice of words. Just like when he referred to himself as her Protector. Now was neither the time nor the place -- well, actually, since Gabriel was the one she intended to ask about the term's significance, it was the place -- to pursue her quest for information about this title and the psychic connection to her it apparently gave Nottingham. There was no other explanation for the way he always seemed to be close by.
She decided that the direct approach was the best. "The drug bust is scheduled to take place at around midnight at Pier 62, Berth 11. The DEA's source down at the docks claims a Dominican-flagged freighter, the Dominican Star, is carrying the product that Angel Medina and his brother Joaquin are supposed to pick up. The freighter is due in at 11:00 p.m. I plan on being there when the bust goes down," Sara told Nottingham.
"Then that is where I will be," he responded instantly.
"Well, if you're going to be traipsing around outside in the freezing cold tonight, you really should be dressed more warmly. Unfortunately, I doubt any of your winter coats would fit him, Gabriel, but do you at least have a hat and a scarf you could lend him?" Sara asked her friend, eyeing her stalker's thin wool overcoat critically.
"Um, nothing in basic black, I'm afraid, but I could scrounge up something," the young man said. "Chief, are you sure you want to go looking for trouble tonight? You know, the Twitchblade has a bad habit of wreaking havoc when you least expect it," Gabriel cautioned her, opening his coat closet and rummaging through it.
"I'm just gonna observe the goings on from afar," she told him. "I promise."
"Here you go, Mr. Nottingham. It's not standard issue, but it's definitely warm," Gabriel said, passing the tall, black-clad man a cream, blue, and red-colored hand-knit wool hat with tassels on its peaked top and earflaps and a matching scarf.
"Oh, yes, the very latest in Sherpa assassin wear," Sara said, straight-faced.
"Hey, beggars can't be choosers!" Gabriel protested.
"Then it is a good thing I am not a beggar," Nottingham said firmly, handing the items back to Gabriel. "I will purchase something appropriate from the vendor that sells such items near where my vehicle is parked. But thank you anyway, Mr. Bowman."
"Come on, just try on the cap. You could work the look," Gabriel cajoled. "Or not," he said quickly at the dark look the big man shot him from beneath lowered brows.
"Come on, Nottingham, we've imposed on Gabe's hospitality long enough," Sara said, heading toward the door. She was pleased to see that the two men had apparently forged a tentative friendship during their time together. Or maybe Gabriel just enjoyed tempting death.
"Please wait a moment, my Lady," Ian said, turning and walking back into the parlor. He picked something up from the coffee table. "I believe you said I owe you $3,000 for this, Mr. Bowman." Nottingham held the little silver ice bucket in his gloved hand.
"Nah. Let's call it even because of the Etruscan necklace deal," Gabriel waved him off.
Nottingham frowned. "You consider a 12% commission hefty?"
Startled, the younger man stared uncertainly at the assassin for several moments. Then a slow grin crept onto his face. "You had me going there for a minute, Mr. Nottingham."
The suggestion of a smile turned up the corners of the black-clad man's lips. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Bowman. I would consider it an honor to be consulted on the antiquities you procure in the future. It is not often that I feel comfortable enough to act . . . normal around people. I felt that way here today," he said quietly.
"Oh, hey, any time. Hold on a sec, cause that ice bucket comes with a top and tongs!" Gabriel said, reaching behind a counter and extracting them. "It'll sure come in handy should you ever find yourself entertaining people that you really, really hate." He handed the items to Ian along with a plastic bag to carry them in.
"I will keep that in mind. Good-bye, Mr. Bowman."
"Take care of yourself, Nottingham. And I hope you get that antidote soon."
"Bye, and thanks again, Gabriel," Sara said. "I'll call you tomorrow. There's something I want to ask you about."
"Sure thing, Chief. And, please, be careful tonight!" her friend begged her. "I'll be waiting for that call."
More to come. Feedback anyone? Please?
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. I'm just playing. Enjoy!
Chapter 17.
Sara Pezzini took the stairs to the second floor of the 11th Precinct two at a time. The warmth of the stationhouse was a welcome relief from the frigid temperatures outside. She had nearly become frozen just on the brief walk back from the Greek diner, her too-thin leather jacket little protection against the wind-chill-exacerbated cold. Tomorrow, she would be sure to wear her down jacket and a scarf.
A quick trip to the diner's ladies room had allowed her to clean off her boots and jeans as best she could with just hand soap and paper towels. Although she felt bad about the unpleasant surprise she had just sprung on Gabriel Bowman, her conscience was clear now that she knew her sickly, inadequately dressed stalker was someplace warm, albeit as the guest of a highly reluctant host. Exactly why the fact that Kenneth Irons' bodyguard and henchman would probably avoid catching pneumonia should set her mind at ease was something Sara didn't want to examine too closely at the moment. It was enough that she no longer had to think about Nottingham standing outside in that freezing alley all day. Now, all she had to worry about was whether Gabriel would survive the next five or six hours in one piece.
As she passed Captain Bruno Dante's office, she saw that Jake McCartey and Orlinsky were in there behind closed doors.
"Long line again?" Danny Woo asked mildly as she plopped a cup of coffee on his desk before taking off her jacket and hat.
"Um, no. I took a little detour. On the spur of the moment, I decided to drop by Gabriel Bowman's place for a bit. It's only a few blocks from here and I haven't seen him for a while," she told her partner, deciding she owed him at least part of the truth.
"Oh, yeah. Him. How's he doing?"
"Good, good."
Sara knew Danny didn't quite know what to think about her burgeoning friendship with the youthful owner of Talismaniac. Although he was aware that she sometimes consulted with the younger man on some of the weird symbols that had lately begun to turn up at their crime scenes, she sensed that the swiftness with which she'd befriended Gabriel surprised her longtime partner and friend. He, maybe more than anyone else, realized that she didn't make friends easily.
With an effort, Sara managed to refrain from asking Danny whether he'd heard anything about that night's planned drug bust while she'd been gone, knowing that he would have mentioned any developments as soon as she walked in. She glanced toward Dante's office.
"They've been in there for about ten minutes," her partner said, noticing the direction of her gaze. "Vicky finally released her findings on the kids' clothing and the gun. She stopped by to give you a heads up, but you were out."
"She tell you what she found?" Sara asked.
"Nope. She said to give her a call when you got back. As far as tonight's operation goes, I think Dante might be putting Jake and Orlinsky in the loop."
"Do you really think narcotics and the DEA might actually let them take part in it?"
Danny shrugged. "Stranger things have happened. If Medina makes the pickup and they grab him up, the undercover guy will immediately finger him for the Gutierrez shooting and that's their case, so, yeah, they might get an invite to tag along."
"That's gotta be a first for the rookie," Sara commented, wishing it were she who was going in his stead. She picked up her phone and called Vicky Po.
"Hey, girlfriend," the ME said by way of greeting. "Dante was breathing down my neck for the results on the gun and the clothing, and I couldn't stall him or Jake and Orlinsky any longer. I tried to give you a heads up, but Danny said you'd stepped out."
"That's okay. I was out on a coffee run and then decided to look in on my friend Gabriel, who lives just up the block. What did you find on the clothes?" Sara inquired, although she already knew what her friend was going to tell her because of what the Witchblade's vision had shown her.
"Amanda was definitely the shooter. Joey only had traces of gunpowder residue on his left sleeve, which means he was standing to her right when she fired," Vicky told her. "I take it Jake and Orlinsky already discussed my findings with Dante."
"They're in there right now, but from the look of things, the meeting is winding down. Thanks for everything, Vic. I owe you big time."
"Any time, girlfriend. See you later." She hung up.
Briefly, Sara relayed to her partner what the ME had told her.
Five minutes later, the meeting across the hall broke up, and Jake and Orlinsky left their captain's office. Dante shot a smirk Sara's way before deliberately closing the blinds in his office. Instinctively, she knew he was up to no good where she was concerned.
"God, Danny, what if Medina gets spooked between now and that freighter's arrival? If he sniffs out that undercover detective, he's toast," Sara said suddenly, a wave of panic seizing her. "Then who'll testify that Angel offed Paco? Joey could be brought up on accessory to murder charges."
"That's not gonna happen, Pez, so don't even think about it," her partner said firmly.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I just feel like if I don't do something, anything, soon, I'm gonna jump out of my skin!" Sara groaned.
On her wrist, the Witchblade amplified that feeling, sending tiny jolts of adrenaline coursing through its Wielder's body. It, too, was eager for action, preferably on a massive, bloody scale. This realization disturbed Sara, but not as much as she thought it should. She had to constantly remind herself that the innocent-looking bracelet she wore was famous for magnifying its Wielder's bloodlust during battle, when it instantaneously transformed into various weaponry, each of which was capable of inflicting enormous damage to the human body. So far, Sara had willed it to become a light, streamlined glove, which, despite its delicate, filigreed appearance, packed quite a punch; an armored gauntlet, complete with vicious-looking metal spikes, that when used to put an assailant down tended to make certain he or she stayed down -- permanently; a short sword, more of a stiletto actually, perfect for stabbing torsos and slicing throats with; a gauntlet with a chain, on the end of which was a wicked mace that, with one powerful swing, could bash skulls in with astonishing ease; and a long, frighteningly sharp, double-edged broadsword, her personal favorite and the one that she was most comfortable wielding.
More than once, she had been tempted to take Kenneth Irons' up on his repeated offers to help her better learn how to wield the various weaponry. On the one occasion she had faced another swordsman in battle, she had felt at a distinct disadvantage owing to her inexperience. Only her Witchblade-aided reflexes and quickness had enabled her to triumph (okay, her opponent had been Nottingham, and she strongly suspected he had allowed her to win). With the proper training, she knew she could become pretty much invincible. However, Sara was loathe to put herself in the position of being beholden to the ruthless billionaire, even if it meant becoming a better fighter, thereby considerably increasing her odds of survival in future battles. She just didn't trust him. But, for some reason, her instinctive distrust of the master no longer appeared to extend to his servant, at least not completely. Her blithe dismissal of Gabriel's legitimate objection to the fact that Irons' pet assassin had once threatened his life was grounded in her intuitive belief that Nottingham was a man of honor, strange as that concept might seem when applied to someone who killed people for a living.
Nevertheless, Sara had gradually come to realize that Nottingham's courtly manner and diffident demeanor when in her presence were not affectations. As he had told her on numerous occasions, he considered himself her guardian. Actually, "Protector" was the term he had used more than once, and from the way he said it, she got the strong impression that it was a role he took very, very seriously. She made a mental note to ask Gabriel the next time she saw him if he had ever come across anything in Witchblade lore that explained the significance of this title.
As if it were aware of her thoughts -- and Sara did not for a minute doubt that it was -- the Witchblade stroked her wrist with warmth and swirled gently, exactly the way it always did whenever Nottingham was nearby. She actually glanced around, expecting to see him, before she remembered where he was and why.
Shaking her head at this moment of lunacy, Sara picked up a folder from her inbox, but before she could open it, Jake entered her and Danny's office.
"Hey, Pez, Woo," he said by way of greeting, sitting down in Sara's guest chair.
"Have a seat, why don'tcha, Rookie?" Sara invited sardonically.
"Hey, Jake, what's shakin'?" Danny said, taking a folder from atop the pile in his inbox.
"Same old, same old," the blond man murmured. "Pez, do you maybe want to grab some lunch with me and Vicky in about an hour?" he asked her, flicking a brief but significant glance toward their captain's office.
"Sure, I'd love to," she said. "Where we going?"
"Just down the street to the diner. That okay?"
"That's fine by me."
"Don't mind me, guys," Danny said, reaching into his desk drawer and taking out a paper bag. "I'm brown bagging it today." He sniffed it. "Mmm, egg salad sandwich. Nice and ripe."
"Okay, we won't mind you, but something tells me that after you eat that thing, it'll be really hard to ignore you" Sara snarked, grinning.
"So, so cold, partner," Danny pouted, "but, sadly, so, so true."
"You're welcome to join us, Danny," Jake said, smiling.
The Asian man promptly threw the oil-stained bag in the garbage. "Thank God. But don't breathe a word of this to Lee."
"Maybe if you, um, actually bothered to refrigerate the sandwiches your wife goes to the trouble of making, they would be edible come lunchtime," Sara suggested.
"Have you seen the refrigerator in the break room lately, Pez? I swear there's stuff in there from when they bought the damn thing, which was, what, five years ago?" Danny said. "Plus, Orlinsky is famous for pinching anything that isn't booby-trapped! He seems to have some kind of weird sixth sense that alerts him whenever anybody puts anything even remotely edible in there."
The three of them enjoyed a good chuckle about this well-known fact. "Point taken, partner," Sara said. "We'll meet you and Vic out front in an hour, Jake, all right?"
"Sure thing, Pez. Later," said the young, blond detective, rising from his seat and leaving.
Both Sara and Danny studiously attacked paperwork until it was time for them to go meet Vicky Po and Jake McCartey.
"Brrrr. Remind me again why you left Southern California for the Northeast, Jake?" Vicky Po said, when Sara and Danny joined her and Jake out in front of the stationhouse at the appointed time.
"Why to experience the changing of the seasons, of course!" Jake grinned, throwing an arm around the petite, dark-haired ME's wool-clad shoulders. "Sunny skies and temps in the 80s day in and day out can get real old after a while."
The three native New Yorkers groaned at this.
'They make a cute couple,' Sara thought, smiling to see color bloom on her friend's pale cheeks at the physical contact from the handsome Californian.
"They're talking 30 inches of snow by the time everything's said and done, starting late tomorrow night, early Friday morning," Danny said, casting an anxious eye at the now completely overcast sky.
"Where do you store your motorcycle come winter, Pez?" Jake asked as they passed the Buell's parking space.
"Ugh! Don't remind me! I so hate mass transit!" Sara groaned, shoving her hands in her pockets in a vain effort to warm them. Her thin riding gloves were little protection against the cold, just like her jacket.
"You leave it in Joe and Marie Siri's garage, right?" Vicky said.
"Yeah. I guess I'm gonna have to head over there after work tomorrow," Sara sighed.
"So, I heard you filed your findings on the kids' clothing and the gun, Vic," Danny said. "How'd Dante react when you told him what she found, Jake?"
"I'm surprised he didn't order Joey to be dragged back in here and booked on suspicion of being an accessory to murder, just to spite me and Joe Sr.," Sara said bitterly, then noticed the uncomfortable look on Jake's face. "Please tell me he didn't order you and Orlinksy to do that, Jake."
"Um, no, but, and he'd have my ass if he found out I told you this, Dante wants the kid brought up on gun possession charges," Jake reluctantly admitted.
"WHAT?" Sara yelled, incredulously. "That vindictive, small-minded, conniving bastard! He can't do that, can he? I mean, Joey brought me that gun first thing the next morning. It wasn't even in his possession for very long. He hid it in an alley next to a freakin' police precinct, for Christ's sake!"
Jake shook his head apologetically. "His prints were on it and he admitted in his statement that he kept it after he disarmed the drug dealer, plus the weapon was used to commit a crime. Unfortunately, under the letter of the law, it's enough to charge him with possession of an illegal firearm. I'm sorry, Sara."
"It's not your fault, Jake. Besides, Joey's lawyer will get those charges bounced so fast, Dante's head will spin," Sara pointed out, but then realization dawned on her. "But he doesn't care about that, all he cares about is embarrassing Joe Sr. And me, of course. That son of a bitch! He probably can't wait to rub my face in this. Thanks for the heads up, Jake. I gotta call Robbie and Paula and let them know what to expect. Excuse me for a minute, guys," Sara said taking out her cell phone.
"We'll go grab a table," Vicky said, as they reached the diner. She hooked her arms through Jake's and Danny's and frog-marched them inside. The blast of warmth that escaped through the door beckoned Sara, but she didn't want to chance being overheard by anyone. Because of its proximity to the 11th Precinct, the eatery was a favorite of the station's personnel. So, she paced up and down the sidewalk in front of the place, her breath frosting in the air as she spoke to her surrogate older brother, whom she reached at work.
Minutes later, she plopped down into a booth next to Danny and opposite Jake and Vicky, grimacing. "They're upset, but then who wouldn't be? Joey's an A student and great kid who's never been in trouble before in his life. This whole mess has got his parents and grandparents reeling. I just hope we catch Angel Medina soon so Joey and Amanda won't have to keep looking over their shoulders," Sara said, hoping this comment would prompt the rookie to share what he knew about the impending drug bust.
Cooperatively, Jake said "Well, as it so happens -- and, again, Dante would go nuts if he knew I leaked this -- narcotics and the DEA are planning on busting Medina. Tonight, as a matter of fact. Apparently, they have a guy inside who thinks Angel is getting ready to pick up some major weight. Although they still haven't been able to get an exact fix on the location or the time, word is that the product is arriving by water right before midnight."
"Wow, that's a relief!" Sara said, hiding her disappointment that she hadn't learned anything new. "This means Joey's troubles could all be over if everything goes according to plan. Thanks for sharing, Jake."
"I think we'll all feel relieved when Sara stops losing sleep over this!" Danny cracked.
"A bit cranky in the morning these days, is she?" Vicky inquired, hiding a smile behind her hand.
"You mean crankier than her usual I-Haven't-Had-My-Fourth-Cup-of-Java- Yet-So-Don't-Start-With-Me 'tude? Yeah, a bit," Danny smirked. Both Jake and Vicky could not refrain from sniggering at this.
"Ha, ha. Go on, laugh at the exhausted-from-worry aunt. See if I care," Sara pouted, but her twinkling eyes gave her away.
Despite the bad news about Joey courtesy of Jake, the friends passed an enjoyable hour eating and ragging on each other mercilessly. After divvying up the check, they hurried back to the warmth of the stationhouse and went their separate ways.
"I'm gonna hit the can. Be back in a few minutes," Danny said, hanging up his coat.
"Thanks for sharing, guy" Sara said, rolling her eyes. As soon as her partner left the room, the Witchblade imparted its familiar swirly warmth thing to her wrist, and Sara remembered her promise to call and see how her stalker was doing. She picked up her phone and dialed Gabriel Bowman.
He answered on the fourth ring.
"Hey, kid. How's it going over there?" she asked her friend. She was relieved to hear that his voice didn't sound stressed -- or like the life was being strangled out of him.
Gabriel told her that, thanks to the amazing healing powers of peppermint tea, Nottingham had stopped vomiting but that he was still sneezing and coughing and now had a bad case of laryngitis. Gabriel started to ask her if she wanted to talk to her stalker, but then she heard him say, voice rising with alarm "Hey, hey, Invasion-of-Personal-Space Alert, Dude!"
A ragged whisper of a voice came on the line. "Hello, Sara." Only his distinctive way of pronouncing her name identified the speaker as Nottingham.
Feeling a quiver of compassion in her stomach, Sara gently asked him how he was feeling, expressing the sincere hope that it was better than he sounded.
He told her that he was warmer and that his stomach had stopped hurting him, and she responded that that was good news at least. Glancing toward her captain's office, Sara lowered her voice until she was practically whispering herself, informing Nottingham about the lack of developments in the planned drug bust, that it had remained strangely quiet in the homicide division, and that Dante hadn't yet seen fit to release her from desk duty. She reiterated her promise to be at Gabriel's at 5:10 p.m., telling the sick man to take it easy until then and to try and get some more rest. He said he would try, and then Sara requested that he put his host back on.
Unfortunately, at that moment, Danny walked back into the room. Putting her hand over the mouthpiece, she observed "That was fast!"
"Yes, I'm a regular speed pooper. Pun intended. Must be all the fiber in my diet," Danny grinned.
Sara pulled a face at his candidness. "I'm talking to Gabriel. His, uh, cousin is visiting him, and he's got a bad case of the flu, so I'm just checking in to see how things are. I'll try to be brief."
"Don't mind me," Danny said, sitting down. He appeared to become engrossed in his paperwork, but Sara was all too aware that he was avidly listening to her side of the conversation.
"So, Gabriel, did he get any rest?"
Pause.
"A client, hunh?" Sara winced. "Gee, I'm sorry about that, Gabe. I hope he didn't cost you a sale, what with the all the coughing, sneezing, and extreme weirdness." When she had imposed on Gabriel's hospitality, Sara hadn't given a thought about what Nottingham's presence at Talismaniac might mean in terms of her friend's clients.
Longer pause.
"Her?"
Pause.
"Well, to each her own, I guess. He actually carried on a normal conversation, hunh? I didn't think Mr. Cryptic was capable of that. And then there's that no-eye-contact thing he does. Your client probably just thought he was shy." Suddenly, Sara remembered Joey Siri, Jr. describing Nottingham as just that.
Pause.
"Wait a minute, he's feverish?"
Pause.
"Yeah, well, he didn't mention it to me either."
Pause.
"Is his fever already so high you really have to worry about that? Sara asked, alarmed.
Longer pause.
"Oh, come on, Gabriel, don't be such a wuss! Aside from that little incident a couple of months ago, he's never shown the slightest interest in harming you, even though he obviously realizes that you're still doing, um, research for me from time to time. Besides, I've felt many things ever since I discovered that he's shadowing me, but I've never felt threatened by him. In fact, he's helped me out on more than one occasion in his own maddeningly cryptic way."
Pause.
"I still think you're worrying about nothing," Sara told her friend, not missing the fact that he'd used the term 'Protector.' She started to ask him about it, but then remembered that she had an audience. "Give him a couple of aspirins, and the fever should come down. In fact, I bet it'll be lower by the time I get there."
Pause.
"Bye, Gabriel." She hung up.
Danny's gaze met hers speculatively. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but overhear. Is Gabriel's cousin stalking you, Pez?" he asked her.
"Uh, not exactly. It's kind of complicated," Sara said evasively, belatedly wishing she had stepped outside for this phone call.
"Stalking is no joking matter, partner," Danny said seriously.
"I know, Danny, and I appreciate your concern, but I'm a big girl and I can handle this."
Thankfully, he let the subject drop after that, but she could tell he was disturbed by what he'd overheard.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Too uneventfully.
As five o'clock approached, Sara wondered if the narcotics squad and the DEA had decided to call off the drug bust. There was no word from Mike Morgan on the details, and no more powwows between Dante, Jake, and Orlinsky.
Then at five minutes to five, Danny's phone rang.
"Detective Woo," he said. "Oh, hey, Mike!" He listened for a moment, and then gestured for Sara to close the door, which she swiftly did. "I'm putting you on speakerphone, Mike. I've turned the volume down really low and the door to our office is closed." He pressed a button on the phone.
"Hey, Mike, glad to hear from you," Sara greeted the narcotics squad detective and Danny's friend.
"Hey, Pez. I'll be brief because I only have a few minutes: the operation is taking place on the docks tonight. The name of the freighter that's allegedly carrying the drugs is the Dominican Star, and she's due to dock at Berth 11, Pier 62, at 11:00 tonight. We'll have our people in place, just waiting for Angel and Joaquin Medina to show up. Once they take possession of the product, we'll move in. As a courtesy, I'm pretty sure my sergeant intends to invite the lead detectives working the Gutierrez murder case to tag along."
"Thanks for passing this info along, Mike," Sara said. "For a while there I didn't think this thing was gonna happen."
Danny jerked his chin toward Dante's office, and Sara glanced over to see Jake and Orlinsky entering it.
"Looks like you were right about the leads riding along, Mike. They're in with Dante getting the details right now," Danny told his friend.
"I gotta go, guys. Hopefully, everything will go as planned, and we can put the scumbag Medina brothers away for the rest of their natural lives."
"You take care tonight, Detective," Sara cautioned him, "and good luck!"
"Yeah, Mike, keep your head down. We'll touch base with you tomorrow morning to find out how things went, okay?" Danny said.
"Sure thing." He hung up.
"Whew! What a relief!" Sara said, standing and grabbing her coat and helmet. "I honestly thought they'd decided to call the whole thing off."
Danny studied her, dark eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Pez, by any chance, are you planning on doing something foolish like, for instance, going down to the docks tonight?"
She gave her partner her most innocent look. "What, do you think I'm stupid, Danny? I wouldn't dream of doing anything that might jeopardize this operation. Joey's future might very well depend on its success."
"Uh-hunh. Just make sure you stay out of sight, Pez. From what Mike told us, this Medina guy is easily spooked. And I don't even want to think about what Dante might do if he found out you went there on your own."
"I'll be freakin' invisible, partner. See you in the morning, hopefully well rested!" she grinned, and jogged out of the precinct.
Outside, the temperature seemed to have risen slightly, which didn't make Sara happy as she knew that this was not uncommon before a major snow event. She decided to leave her bike in its parking space in front of the precinct while she revisited Gabriel's place. She pushed his buzzer at 5:10 on the dot.
"Come on up, Chief," Gabriel answered, buzzing her in.
Once again, the door to Talismaniac was ajar when she reached the third floor. But this time no music blared from within. She entered the dimly lit apartment with some trepidation.
"He's still sleeping. Didn't even stir at the buzzer," Gabriel whispered, greeting her at the door and indicating the motionless, quilt- enshrouded figure on the large sofa. "Sara, his fever is still rising."
"Did you give him any cold or flu medicine?" she asked her friend, staring worriedly at the sleeping man.
"No. He refused to take anything. Said it wouldn't help."
"Why would he say that? He's got the flu, right?"
Gabriel didn't say anything, just stared at her.
The Witchblade suddenly came alive, the bracelet's stone a bright, pulsing red, and Sara abruptly recalled Nottingham's words from earlier that morning.
"You know, now that I think about it, when I suggested he take some cold medicine earlier this morning, he insisted that what he had wasn't a cold. Later, when I asked him how long he'd been feeling sick, he denied that he was sick. He said something like 'It's a test,'" she murmured. "Do you know what he meant by that, Gabriel?"
"I do, but he asked me not to tell you what I figured out," her friend said quietly.
"Okay, let's play a little guessing game, shall we?" Sara said, raising her eyebrows. "But if I guess right, you have to say so."
"Deal," Gabriel agreed instantly.
"Let's see: what could sicken a big, strong guy like Nottingham so quickly? I mean, he seemed perfectly fine yesterday. A little more subdued than usual -- for him -- but not even a hint of sniffles or anything," she said slowly and thoughtfully, unconsciously stroking the Witchblade's pulsating stone, as if seeking to calm it. "Vorschlag Industries is in the genetics business, so maybe it's an engineered virus of some type?" she hazarded.
Gabriel remained silent.
"No, hunh? Okay, something fast-acting but not completely disabling. Something that starts out innocently enough, mimicking the symptoms of a bad cold or flu. Like some kind of poison. Could Nottingham have been poisoned?" Sara theorized.
"I knew you'd figure it out, Chief," Gabriel sighed with relief. "Yeah, apparently his evil boss man decided that Nottingham needed to be reminded just who butters his bread. He injected the poor guy with some kind of toxin that is slowly but surely killing him."
"Oh my God!" Sara gasped, appalled. "I mean, I knew the guy was not to be trusted, but you're right, this is just plain evil. Is there an antidote? And how much time does he have?"
Gabriel shrugged. "Nottingham seems to think so, and he's not sure how long he has. From the way his fever is spiking, I'd say no more than a day or two, maybe less. Naturally, Irons is the one holding, or maybe I should say withholding, the antidote. He wants his wayward servant to come crawling back to him, probably to beg for his life."
"He doesn't have to crawl. I'm gonna drive him there tonight. And while I'm there, I'm gonna give that stinking-rich bastard a piece of my mind!" she said angrily.
"Lady Sara."
She turned to see that Nottingham's eyes were open and focused on her. Even in the low light, Sara could see the febrile glitter in them.
"Hey, Nottingham," she said softly, walking toward the sofa. "How you feeling?"
"Lady Sara, if you insist on following your stated course of action you will kill me as surely as the toxin will if I do not receive the antidote," the assassin said, his voice less hoarse than it had been.
"You need that antidote, Nottingham. Now. Tonight. And I mean to make sure that Irons gives it to you."
"He is looking for just such an excuse to deny me it, my Lady. Unless I prove to him that I am strong enough to protect you, in spite of being poisoned, he will let me die. Should you confront him on my behalf, he will see it as a sign of my weakness. A weak servant is a useless servant to my master's way of thinking. If he ever found out that I stayed here just to please you, my life would be forfeit. My orders are to stay close to you, and I cannot deviate from them until he expressly tells me to do otherwise."
"You can barely stand, let alone protect me, Nottingham," Sara said, exasperatedly.
"On the contrary, I am feeling stronger for the warmth and rest you so thoughtfully arranged for me to have," he said, throwing off the quilt and rising gracefully to his feet.
"But Gabriel says your fever is rising," she pointed out, noting that aside from the flags of color along his high cheekbones and his too-bright eyes, he did look better. He hadn't sneezed or coughed since her arrival.
"Yes, it is, but it would have to become much higher to incapacitate me," the black-clad man said dismissively.
"How high is it now?" Sara asked.
"The last time I checked, it was 101.6," Gabriel interjected. "That was a couple of hours ago."
"How high do you think it can go before you can't function?" she asked the tall, dark-haired man.
"Having never had a dangerously high fever before, anything I said would be merely conjecture, my Lady," Nottingham shrugged.
"How high?" Sara insisted.
"I would guess that a temperature of 106 would cause me to become delirious, followed by convulsions, followed shortly thereafter by death," he responded bluntly.
"Most people become delirious when their temps reach the vicinity of 104; fatal convulsions typically occur at 105 or higher. But then, you're not most people, are you?" Gabriel said to the older man.
"No, I am not," Nottingham agreed.
"So, what's your plan? Follow me around until I head home for the night, and then go back to your sick bastard of a boss and hope he pats you on the head and says 'job well done, here's your antidote'?" Sara asked
"Actually, yes, that is precisely what I had planned on doing," her stalker said equably. "I usually wait until you have fallen asleep before returning to the estate."
Sara bit her lip, thinking about her plans to stake out Pier 62, Berth 11, later that night. Somehow, she highly doubted that she could give her shadow the slip by pretending to retire for the night and then sneaking out of her loft. Nottingham had an uncanny ability to locate her wherever she went, no matter how hard she tried to lose him -- and in the beginning, she had tried very, very hard. Lately, he even appeared to be able to anticipate her destination on occasion. They were "connected," he'd told her the other day. And although at the time she had mocked him, Sara's curiosity had been piqued by his choice of words. Just like when he referred to himself as her Protector. Now was neither the time nor the place -- well, actually, since Gabriel was the one she intended to ask about the term's significance, it was the place -- to pursue her quest for information about this title and the psychic connection to her it apparently gave Nottingham. There was no other explanation for the way he always seemed to be close by.
She decided that the direct approach was the best. "The drug bust is scheduled to take place at around midnight at Pier 62, Berth 11. The DEA's source down at the docks claims a Dominican-flagged freighter, the Dominican Star, is carrying the product that Angel Medina and his brother Joaquin are supposed to pick up. The freighter is due in at 11:00 p.m. I plan on being there when the bust goes down," Sara told Nottingham.
"Then that is where I will be," he responded instantly.
"Well, if you're going to be traipsing around outside in the freezing cold tonight, you really should be dressed more warmly. Unfortunately, I doubt any of your winter coats would fit him, Gabriel, but do you at least have a hat and a scarf you could lend him?" Sara asked her friend, eyeing her stalker's thin wool overcoat critically.
"Um, nothing in basic black, I'm afraid, but I could scrounge up something," the young man said. "Chief, are you sure you want to go looking for trouble tonight? You know, the Twitchblade has a bad habit of wreaking havoc when you least expect it," Gabriel cautioned her, opening his coat closet and rummaging through it.
"I'm just gonna observe the goings on from afar," she told him. "I promise."
"Here you go, Mr. Nottingham. It's not standard issue, but it's definitely warm," Gabriel said, passing the tall, black-clad man a cream, blue, and red-colored hand-knit wool hat with tassels on its peaked top and earflaps and a matching scarf.
"Oh, yes, the very latest in Sherpa assassin wear," Sara said, straight-faced.
"Hey, beggars can't be choosers!" Gabriel protested.
"Then it is a good thing I am not a beggar," Nottingham said firmly, handing the items back to Gabriel. "I will purchase something appropriate from the vendor that sells such items near where my vehicle is parked. But thank you anyway, Mr. Bowman."
"Come on, just try on the cap. You could work the look," Gabriel cajoled. "Or not," he said quickly at the dark look the big man shot him from beneath lowered brows.
"Come on, Nottingham, we've imposed on Gabe's hospitality long enough," Sara said, heading toward the door. She was pleased to see that the two men had apparently forged a tentative friendship during their time together. Or maybe Gabriel just enjoyed tempting death.
"Please wait a moment, my Lady," Ian said, turning and walking back into the parlor. He picked something up from the coffee table. "I believe you said I owe you $3,000 for this, Mr. Bowman." Nottingham held the little silver ice bucket in his gloved hand.
"Nah. Let's call it even because of the Etruscan necklace deal," Gabriel waved him off.
Nottingham frowned. "You consider a 12% commission hefty?"
Startled, the younger man stared uncertainly at the assassin for several moments. Then a slow grin crept onto his face. "You had me going there for a minute, Mr. Nottingham."
The suggestion of a smile turned up the corners of the black-clad man's lips. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Bowman. I would consider it an honor to be consulted on the antiquities you procure in the future. It is not often that I feel comfortable enough to act . . . normal around people. I felt that way here today," he said quietly.
"Oh, hey, any time. Hold on a sec, cause that ice bucket comes with a top and tongs!" Gabriel said, reaching behind a counter and extracting them. "It'll sure come in handy should you ever find yourself entertaining people that you really, really hate." He handed the items to Ian along with a plastic bag to carry them in.
"I will keep that in mind. Good-bye, Mr. Bowman."
"Take care of yourself, Nottingham. And I hope you get that antidote soon."
"Bye, and thanks again, Gabriel," Sara said. "I'll call you tomorrow. There's something I want to ask you about."
"Sure thing, Chief. And, please, be careful tonight!" her friend begged her. "I'll be waiting for that call."
More to come. Feedback anyone? Please?