Hazardous Goods (Arcane Transport) (30 page)

Elena.

This golem, crude and without any real power, scared the hell out of Maxim and Niki. And I could see why. For the golem had captured something
more
than just her animal attractiveness or brazen confidence. It showed a hint of her
power
. I could see that in Maxim’s face, wide-eyed in shock and deference.

But he quickly saw through the gambit and came to his feet, snarling. Ignoring the spectre before him, he slammed the crystal pyramid down on the fearstone, shattering both into dust-like fragments.

I think in that moment I saw the true Maxim Legenko. A sinewy rage of fiery eyes and meat-tearing teeth.

Last time I thought there had been something going on. This time I knew for sure. A beam of energy, almost like a tight jet of water from a fire hose, leapt from a ring on his hand and arced across the room towards me. It was just like with Crazy Lady, a stream of particles which expanded as they approached me, pointillist in form, with the same distinct pebbles of black and yellow shimmering in the air. And again, the beam didn’t get to me. About twelve inches from my chest it just
stopped
. It didn’t deflect and race off in another direction. Didn’t explode on impact. It just reached a point a few inches away from me and stopped.

He stood, trembling, the beam of energy continuing to stream from his fingertips for a moment, then fizzling out.

“You done yet?”

Apparently not. He tried again. Red flames shot from the ring and scorched the table top in their race across the room. This time I didn’t flinch – I leapt out of the way. My finely honed cowardice had taken charge.

The heat swept past me, roaring out of my peripheral vision and slamming into the door and wall behind me. As I turned, I saw the door explode out of its frame, spinning into the office space beyond and clipping a monitor on the way. Tongues of flame danced along the wall, as patches of old wallpaper began to smolder, then ignite.

That little display seemed to get everyone’s attention, including Niki’s since the right shoulder of his jacket was on fire. He was slapping wildly at the flames while I righted my chair. And Elena seemed as angry at her husband as she was at me, perhaps more so.

“Figure it out. Your magic tricks aren’t going to work on me. But you keep messing with us, and I’m going to bring a heap of shit down on your head.”

I think that time I got through to him. He was still staring lasers at me, but his breathing seemed to slow, and I could see intelligence returning to his eyes, replacing the untempered rage. In fact, at that moment, inching toward the door and seeing the faces of Elena and her husband, I was convinced I was going to be leaving with my hide intact.

Unfortunately I had managed to overlook one very large, very pissed off and now smoldering Russian mobster. Niki came off the wall as though I had waved a red flag in front of him. I could imagine steam erupting from his nostrils. I was just able to turn my body and take the impact on my shoulder, but that did nothing to slow his momentum.

I flew backwards a good six feet, and would have gone farther had it not been for College Boy’s cubicle. Instead of continuing to sail through the air I slammed into the fabric panel that served as a partition, sending it toppling over onto College Boy’s desk. From the crunching sounds behind me, I presumed a keyboard or laptop had just bitten the dust.

“Jesus.” I tried to roll off the panel quickly, but Niki was there again, this time grabbing my shirt and throwing me like a bale of hay. I hurled over the adjoining cubicle wall, narrowly missing another assistant, and landing ribs first on an open file drawer.
That
hurt. Big time.

I was gasping for air, still slumped over the drawer, when Niki rounded the cubicle wall and grabbed my shirt collar and the back of my belt. Fortunately I had just enough of my wits about me to bring up the bat. I swung as hard as I could, and the bat exploded on impact, sharp pieces of wood spraying around us. Niki grunted, and dropped me with a thud.

Crawling back into the cubicle, I turned to see that my swing had done more damage than I could have hoped for. A flap of skin hung from his forehead, partly obscuring his left eye, with several long splinters jutting from the wound. Blood was just beginning to flow.

“Raaaagggghhhhhh!”

Seemed I had enraged the Bull. I turned, stepped up onto one of the visitor chairs in the cubicle, and hopped over the back partition.

Niki took the more direct route, plowing into the partition and using it to slam me up against the internal wall. He was panting just like his namesake now, and he was close enough to me that the blood from his forehead was dripping down on my exposed arm and shoulder. The rest of my body was trapped between the partition and the wall. I tried to bend my legs, to gain leverage, but Niki growled and pressed even harder. The metal frame of the partition was digging into my chest and neck and now I was having trouble breathing. Niki was crushing the life out of me.

I raised my arm and tried to get my hand under his multiple chins, hoping I could force his head back and ease the pressure. But his neck was as thick as my thigh. I couldn’t budge him. I slipped my hand up over his chin and snapped the heel of my palm into his nose, hoping for the mythical strike that drives a bone into your opponent’s brain. His response – pounding the partition a further inch and a half closer to the wall – almost caused me to black out, but the dry wall behind me gave just enough to keep me conscious.

I went after the only weak spot I could find. I reached for one of the splinters jutting from the open wound on his forehead, and
hammered down on it
.

Niki bellowed and stumbled away, trying to get away from my hand. The partition fell to the floor between us, and I sagged to the carpet gasping for breath. My brain was screaming at me to get up, to get the hell out of there. But my lungs were demanding my attention. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs in action.

Still, I managed to gain my feet before Niki was able to turn his attention back to me. A feat in and of itself. I was grimly marching towards the stairwell when a voice called out.

“
Enough
!”

Even in the heat of the moment, I stopped in my tracks. That was a voice that demanded your attention.

Turning, just steps away from the stairwell and apparent freedom, I scanned the floor.

We had left a real mess. Smoke was snaking out of Elena’s office, drifting across the ceiling of the central space, and flames continued to dance along the door frame. I was amazed no fire alarm had gone off. The cubicle outside her office was demolished, a rubble of fabric, metal frame, desk and computer equipment left in our wake. College Boy stood at the base of the rubble, seemingly in shock at the sudden turn of events. Two other cubicles were wrecked, and one of the assistants was being cared for by her colleagues, apparently having been knocked aside in Niki’s efforts to annihilate me.

At the entrance to her office stood Elena Legenko, now fully resembling the golem from before. Even from across the floor, the most arresting thing was her piercing stare. Part of me wanted to apologize, part of me wanted to run like hell.

Maxim was the first to speak, turning to her from his spot halfway across the floor.

“Darling, this –
ingrate
– has attacked Nikolay and I. Niki was simply defending us.”

“SHUT UP YOU FOOL! You and your idiot friend have tested my patience for long enough!”

Elena stared at Maxim. He shied from her attention, but stood his ground. Elena’s focus then turned to Niki the Bull, who had taken a seat at one of the work stations, one hand to his forehead with blood still trickling between the fingers. Niki was staring at me as though he might be able to stop my heart with his eyes. Lastly, Elena turned to me.

“You and I must talk, Mr. Elder.”

I debated whether to respond. But at that point, it didn’t seem to make much difference.

“I’ve said everything I had to say. Stay away from us.”

I wasn’t sure whether she intended to do so, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t hanging around to chat. I turned and began moving to the door again. Behind me I heard the squeak of an office chair as Niki lurched to his feet and bulled towards me, intent on ensuring that I did not make it down the stairs, at least not intact.

“
I SAID ENOUGH!”

This time I didn’t even see it coming. One second Niki was rushing towards me, a three hundred pound bull determined to trample me in his path. The next he was hurtling sideways through the air, his feet clipping yet another cubicle and causing him to spin head over heels before slamming into a structural concrete post in the north east corner of the floor. I glanced back at Elena and sure enough, her hands were raised before her, as though she was manipulating the very air.

That was enough for me. I turned and reached out for the door to the stairwell, only to flinch as a crimson streak passed over my shoulder and enveloped the door and its frame. It was a subtle light – not flame, but energy – and radiated just a few inches from the surface of the door. But I saw it with my own two eyes, dead sober and with all my faculties intact.

This was going to be interesting. Without so much as a glance back at Elena, I reached out to the door handle. As my hand neared the door, the crimson glow dissipated, first from around the handle, then in a growing circle around my hand. By the time I was touching the handle, the glow was gone.

I turned the handle, opened the door, and ran like hell.

I jogged out of the building, trying to remain innocuous while keeping in motion. The van was a block and a half away, but no one tried to stop me. I did a quick sortie around the vehicle to make sure all was in order, then hopped in and sped out into traffic.

I needed to find a computer, fast.

With a PC at home, several in the office, and internet access on my phone, I don’t think I had ever needed to use an internet café in my life. Now with WiFi in every coffee shop, I couldn’t imagine that such places had a long life span. But if I ever needed one, now was the time. It was simple. My memory was a sieve, and stuff was leaking through already.

I figured my best bet was to stay on St. Clair, and it turned out I was right for once. Just past Bathurst I spotted a place called Cyber ‘Spresso, the window advertising “stations, wifi, smoothies and snacks”. I squealed into a lot on Raglan and sprinted back to the shop.

Nothing too complicated. Four stations along one wall, two occupied. Three tables in the middle, and a counter on the opposite side. Standard coffee shop. I went straight to one of the stations and pulled up the browser. Google Maps.

I was just drilling down into satellite maps of Toronto when a man’s voice interrupted.

“Excuse me, sir?”

I did not need an interruption right now.

“Yup?”

“The stations are $4 per hour.”

Oh. Right.

I glanced over my shoulder at the man. Smallish, East Indian. “Sorry about that.” Dug in my pockets, and managed to find nothing smaller than a twenty dollar bill. Goddamned ATMs.

“Uh.” I glanced at the counter. “Can you grab me a bottle of Coke and a muffin, if you’ve got it?”

“We have Cranberry Pineapple, Blueberry Raisin, Banana Cinnamon, Chocolate Caramel and Oatmeal.”

WTF? Was that five muffins, nine muffins or one? “Uh – Oatmeal. Thanks.” As he moved away, I cringed. Oatmeal always made me think of construction paste.

So what was I...?

Map.

I turned back to the map, and the last remaining neurons still firing with memories of what I had seen on the boardroom windows managed to give me a final snapshot. Six or seven buildings, lower east side, all of them hashmarked.

I drilled down in the satellite images, until I began to spot familiar intersections and street grids. Shuter. Sumach. South Regent Park.

OK. I sagged back in my chair.

Why the hell would they have any interest in Regent Park?

To say that Regent Park was an unsuccessful social housing experiment was an understatement. Built in the 1940s, the Regent Park projects rose from the ashes of Cabbagetown, then one of the worst slums in Canada. Apparently, once a slum, always a slum, as the area was still home to a very low income population. Some say as many as 75% are below the poverty line, many recent immigrants. For years, it was known as a violent, crime ridden community where drugs and prostitution reigned.

In recent years, there had been signs of improvement, but Regent Park was still not high on my list of places to visit after dark. Keep in mind, I’m a big guy who can protect himself, all recent evidence to the contrary. On the other hand, I’m a Canadian. So it’s a rough place, but it ain’t Beirut. Or Detroit. But it was still not a nice place to walk at night.

Which begs the question. Why on earth would Ruscan Industries be interested in that area?

The first thing that came to mind was revitalization. Torontonians loved revitalization projects. You’d think there had been a city in this area for thousands of years, based on the number of times that neighborhoods were designated for “revitalization”. Current favorites were the Distillery District and the Waterfront Lands, both just to the South. And Regent Park was perpetually on the list. Was Ruscan looking to get in on the game?

I spent twenty minutes scanning the web and looking at satellite maps while mawing down a dry oatmeal brick. Finally, with a handful of printed maps in my hand, all marked with my scrawled notes, I headed back out to the van.

Then I made a few phone calls.

Started with my mother. Ted was continuing to improve, and Clay was awake and reading. Then to Amy.

“Your guys had any luck in checking out Niki’s tracks?”

“Not yet, but the guy moves all over town. Ten minutes here, ten minutes there. Thousands in tickets. We’d impound the thing, but we want to see if we can catch him on something worthwhile first.”

“Any chance he’s been visiting Cabbagetown, or say Regent Park?”