She knew she could take him, or any other challengers. But something in his stance, his eyes, made her wary on another level. A flash of familiar came and went. A closer look only showed he wasn't stoned and the normal haze of scorn for a stranger was absent.
"I'm good. Just passing through."
"There's a price for that."
She knew all too well there was a price for everything. Just stepping outside could cost anything from a cell card to a life these days.
She turned to face him. "And you're the collector?"
He shrugged and sneered. "Seems like."
"So state your fee or get outta my way." She wanted that diary before her cursed nemesis destroyed it.
"In a hurry, pretty girl? Hmmm." He eyed her lazily. "Guess I should tag along and take my cut from whatever you want so bad you'll risk the street to get it."
She thought of killing him.
One sweep of hand to throat and he'd be gurgling in the gutter where no one would give half a damn when they found him in the morning.
She thought of using him.
A bold, sober, and not entirely stupid man might be helpful tonight. Quickly she rearranged her original break-in plan.
"If you can keep up, you can claim one item."
"Oh, baby, how can I refuse?"
He ran a grimy finger over her shoulder and she squashed the urge to break his arm, instead resuming her course. He'd soon learn she wasn't on the list of his possible 'rewards'.
As they approached the museum, her companion earned an ounce of Jaden's respect. He was smart enough to keep quiet. But when his steps slowed, putting him directly behind her, she spun around and instinctively dropped into a defensive crouch.
"Ease up, baby." He raised his hands slowly. "I'm just looking for the easy way in."
Jaden stood up, impatient with every moment of delay. "This is my game. You're only along for the ride."
"Don't I know it." He leered at her breasts. "But–"
"Nothing," she finished for him. "I'll get you in, and out if you're quick about your decisions."
"I've decided." He stepped closer and reached for her.
She whipped her foot out, connecting with the inside of his knee. Following him to the ground, she muffled his pained cry with her hand on his mouth and her knee on his chest.
"I pulled that kick. You're not permanently damaged." His eyes grew wide and wild. She tried not to enjoy his panic. "I have business here. I'll open the door. You walk in, choose your piece and get out. We'll have three minutes. If you're not out before me, you'll be on trial by eight and in jail by noon."
At least some things improved with time. The courts and prisons were still over-crowded, but this society dealt with 'Clear Crimes' swiftly. Cops processed evidence in real time, on scene. Finding this street rat in the museum would be enough for an instant conviction and thirty days of behavior modification injections.
"You afraid of needles?"
He shook his head.
"You will be." She hauled him to his feet, granting him a moment to find his balance. "Three minutes."
Following the shadows around the loading docks, Jaden readied her code breaker. She waved the card in front of the scanner and waited.
Infinitely.
Yet another minute ticked by, giving her ample time to cross this particular 'hack-rabbit' off her good list. If his codes were old, or worse, compromised, she'd be hard pressed to avoid a month of needles herself.
If she lived through dispatching her enemy this time, she just might champion prisoner rights and the call to do away with the cruel needles. There were better delivery options...
The lock clicked, whirred and the door slid back on hushed tracks, putting the prized possessions of history at her fingertips.
And gimpy boy's too.
She cringed, inwardly, hoping he was in too much pain to take anything priceless. She disabled the remaining alarm systems to prevent any surprises from security.
"Better hustle," she advised, dashing off on her own.
Her cape billowing behind her, Jaden loped through the various galleries to the nearest marble stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.
Exercising restraint, she stayed her course despite the siren's call of the Medieval Weapons and Armament gallery. She could always return as an ordinary citizen during standard business hours and pore over each curator's note and battle-scarred blade. Again.
She rounded a corner and praised heaven to see the diary still in place. The dress and trunk, which bore a previous life's initials, didn't warrant more than a fleeting glance. She needed the book. It might hold clues that could save her months of research. And every day saved meant another girl spared.
"Now that's worth my while."
Startled from her private hell, Jaden turned to see her unwelcome companion eyeing a case of jewelry. He could have it. It hadn't done her any good then and she had no need of it now.
"One piece," she reminded him, using a dagger to pry open the diary's case. "Clock's ticking." She smiled at gimpy boy's dread and ran for her freedom.
And her cause.
She paused at the security panel only long enough to reset the alarm systems. Rubber soles squeaked on the marble floor somewhere inside, but she had other business. Outside, she took her first real breath and then made the call.
* * *
"I'm certified in a dozen different self-defense methods," the woman stated.
"I only need one," the man replied in bored tones.
"Which is?" she asked.
"The most lethal. Turn."
The conversation went static for two seconds before the detective listening to the wireless tap found it again.
"Uh-huh." She paused. "Hand-to-hand or weapons?"
"Hands only. If I arm 'em, they'll turn."
The detective noted date, time, and frequencies and began speculating on the woman's identity. He signaled his partner to pick up the second headset. They both listened.
"When and where?" the woman asked.
"My place. Late."
"Fine. You'll see me when the money's clear. Turn."
The connection fizzled. The detective scrambled, but lost the continuing conversation.
"Damn. That's it?"
Larry Ferguson was more hopeful than his sour-stomached partner. "It's more than we've had on Slick Micky before."
"Ain't enough," Chuck Loomis groused.
"Let's run it for the DA and see what he thinks." Larry ignored the doom and gloom of his partner and did what he could to buff the recording. If he could find a single locator clue, the DA would jump on it. Better, if he nailed the woman's ID the DA would write the reference Larry needed to get promoted out of this sorry detail.
"Hey, Chuck. Check out this short list of female self defense instructors."
Chuck swiveled around, scanned the list and grunted. Larry hadn't expected anything more. "It's a code, is all."
"I don't think so. She–"
"She knew when and how to change channels. They got outta your reach fast enough. It's just a new code."
"Maybe."
"Larry, you're a good kid, but let me dash your hopes right now. These days ya got a better chance marrying the chief's daughter than moving up and outta this tin can. Now put the ears back on and find us a real crime we can prevent."
Larry ignored the barb about the youngest bachelor chief in Chicago history and resumed his work. "Hot damn!" Larry caught Chuck's dismissive headshake. But Chuck couldn't hear the alarms wailing down at the Museum of Natural History. With a few keystrokes, Larry accessed the security cameras onsite. "Put it in gear, Chuck. I found you a crime scene."
"Yee haw." Chuck yawned as he settled his over-regulation bulk into the driver's seat.
Larry tracked the burglar's progress from gallery to gallery while listening to the chatter of the robotic security drones in pursuit. "He's hurt, Chuck. This collar'll be a breeze."
"Don't count your chickens, kid."
"What the hell's that mean?"
"It's some farm thing my granddad said."
"You've seen a family farm? You are an old-timer."
"Aw, shut up. Where do we pick up this thief?"
"He's made a cut for the northeast exit."
"Where's security?"
"I'll clue 'em in," Larry said while Chuck grumbled about the perils of technology.
He disagreed with Chuck's hardened view of society in general and their job in particular. But his partner had a point about the flaws of the new totally robotic security systems. Twentieth century sci-fi had inspired inventors, but the same stories messed with the lackluster vision of legislators, leaving no loopholes to create a thinking machine.
"You'd think the Museum of Natural History would leave a couple humans in the place."
Larry ignored his peevish partner and continued to ready the evidence kit.
* * *
Jaden saw the mottled gray police unit barreling down the street and sighed. If she let the street rat take the fall for her burglary, she'd have joined the ranks of the despicable thing she hunted. As she organized her explanation to enable his escape a bright flash came from the Museum side of the street.
Instinct had her tucked and rolling out of danger as the driver of the evidence van fought for control with a laser-melted front tire.
How in the hell did a smart aleck street rat land a police-issue pursuit-stopping device?
When the raucous scrape of metal on asphalt ceased, she came to her feet and stared at the van. It lay on its side with black clouds of electrical smoke rising from the rear. Watching the driver stumble from the wreck, she turned for home. But when his agonized bellow carried above the screeching of the alarms, Jaden felt the pull of the driver's desperation.
Mindful of the diary, she approached. Keeping her hands visible, she moved with caution born of several hard lessons. The cop looked as hopeless as a drowning victim. She didn't intend to let him drag her under.
He ranted and wrestled with the crumpled door, too busy to worry about her.
Jaden didn't need cohesive conversation to understand there was another man trapped inside. Evidence processing equipment was expensive, but not priceless. It gave her weary spirit a lift to see how frantic one man could be to save another.
Leaving him to his battle, she put her dagger to work on the hinges of the door. Between adrenaline and training, the door gave way and the cop outside pulled the inside man clear of the burning van.
Familiar enough with death, Jaden knew they were too late, and she wished for tears enough to weep over the loss. One bold street rat bent on escape just cost a man's life.
Everything has a price.
The echoing words taunted her. Then she recognized the dead man. "Larry," she gasped.
The surviving partner heard and turned on her. "What do you know about him? About this?"
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her while she tried to recall his name. Chad, Charlie, no–
"Chuck. Chuck, ease up buddy," she said through rattling teeth.
"Who the hell are you?" Chuck demanded.
"Jaden Michaels–"
"The security specialist? This was some miserable test run?"
She wouldn't take the easy way out–couldn't. Not with Larry's blood staining the street. "No, no test. It must've been a real call."
"And you just magically appear during a real call? This was some damned department party. Well I hope they're slaphappy about it. I'm a man short and he was a good one. He had a future."
His fingers bit into her shoulders, taking her body back to another man, a different sort of attack. In a blur, she broke his hold and caught herself before she landed the follow-through punch.
"Take a step back, Chuck. You're upset. When you see the download, you'll feel better." It pained her to lay blame on Larry, but she offered the most likely scenario. "If Larry wasn't buttoned down, it's no one's fault."
Chuck's face reddened and she saw his pulse accelerate in the jump of a blood vessel in his temple. "I know what a lasered tire feels like. And I know how and where to look for evidence, Michaels. Get the hell outta my face before I do something real stupid."
The adrenaline made her itch for the fight he offered. But pushing her luck here and now put the diary at risk and muddied her true path. She left the messy scene in Chuck's capable hands and replayed the events in her mind.
She hoped the street rat made the best of his good fortune. She'd count her blessings to never cross paths with him again.
The ache began as a slow burn in her stomach and climbed painfully toward her heart with every step away from the collateral damage. She knew her normal cool detachment would eventually return, but prayed it would hurry.
She could've spared the street rat a month of prickly injections by providing a cover story, especially with Larry on the case. Hell, she never should've let the street rat into the museum at all. She'd been around often enough to have developed better judgment.