Minion (4 page)

Jose and crazy Jake Rider, their guitarist and sharpshooter, shared the capacity to pull the taste and the scent of danger out of the air. They were the noses—and they hadn't been right all night. Then there was Big Mike, their soundman/music director, who could hear what nobody else could, and could also blow the mothers up, literally. An unmatched explosives expert from the era of 'Nam, tonight he was jumpy. That wasn't Big Mike's style. Brother was always laid-back, and the voice of reason in the group.

Together they possessed all five senses, plus the sixth of clairvoyance through Marlene, and yet she was supposed to be the omni-voyant one—possessing all six natural wonders as a vampire huntress, so they'd said. Yeah, right. She hadn't seen any of that grandeur materialize lately. For a while, she was
all that.
But as of a couple of weeks ago, she felt her gifts, as Marlene referred to them, sliding away from her fast. First her sight, and then some of her physical endurance. Her nose wasn't worth shit as a tracker these days. Taste and sound were off-kilter, too. Then, without warning, each attribute would come back stronger than it had been before. Like power fluctuations during a brownout. Go figure.

All she knew right now was that she was good at kicking ass when she had to—the streets had taught her that, although she'd give props to Shabazz for the Aikido refinement. But if the crew was buggin' this hard, then it was large, whatever
it
was. That was real.

“Where's Dan?” Damali finally asked. “I don't think it's a good idea to leave him behind this time. He's not a guardian, and if there's trouble out there tonight, he'll be at extreme risk.”

“Weinstein is settling with the club owners, and going ahead of us to book a venue in New Orleans before we meet up with him in L.A. Probably the safest bet for his life is to stay away from all of this. The less he knows about this, the better,” Marlene replied gently. “Daniel's a good man, but he's no guardian, and he definitely isn't a hunter. He has no skill, other than being a fantastic business manager. He should've stayed on the administrative side of things. I told him I had the other aspects of managing the band, but everybody wants to do the glitz and glamour thing.”

“Yeah,” Damali agreed. “Problem is, he came to an evening performance. Usually he just works the phones by day, ya know? It's getting too hot for him to be out with us, at any time, especially at night.”

“I know,” Marlene murmured, her gaze going toward the door. “He insisted this time. Wanted to personally experience the phenomenon of
Damali
so he could better promote her in contract negotiations, he said. I argued with him about it, and thought it was settled, and then he shows up tonight anyway, unannounced. Not good. Too dangerous.”

“Every-damned-body wants to be in the mix,” Shabazz said with a disgusted sigh. “The limelight. If they only knew.”

“When we get back to L.A., I'm going to have to sever him for his own good. Let's just get our innocent home safely. We clean up whatever's out there tonight, and then page the limo to pick Dan up in the front, first, before the limo comes to pick up the team. I'll have to go back to doing the promoting as well as the books, I suppose. But in the meanwhile, I just have to think about what to tell Dan. I'll give him a nice exit package,
though. It's at the point where we can't even expose a limo driver to this.” Marlene chuckled sadly and addressed Shabazz. “Looks like you'll be driving our limo again, too, after tonight.”

“No problem.” Shabazz shrugged. “It's better that way. Just like old times.”

J.L. gave a slow nod of agreement in response to Shabazz. “Yeah, man, but what's taking Rider and Jose so long to break down the set? It's time to bounce. We need those mics—stat.”

“They ain't breakin' it all the way down,” Mike reported in his deep Southern drawl.

“No, not tonight,” Rider concurred as he reentered the small space followed by Jose.

Damali didn't comment. Mike Robert's dark face held a nondescript, poker-player blank expression that Damali was used to reading by now. Being an audio-sensor, she wondered if he'd heard anything in the charged atmosphere. That possibility was not lost on her. It was all in the way Big Mike kept stopping and tilting his head like a hunting dog straining to hear something, and then going back to his task. His vibe didn't improve her nerves. Nor did Rider's or Jose's actions help cool her out when they came in the room, breathed deeply, stopped for a beat, and then began moving quickly to convert some of the gear.

Again Damali's gaze scanned the room, returning to Marlene Stone's eyes. Her manager hadn't changed her expression; it contained the same barely concealed tension that it had ever since they'd arrived at the club. Marlene tightened the beaded strap that held back her waist-length, silver-gray locks, and then picked up her walking stick, casting a second one in Damali's direction.

Catching the carved ebony quickly, Damali felt a renewed wave of adrenaline course through her. She needed her long
blade, Madame Isis, but this would have to do. Marlene had promised she could have it when she turned twenty-one, but she didn't see why Marlene had put up such a fuss about her taking it a few days early. Marlene was getting on her nerves.

Damali walked over to the drums and put three titanium anchors in her waistband, and a razor-sharp chime in both back pockets of her leather pants. “No time to change outta stage gear, huh?”

“You know the drill,” Marlene said in a firm voice. “Shabazz, you're lead point. You're out front to feel the vibe as we move. I'm right behind you, next to Damali—to keep an eye on any sudden movement.”

Again, she and Marlene shared a stare. This one felt like a standoff. What the hell was Marlene doing giving her and her crew the move out logistics?

“I decide when we roll.” Damali glanced around the room at her team and allowed her line of vision to settle on Marlene. “Everybody clear?”

Marlene only nodded and spoke in a tense, quiet voice. “If you're up to it, fine.”

“Yeah. I'm up to it, so long as you're clear.”

“Very.”

“All right. Normal formation, then. Everybody ready?”

Shabazz opened his one-button, black leather suit jacket and smoothed his washboard abs beneath the turquoise silk shirt, flashing a ceramic Glock nine stashed in his waistband, and then toyed with the small gold star and crescent dangling about his neck. His jaw was set hard. “I'm always ready.”

Marlene cut a vicious glance at Shabazz. They all knew what that look was for. They had all agreed—no incidents that could further raise suspicion with authorities. It was hard enough trying to get out of Dodge after an attack without getting hung up
in a search, or have it come out in the media that one of them was carrying a concealed weapon.

Damali smiled. She knew that both Shabazz and Rider were carrying. Neither had ever been comfortable with the crossbows. Well, a man had to do what a man had to do. She could appreciate that. Next time she'd smuggle her sword along, too, just like Shabazz had claimed his nine.

“Ceramic,” Shabazz explained. “Breaks down and rode stowaway in Big Mike's FX case along with what appears to be stage smoke bombs, et cetera. Felt I needed Sleeping Beauty this time. As long as everything stays beautiful, she'll stay sleeping. Anyway, they can't detect the ceramic pieces in the airport X-ray equipment—it's all good. Special-effects gear was a solid cover . . . Chill.”

Rider and Shabazz exchanged a fist pound, while Mike chuckled low in his throat. Jose and J.L. gave a nod of agreement. Mutiny against Marlene's rules was in full effect.

“We'll take this up back at the compound,” Marlene muttered. “Anybody else got any contraband that can get us nailed by the police—if we make it to daylight?”

If?
Aw, shit . . . Marlene didn't do “if.” Homegirl was always sure—positive.
If
was not a good thing.

Everyone shook their heads and Marlene let out a long breath, closed her eyes, and then shook her head, too. “We move out.” As soon as the words escaped her lips, she opened her eyes and briefly glanced at Damali. “On Damali's order.”

All of them were silent as they waited for Damali to give the word. However, a sense of dread coiled in the pit of her stomach as she witnessed the oldest members of the Warriors of Light Productions team take a familiar stance. It was on her to lead the potential battle, but it was also on her to make sure she didn't lose any of her people. Tension threaded through the room with
a palpable static charge as the group watched her for the move out signal.

The traces of gray in Shabazz's dark locks, and at the temples of Rider's brownish-blond spike cut, made her wonder how long these warriors could keep up their protective vigil. Marlene was a fifty-year-old enigma, driven by something Damali realized she'd probably never fully understand. Sure, Jose and J.L. only had her by ten years, and were a decade or more younger than the core team members, but how long would it be before they either got nicked, or wanted a real life and defected from the group—just like the other guardians who'd tried to give this up, and then wound up worse than dead? She loved these crazy people. They were family, like brothers and a mom. Fuckin' A. Not one of them was expendable.

She looked at Jose's handsome amber-hued face, and J.L.'s lithe, Jackie Chan–type athletically honed body. Damali shook her head as she wondered how men as fine as Shabazz and Big Mike had never found permanent solace in someone's arms. This was no way to live. The money, the fame; none of it could be totally, freely, normally enjoyed. Sooner or later, they, too, might be lost, one way or the other. It was on her as the Neteru to see that that didn't happen. But what could she do, really, to indefinitely protect them all as they guarded her? Damned catch-22, as Rider always said.

As though sensing her unspoken question, Rider swaggered over to a chair and turned it around, propping his cowboy boot in the center of it, and then leaned on his knee as he spoke. “We're ready to rock when you are. Everybody here is grown. We know the deal. Fresh-packed the rhino bullets this morning with hallowed earth,” he announced with a wide grin. “Put crosses on the blunt end to leave a brand on whatever's left.”

“Got something for 'em in the rear,” Mike said in a blasé manner, unfurling his six-foot-seven-inch frame from the task of packing small vials in his vest on the coffee table. The slow, easy action belied the power and speed that he could unleash from his huge, muscular structure. “Got enough of these holy-water grenades to make it look like a C-4 hit 'em. Picked up a lot of activity on my soundboards during the show, thanks to the computer rig J.L. hooked up. Comes in blips like radar. Cold body readings. It's more than one of 'em tonight. Problem is, though . . . can't tell you how many—just many.”

“Me and Jose are ready,” J.L. announced, receiving a nod of confirmation from Jose.

“All right, Mike. Then, no sense in having Wizard and J.L. put those stage lamp kits away, completely.” Damali let her breath out hard. “Leave the instruments, though. We've gotta travel light, and we can't carry it all while armed. The club will send in a couple of bouncers or security guys to load up the limo and equipment van in the front. But we do need two bows, and ultraviolet Fresnel lamps out back. Keep the UV lamps near. So, gentlemen, you're on flank, with crossbows ready. One of you wear the battery-vest to light it up on cue.”

“That's why I didn't fully pack everything away,” Jose replied, locking together the last bolts to transform the stands from their lighting gear into weapons. Tossing a converted bow to J.L., Wizard caught a return volley of wooden ammunition and began loading it.

“You're pretty nice on the lights, man,” Joe Leung said with a sly grin. “Like the new design.”

“Let's wrap this discussion up,” Marlene said. “Like Damali told you guys. Shabazz walks point with Rider at his back; both sharpshooters go first. J.L. and I flank Damali with a crossbow
and my stake, and then Big Mike and Jose are bringing up the rear—with our lights, crossbows, and explosives. Look alive, stay alive. There's only seven of us left.”

“Yeah, and we strut out there in a giant human cross formation, like that'll help.”

“Save it, Rider,” Marlene warned. “Not now. Nobody's in the mood for the sarcastic commentary.”

“Truth,” Mike agreed, making Rider scowl.

“We ain't got time for the jokes, man.” Shabazz checked his gun without looking at Rider.

“Let's just everybody chill,” Jose said in a weary tone.

J.L. nodded. “Word.”

Again, silence settled on the group, albeit a strained type of quiet. Still one primary question nagged Damali as she studied Marlene. Together they had all the elements that could bring down a small army of vampires. What could have spooked Marlene to the point where she was double- and triple-checking basic stage exit protocol? Something was definitely not right.

“Hold up,” Damali said, her hand on Marlene's shoulder. Even her mentor's toned form was wound way too tightly for explanation. “What's out there tonight that hasn't been out there before, Marlene?”

“I don't know,” Marlene murmured. “That's the problem.”

“Talk to me,” Shabazz said, moving behind Marlene and getting her to face him. “I'm walking point, Mar. Have for you for years. Would die for you, baby—but want to know that I
will die,
you feel me? I'm first out the door, so I have a need for clarity.”

Damali watched the strain lace its way through Marlene's expression and draw her mouth to a tight line as she struggled to answer Shabazz. He reached out and pushed one of Marlene's silver-gray locks over her shoulder. Damali could only stare at
the two as their eyes held a private conversation, something unfathomable between them that obviously went back a long way, and probably had more to do with an unspoken personal commitment than what was happening tonight.