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Kelvin Quincy's dreams had come true. He'd waited ages for this and couldn't wait to rub everyone's face in his success. Not that he would. He’d act modest and classy, like the stuck up District Attorney, but he'd gloat on the inside.
Kelvin nursed two decades of professional hurt. He'd been passed over for promotions, denied raises he deserved, and relegated to the background time after time. His credentials should have put him over the top when he ran for DA, but instead, the public bought into the pretty skirt, prettier face, and Lollipop TV sound bites.
He couldn't do sweetness and light if you dunked him in syrup, even though he'd never lost his west Texas drawl. On a woman, it sounded sexy but it turned Kelvin into a backwoods hick. His acne-scarred face, balding head and geeky-good grades didn’t help so he'd compensated with bodybuilding and tattoos in college and gone overboard. Now Kelvin tried to cultivate a classier appearance. Most of his extra income went toward three-piece suits (not those cheapo off the rack kind, either), silk bow ties, designer suspenders, and tailored shirts with French cuffs and signature cuff links.
Kelvin got into the law to see justice served. He'd been a team player. But he gave and gave and gave, provided the brains and behind-the-scenes support, and stayed invisible with nothing to show for his good works. Although surrounded by less qualified and talented individuals, Kelvin ran a hamster-wheel life while others received acclaim and praise. If you ain't—aren't—the first horse over the finish line, you get real damn tired of the view.
No more. This time, Kelvin would get the credit. Kelvin would be a hero. Sure, he'd have to bend the rules a bit, but the world celebrated shades of gray. It'd be worth stepping up to help kids, put away a bad guy, and line his pocket at the same time. This time Kelvin would get everything he deserved and more. Win-win, all the way around. Well, except for the nasty-ass guest he expected anytime.
The intercom buzzed. Kelvin had a tiny office space in the first floor of a converted warehouse. They hadn't yet turned on the AC, so he ran the overhead fan on high. It squealed and wobbled and he prayed it wouldn't unscrew itself from the ceiling. Part of the rent included a receptionist to serve the entire building, but she apparently had stepped away. Kelvin pressed the button to answer.
"It's me, Sunny. Open up."
He smiled, and pushed the release. "Come on in. He's not here yet."
Sunny Babcock sashayed into the tiny office, her neon orange hair in a ponytail, and pulled up one of the rolling chairs. She folded her lithe figure into it. "Tell me again why you don't have the cops staking out this place? They've searched for this guy for six months."
"Don't ask questions. That's the deal." He came around the desk and balanced his narrow butt on the edge. "I'm paying you good money to do as you're told, Sunny. Already gave you the background on this and paid up front. And there'll be a whole lot more, a huge bonus, when we pull this off. So don't second guess."
He'd been Sunny's defense attorney on some minor brush-ups with the law over the years. They'd gone to high school together, and later both got into tattoos and hunting at the same time. He'd lost his taste for hunting, but not tattoos, or Sunny. They had a history, and Kelvin had intimate knowledge of one of Sunny's illegal passions. That's why he needed her in on this. It also gave him more leverage to keep her leashed.
"Fine. You pay, I'll play." She narrowed her sky blue eyes. "I'm already on the inside, but you have to promise I walk away clean. These folks don't take kindly to informants. I need enough to disappear after."
"Sure, Sunny. I need your eyes and ears letting me know the exact time and place for the meet. We need to catch them in the act, not too early or too late. Can't be like last time, where all the witnesses protected each other. And if you hear even a hint that something could derail this, squash it flat." She'd helped him out as a freelance investigator in the past, but he'd never before had so much riding on a case. "You vouch for me, and get me on the inside." For once, his biker tats and low profile would work to his advantage. "Once the event's a go, there's no turning back. I'll call it in, give you the high sign. Get the hell out of Dodge before the cavalry arrives."
"You sure you got the stones for it? Takes more than my say, Kelvin. If you want to be more than a spectator, it'll take more than money. Give them something that's, shall we say, indicative of your intentions."
"Like what?"
"I'll set up intros, and as good faith, you deliver some bait." Her brows knit at his expression. "Don't ask. You know exactly what I mean. You won't keep your hands clean on this one. To catch a fish and especially monster whales, you need bait." She nodded. "That's how you play your part to prove you're serious. Sooner rather than later, too."
Damn. He smoothed his shaved head, stood and walked back around the desk so she wouldn't see his expression. Nothing for it, though. If it would put a stop to everything, then a bit of sacrifice would be necessary. The buzzer sounded again.
This time the receptionist announced the visitor. "Doctor Gerald Baumgarten to see you."
Sunny stood, and Kelvin straightened and buttoned his coat. "Yes, send him in." Kelvin walked to the door, opened it and kept his face carefully neutral.
The Doctor stood so tall he had to duck to miss the ceiling fan. He wore a floor length bat-black cowboy duster that turned his pale face and silver hair ghostly. His expression didn't change as flat gray eyes scanned the cramped space, flicking over and dismissing Sunny until finally lighting on Kelvin.
A chill raised gooseflesh, but Kelvin didn't react. He closed the door and motioned to an empty chair. "I'm Kelvin Quincy. This is Sunny Babcock, my associate. An honor to meet you, sir. We've heard a lot about you." He stuck out his hand.
The doctor stared at the hand, and took a seat without shaking. "What?"
Kelvin glanced at Sunny. "Excuse me?" Kelvin hurried to the chair behind the desk and urged Sunny to sit. She shook her head, and instead leaned against the wall, pursing her lips and watching.
"What have you heard about me, Kelvin Quincy? You said a lot.”
Sunny started to say something but the Doctor cut her off.
“I know you. From TV. Hog Heaven, episode 21 and 27, Sunny "The Babe" Babcock and her handsome hounds." He cocked his head. "Where are your handsome hounds?" He swiveled his chair to include Kelvin. "Do you have handsome hounds, too?"
His monotone voice and metallic eyes gave Kelvin the creeps. "Uhm, well I have one dog. A big guy, but he wouldn't hurt a flea."
"Dogs don't hurt fleas, fleas hurt dogs. They bite dogs, the flea saliva makes allergic dogs itch and they carry tapeworms, ehrlichiosis, babesiosis, Lyme disease, Rocky Mountain spotted fever, and plague." He paused. "Dogs hurt dogs, too. In fights. You know about dogfights? I need a dogfight, people who fight dogs. Bad people, but useful. You will connect me with these bad people. That's the deal we make today."
Kelvin opened his mouth, closed it, and indicated Sunny should take the lead. She stepped forward. "Gerald, I can—"
"Doctor. I am Doctor Baumgarten. You will show me respect, Sunny "The Babe" Babcock." His voice didn't change, but his weird silver eyes made her flinch.
It took a lot to make Sunny flinch. For the first time, Kelvin noticed the gun peeking out from beneath the Doctor's coat, and understood why he wore the duster in this decidedly off-season warm weather.
"Sure, sorry about that, Doctor." Sunny smiled.
She managed to sound pleasant, but that didn’t fool Kelvin. He knew her background, knew she hid her feelings instinctively—hard lessons learned as a teen from her bastard of a father—but Kelvin knew her tells. She flexed her fingers, full lips flattened, and the muscle in her jaw twitched. She’d better keep that temper of hers in check.
"I know dogfights, Doctor,” she said. “There's a convention, a really big one, in a few days."
"A few? Definition: several or many or three. A couple means two or several. You said, a few days. How many days, exactly?"
Before she could respond and possibly blow the deal, Kelvin interjected. "Six days. This weekend. If this damn weather holds."
"Bad words. Lazy language." The Doctor stood up, his coat flapping, and reached for the gun.
"Oh shit...I mean, shoot. Sorry, that slipped out. Please. I'm sorry." Kelvin held out his palms in a conciliatory gesture. "You're right, no cursing, that's not polite. Doctor, please sit down. My apologies."
Kelvin pulled out a handkerchief, monogrammed to match his French cuffs, and mopped his brow. This loose cannon needed to be taken off the streets, for sure. He debated abandoning the plan and calling the cops for half a second, but couldn't let go of the glory he'd gain for bringing down everything this "doctor" stood for.
“Six days." The Doctor left the gun holstered but didn't sit. "Plans made cannot be un-made. I pay you to give me the time and place. Nothing must stop this event. My associates will attend this event to prepare delivering miracle medicine for many children." He paced. "I promised Mother to continue our important work. A promise made cannot be un-made." He stopped pacing. "Promise: a declaration or assurance that one will do a particular thing or that a particular thing will happen."
Kelvin knew that the freak blizzard last November hadn't stopped the Doctor’s Rebirth Gathering, either. They'd caught his mother, the brains behind the outfit, he'd always believed, but the Doctor got away. Kelvin could call the cops now but they'd take the credit. No, better to be patient and spring the trap later so they’d catch both the Doctor and his entire drug crew. That would make anyone's career, and show the bozos in Heartland they'd snubbed him for the last time. Now Kelvin had baited the trap, and he needed to lure the Doctor the rest of the way in before slamming the door.
"I'll find out the time and the place." Sunny licked her teeth. "How much?"
Damn it, why can’t she keep her mouth shut? "I'll take care of you, Sunny. This deal is between me and the Doctor."
The tall ghost-man stuck his hands in the pockets of the long coat, and pulled out a banded stack of bills from each. "First payment." He tossed a bundle first to Kelvin and then Sunny. "Another when you give me time and place. And final payment when our work is successful and I'm far far far away."
"Holy Jes—" Sunny clamped her mouth shut before finishing the oath.
Kelvin experienced the same surprised delight. A hundred-dollar bill on each side sandwiched the inch-thick bundle. He'd finally get out of this shit-hole of an office. But he didn't dare say that aloud. "It's a deal." He stuck out his hand again.
The Doctor stared. "Germs on hands make people sick. Do you want to make me sick?"
"No, of course not." Kelvin dropped his hand.
"That's good. You now will make me a promise. That's a written or oral declaration given in exchange for something of value that binds the maker to do, or forbear from, a certain specific act and gives to the person to whom the declaration is made the right to expect and enforce performance or forbearance." The Doctor paused. "Repeat after me: I promise, Doctor."
Kelvin shrugged. "Okay, I promise." Kelvin held one hand behind his back, crossing his fingers like a scared kid. He smiled, faking confidence but sweat trickled down his neck.
"That's good." The Doctor turned to Sunny. "Now you say it, Sunny "The Babe" Babcock. Say, I promise, Doctor."
She didn't hesitate. "Yeah, whatever. I promise Doctor." But she didn't look up. She instead busily counted her stack.
"Promise made cannot be un-made. Make it happen." For a moment, the Doctor's face creased into a forced but practiced smile, one he clearly intended to put people at ease.
Instead, it gave Kelvin more chills than the gun's presence.
