Past midnight by a few minutes and there was a chill in the air, a cool breeze coming in from the north. It felt sorta nice, considering my full getup of Faraday Coat and body armor.
Ghost had followed Win’s call to a suburban track house, a two-story early ’90s building that looked like every other house in the neighborhood except for the color of the brick facing. The kind of place where the middle-class go to die … the Great Suburbanite Graveyard.
Shortly after the sun went down, my team, including the other team leaders, were in place outside the six-foot fence that circled the back half of the house, ready to storm the battlements at my signal. However, I had to be sure of my dad’s safety.
No subvocals, no radio transmissions, hand signals only for the moment. Nothing for Win to pick up on should she be ready for us.
Her voice spooled through my memory like poor quality audiotape:
“All right, Kal, I have an idea where we can make the exchange.
“What did you have in mind?” I had asked, clutching the phone so hard the casing creaked.
“Tomorrow morning, 10 a.m. The Library of Congress.”
“Are you out of your damn mind? Why there?”
“It offers a nice variety of victims in case you decide to be … naughty. Meet me in front of the Library Shop. Alone, and I cannot stress that point enough. If I even catch the faintest whiff of another agent, BB and your father will become my next ghoul minions. Understand?”
“I understand.” The words were gall in my mouth.
“Good. Bring the contents of the gem locker and the passwords. After I verify that the passwords work, I will set your father free.”
“It won’t work, Win. The passwords are useless to you now.”
“Don’t you mess with me, boy, your father is coming close to losing an ear.”
I deliberately put some panic into my next words. “Win … things have changed in the past ten years, really! I’m not messing with you. There is only one place on earth the CPU you stole will work and that’s in BB’s desk and when you took it, you wiped all the hard drives. The passwords for the CPU and the files are useless.”
“You lie!” she hissed.
“C’mon, Win, you know the Bureau, the paranoia. Confirm with BB. What you have is a hunk of junk.”
A long pause. I began to sweat. “Very well, say goodbye to your father.”
No! “Wait, Win, I know what you want. I can give it to you!”
“You know nothing, Kal. You’re just a soldier.”
“I know you want the list.” I held my breath.
“What … do you know of the list?”
“The list of the 150 most powerful magical artifacts on the planet and their locations. That’s the list you want, isn’t it?”
I could hear her harsh breathing over the line. “If you are playing an angle here, Kal—”
“I’m not!” I blurted. “This is my dad. You know I wouldn’t risk his life.”
“How did you know about the list, Kal? It’s not something agents have access to.”
“Ten years, Win. Ten years in the field. I’m not the usual agent, you should know that.”
“Yes, Kal, you are a most unusual agent. I remember San Antonio like it was yesterday. Very well. Ten o’clock … Library of Congress. Please don’t disappoint.”
There was one thing for sure: no way would I produce the list for Win. For one thing, I didn’t have it and couldn’t get it. If I did have it, I still wouldn’t give it to her, not even in exchange for my father. Those artifacts, scattered around the globe, had been deliberately kept under lock and key in a magical version of nuclear disarmament. As for the list, it was an urban legend in the Bureau, like Bigfoot, but much more mysterious.
When I discovered the missing CPU and hard drives, I knew the list had been the target, because only the President and the Director were privy to that secret, and where else was BB going to keep such a secret? As for Win, the story I fed her about BB’s desk was true—once the hard drives and CPU were removed all you had was silicon garbage—but I needed her to believe I could produce the list or my dad was dead.
I looked through my binoculars. No movement in the house. Not that that meant anything. Win could be asleep or watching TV in the dark. But it was time to take it to the next level.
I had to hand it to Win, she could pick ’em: an innocuous, middle–class area, no doubt with a neighborhood watch (sometimes more effective than Brinks) and a six-foot privacy fence that was easy to police. My main concern besides Dad and BB was for the owners. Had she killed them or was she squatting while they were on vacation? I couldn’t help but fear the worst.
Going in through the front door was a no-go, so praying she didn’t have watchdogs (or watchghouls), I pulled a smooth up and over and found myself on the lawn inside the fence, crouched low to the ground.
The average motion sensor is an effective tool if you don’t know about it, but if you suspect that they are there, they can be circumvented. The best way to beat a motion sensor is simply to move slowly, mere inches per minute. I estimated the distance from the fence to the house and figured on an hour or so until I’d reach the porch.
Wonderful.
Low and slow, a snake in dark armor slithering through the new summer grass, the sweet smell tickling my nose. Every nerve jangled with the fear of discovery, tension that mounted with every inch taken. It was an effort to keep my breathing slow and even—discipline versus the animal instinct of fight or flight.
Besides my iron will, calling up every ounce of training I’d ever had, regrets accompanied me on that trip. More so than any other time since I’d joined the Bureau. Maybe the erosion of my defensive emotional wall was to blame or just too many damn losses in my life, too many names recorded as stars on the wall in Records. And names that never would be recorded there. I had plenty of time to ponder those regrets and the mistakes I’d made in the past ten years.
Carol came first—the woman I’d loved and asked to marry me. The woman I’d ultimately failed in that love, the specter of my sister a barrier rising tall between us. Next came my sister; the only regret was not finding a way to kill the thing that had taken her. Mom and Dad, who had waited ten years, and still waited, for a son to finish a quest that could prove futile. All the agents who had died under my command, men and women who had put their trust in an obsessed leader, their names written onto the pages of my mind with ink darker than midnight.
My fingers touched metal. Galvanized steel, the lip of a window well. A thick iron grate covered the top, restricting access. Slowly I unclipped a borescope from my web belt (which I like to think of as the Bat Belt), and carefully, gently, fed the flexible tube through the grate. Three feet later I maneuvered the ’scope to get a glimpse of the basement window, the feeble moonlight providing just enough illumination to see through the glass. Wood. The basement window had been boarded up.
If one was boarded, it made sense that the others would be as well. Time to hit the back door. Five minutes later I was there, two gems in hand, a topaz and a grayish diamond that retailers identify as ‘champagne’ in an effort to glorify crap goods. Both held low level spells, well under 100 megamerlin, low enough that whatever sensors she might have wouldn’t be triggered. I hoped.
I breathed an activation word and the diamond glowed faintly, a dirty green-white. The glow never intensified, but little pinhead motes separated themselves from the center and floated toward the door lock, disappearing inside the keyhole. Click.
I set the topaz in the middle of the 4x4 concrete slab that was the back porch. It glowed only briefly when I uttered the trigger word before winking out. I started a mental countdown … three-hundred, two-hundred ninety-nine, two-hundred ninety-eight. Everything was ready.
Easing through the back door, I found myself in a room too dark to see much besides vague black humps and bumps. Night-vision put paid to the dark and the bizarre world of black and white came into view. Kitchen tile cool under my feet with an island four feet away and an LG stainless side by side on the opposite wall. In fact, all the appliances were stainless with pots and pans hanging on a half-moon rack over the island. Toaster, coffeemaker, butcher-block cutting board, salt and pepper mills, Shun knives, and a food processor were laid decoratively around the dark granite countertop. The whole thing looked like an ad from Williams-Sonoma.
To my left, an archway led to a dining room, while straight ahead another led to what I supposed was the living room. I decided on the dining room first. That contained an expensive looking oak table covered in an intricate teak inlay with six chairs surrounding. A wood and glass faced hutch looked to be crammed with antique plates and crystal stemware. Whoever owned this house had spared no expense on furnishings. Even my yearly salary would be hard-pressed to finance such understated trappings.
From the dining room, I could see half of the living area, blond hardwood floor covered by a genuine Persian rug, an antique grandfather clock, and a wood and cushion settee. The rosewood coffee table with its scattering of magazines cost more than my dad made in a year. I began to suspect that this might be Win’s house, her bolt-hole right near the Bureau.
Quietly, I ghosted into the other room.
Thanks to a Silencer spell, I didn’t hear Win’s shotgun go off, but I sure felt the result.
The floor found my butt as quickly as the deer slug found my ribs under my right arm. The Kevlar and titanium stopped the round, but the full force of its awesome kinetic energy was transferred to my ribs, breaking at least one and shooting the air out of my lungs.
Agony became the word of the day as I writhed on Winnie’s expensive hardwood floor, fighting to get air into my burning chest. Every attempt to cudgel my paralyzed diaphragm resulted in a needle-sharp stab of pain from my abused ribs.
“You know,” came the hateful voice, all traces of her slow west Texas drawl gone, replaced by pure Anglican. “I detected that cyber-spook sniffing around, looking for me. In fact, I expected it.”
All I could do was perfect my landed fish routine.
Winnie … no, Margaret Whitcombe, came into view as I thrashed, a Mossburg 930 SPX shotgun cradled in one arm. Where Winnie held herself loosely, as if her bones were connected by rubber bands, this woman was strung tighter than piano wire—hard, lean and ready to explode in an instant.
Her thin lips twisted into what a psychopath might call a smile. “You are so predictable, Kal.” She prodded me with a foot, which did my ribs no good. “When you can breathe again, please take off your coat and all your armor.” Sneering, she left my field of vision.
Suddenly my diaphragm unclenched and I almost sobbed in release and shrieked in pain at the same time as my broken rib strenuously objected to the pumping of my lungs. “Damn it!” I hissed, black spots swimming in my vision.
“Off with your clothes, Kal. And please … use only two fingers when removing your weapons. I know how well you shoot.” This last delivered with a metric ton of acid.
“Not … well … enough,” I gasped, sitting up and shrugging out of my Faraday coat. “Not near … well enough.”
I half-expected a shot, but none came. “You are such a funny boy, Kal. I just bet your dying words are going to be a scream.”
A part of me was sure she was right.
When my lungs stopped their frantic swelling for air, I was finally able to focus on Margaret as she lounged at the bottom of a stairway to the second floor. Jeans, cowboy boots, red checked flannel shirt, short ginger hair, three diamond stud earrings, freckles and a shotgun (pointed at an area just south of my navel). Yep, all there and ready to scare.
Then I spied with my little eye something that almost caused me to lose twenty pounds, all brown.
Not three feet from her right hand stood a little side table, a Chinese looking thing with stylized flowers and ivy delicately painted on the body. But what lay on its black granite top gave me the galloping willies.
A cylinder, perhaps two-and-a-half feet tall, rested on a circular base about six inches wider than the cylinder’s diameter. Coiled round and round the base and twisting up the cylinder itself was a length of very thin silvery wire, completely encasing every inch. Here and there on the cylinder small diamonds glittered and glowed, maybe a half-carat each, and the silvery wire seemed to run through them. A length of wire trailed from the base for about eighteen inches, wrapping twice around a pair of diamonds the size of my thumb that glowed blue and green respectively. The other end of the wire on top of the cylinder led to a large ruby that rested on a silvery block of metal about two inches thick and six high. The wire wrapped twice around the ruby as well. Next to this bizarre contraption was a black RediPad, its screen glowing dimly.
There are defining moments in life where the paradigm shifts and takes you in directions you’re not sure you want to go. They either lead to Good Things or Bad Things. My encounter with Iku-Torso was a Bad Thing. That contraption in Margaret’s possession was another one.
A Tesla coil … a magical Tesla coil.
Crap.
Tesla Coils are devices that generate high voltage, high current, and high frequency alternating current electricity. They create impressive electrical arcs and lighting effects. The Bureau had been trying to produce a working magical Tesla coil since the early 1900s, with no success. It was considered the holy grail of every Bureau-like agency in the world; whoever developed it would have access to a much greater amount of magical energy—like having the A-bomb while everyone else had slingshots. The last time someone had tried to fabricate a working magical Tesla coil, all that had been left of the developer was a pile of greenish goo that resembled lime Jell-O.
Somehow, maybe by raiding the databases of the two most powerful Bureaus in the world, Margaret had managed to produce one. It certainly explained how she’d breached the Warehouse’s defenses. Sheer raw magical power.
We were neck deep in the latrine for sure.
Her echoing laughter was pure liquid mean. “I see you understand the situation now. And if you’re wondering … yes, it works.”
My armor came loose and thunked to the floor. Just a t-shirt and leg armor left. I stood slowly so I could remove the leggings. “You lured the team to Denver because you were finished with the … coil. You still had some gems to steal, but you wanted to get to BB so you could get the list.” The pieces fit together neatly, so neatly that it made me sick. “I thought it was about the gems, the vampire, but it was about the list. It was always about the list, once you completed the coil.”
The shotgun never wavered as I stripped off my leggings and dropped them to the floor. Now all that protected the family jewels was my Far Side boxers. “Nice to see you’re not a tighty whitey man,” she remarked blandly. “But if you must know, it was about both the coil and the artifacts. Imagine the energy this coil could produce by harnessing the power of, oh … let’s say … the First Tablet of Babylon, the Spear of Longinus, or the Grail. Imagine the force that could be unleashed with Excalibur!” Her eyes went to a far off place where only loonies dared to tread.
“You’re not really going to let my dad go, are you?” I glared hot death at her.
She remained unfazed. With one hand she touched the RediPad, fingers flying over its virtual keyboard. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see what was on the screen of the little 8x10 inch flat pc. Keeping an eye on both the pad and me, she laid a hand on the gem glowing red on top of the coil. After a few seconds her mouth thinned and she seemed to strain with internal effort. Finally, she grunted and smiled. “There.”
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “What?”
“You and your team are very clever, but you didn’t catch the spyeyes I had installed in the trees outside of this property, both tech and magical. I spotted you and yours ages ago, dear boy, and have now rendered them unconscious, despite those gorgeous Faraday Coats.”
My stomach did a little flip-floppy thing.
She raised the shotgun, pointing the barrel directly between my eyes. “And to answer your question: yes, your father will be freed once I have the artifact list. Alas, dear boy, you will not. Nor will BB.”
My mental clock counted down … forty-five … forty-four … “You win then, Margaret. I know why you want me dead, but tell me this: how did you survive with two bullets in your left lung?”
She hung a twisted grin on her face that sent a spike of fear into my heart. “One thing about vampires is true … their blood does have regenerative properties.”
Thirty-three, thirty-two. “You know why I did it, don’t you? I couldn’t let it use you to get to us. Better dead than food, right?”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” she screamed, voice shrill and face turning a mottled red. Her mind was obviously taking a walk off the map. “Do you know what I’ve had to do in the last few years to stay alive? The degradation? The horrors I’ve seen? A master vampire, you idiot! They know of more evil than you could possibly imagine.”
Twenty-one. “Win, I—”
“I’ve been to Hell, boy! A Hell you know nothing about, one you can’t even conceive of!”
Fifteen, fourteen. The need to keep her talking twisted through me. “I’m so sorry, Win, I really am …”
Two strides forward and the shotgun rested under my chin. “You will be sorry,” she snarled, dripping hate. “But first the list. NOW!”
Seven, six “All right … no problem.” Four. “I have a printout in my web belt.” Two. “Let me get it.” One.
Margaret held up a hand while keeping the shotgun jutted under my chin. “Wait … back up slowly, I’ll get it.”
Zero … negative one … negative two … What had happened? Something should have happened! Where did I—
BOOM!
“Okay, Kal,” Alex had whispered earlier at the Warehouse, holding two gems in his palm. One was a grayish diamond, the other a topaz. “These are poor quality, but will do the trick.”
I stared at the little gems and flicked the diamond with a pinky. “One of these is the lockpick, right?” He nodded toward the diamond. “Good. What does the other one do?”
Alex smiled like a proud papa. “This topaz is a distraction device. Has the kick of an M80, but with twice the light and noise. It’ll definitely get someone’s attention.”
“What’s so special about that?”
“When activated, it has a five minute delay … like a fuse. If you repeat the activation word, it will deactivate. I call it the Yellow Grenade.”
I smiled. “Now that’s what I’m talking about, kid!”
A ‘distraction,’ he called it. Might as well have called it ‘the loudest freakin’ noise you’ve ever heard in your life’. Margaret flinched in surprise and it was enough.
My hand batted the Mossberg to one side and I stepped in, throwing a punch to her ribs. Had my own been in good shape it would’ve caused real damage, but a stab of agony from a broken rib robbed the strike of force. It was enough, however, to drive her back a couple of steps so she could pull the trigger. The deer slug stirred the air by my left ear, a brutal reminder that I wasn’t bulletproof.
I stepped in again, throwing an overhand left and she dropped the Mossberg. At that point, it would only get in the way. She blocked the left and countered with stiffened fingers to my broken rib. Breath left my lungs in a wheeze, but I followed through with a head butt that crunched her nose but good, spewing blood from both nostrils. She fell back toward the stairs, broken nose bent to the left, and I followed, ready to end it.
Too cocky. With a mushmouthed mutter, her diamond earrings glowed.
Uh-oh. Heart and stomach bounced off the floor.
Faster than human, she was on me, peppering me with blows I couldn’t avoid. Mike Tyson-caliber punches that broke my jaw and had me on my knees in an instant retching blood.
“You … always were clever, Kal,” she gasped with a mouth full of blood while stumbling toward the Tesla coil,. “Too damn clever for your own good.” Her hand found the gem on top. “I don’t even care much about the list anymore. I’ll find some those artifacts on my own.” She stroked the ruby. “With this, I can do almost anything.” Eyes blazing, she grimaced at me through the film of blood on her lips.
I reached for it and it was there, the rage … a deep and abiding well, ready to be tapped. So tap it I did. My pummeled and broken ribs hollered at me in a voice as loud as the world, but I was deaf. My jaw pulsed something fierce, but I didn’t feel it. All I heard was the singing of my blood; all I could feel was the heat in my veins.
First step … hands outstretched.
Her eyes narrowed.
Second step … and I froze.
She smiled.
Something warmed on my chest and belly … Third step.
Eyes widening in disbelief, she mouthed words I couldn’t hear through the singing.
Once again I froze fast in the grip of a paralysis spell that hit like a Peterbuilt. Something sizzled on the skin of my chest and I smelled burnt hair. The Shape of my rage inside the cage of my stilled flesh fought the spell effects but was not enough. Desperately I reached for more, dug deep into the well of my soul and did what I’d always feared to do … let it all out, let it run free without shackles, without restraint.
Shrieking through my soul like a cacophony of the damned, the Shape of it crashed against the spell with a sound only I heard, crashed and won. My savage smile grew ever wider as the spell crumbled, ignoring it much like I ignored my wracked body.
Fourth step … Brownish black spots grew on the chest of my t-shirt as the coils of silver wire wrapped round and round and round my torso heated to almost red-hot after absorbing the energy that had slipped past the rage.
Dom stared as Alex wrapped my torso and upper arms in silver wire. “Are you crazy, boss? Is that your problem?”
“Crazy like a fox, Dom,” Alex smiled as he made another circuit with the wire. “This much silver wire will absorb a lot of magic. With the amount we’re using here, it will be more effective than a Faraday Jacket. The only problem is when it absorbs too much, it will begin to overheat.”
I grunted. “That prostitute in Denver wore silver, Dom. Absorbed enough of Winnie’s spell that she had to resort to getting her hands dirty. The first real clue Wilkes twigged to.”
“A skintight Faraday jacket,” chuckled Dom. “Or should I say, a Faraday t-shirt. But why? It’ll be difficult for you to move.”
My eyebrow headed north. “Just in case, Dom. Just in case.”
A fist to her face, all my power behind it, snapping her head back hard enough that it bounced off the wall, leaving a small dent in the drywall. A kick to the ribs that raised her two feet into the air, and I could feel her bones break under my foot. Two more kicks, stomach and hip, had her virtually senseless at my feet, eyes rolled to the back of her head.
Groaning, I ripped off the smoking t-shirt and stumbled into the kitchen. I hit the cold-water nozzle for the sink and pulled out the dish hose from its mount next to the faucet. Icy water sizzled and steamed as I showered myself, shuddering at the ferocious burning ache and the burnt pork smell of charred skin. Three, four minutes later I stumbled painfully back into the living room, silver wire fused into my melted flesh. Margaret lay moaning and twitching in a bloody heap on the floor amid the remains of her teeth, so I turned my attention to the coil.
Up close, something about the coil hurt my head and no matter what angle I chose, the pattern of diamonds studding the cylinder blurred my vision. From the pile of clothes, I found my smart phone. Scrolling through the icons, I selected VIDEO and hit RECORD. Thirty seconds were more than enough.
“You get that, Ghost?” My voice emerged as mushy wet rattle.
Bzzzz …”Yes, Kal, I’ve got it.”
“Good. You know what to do.”
“Good luck, Kal.” Click.
Time to end this farce, I though. I’d had enough. More than enough. Sue, Bryan, all those agents in the Warehouse, her victims in Denver. There had to be an accounting. The books must be balanced. And I had just the tool for the job.
The Mossberg was surprisingly light and felt like the well crafted, precision instrument of death it was designed to be. One good swing reduced the coil to a bundle of matchsticks and platinum wire, garbage for the heap. I then brought the business end around and pointed it at Margaret’s face.
She didn’t flinch as the barrel touched her forehead; her half-open eyes stared at me with a blend of hate and resignation. “You’re dead, Kal,” she gurgled through shredded lips and a throat full of blood. “You just don’t know it.”
My laughter was a brittle thing, made of regret and misery. “Of course I know it. I’ve been dead for twenty years.”
The Mossberg roared silently.
“Boss! Boss!” Whoever was speaking sure sounded worried. “Please boss, wake up!”
It had been so long since I had a decent night’s sleep. What day was it? Wednesday? Thursday? So hard to remember. Yeah, Thursday morning, I think. Gee, last good sleep was two days ago. Only two days? That wasn’t right … so much had happened since I stumbled hung-over into the office on Monday.
“Boss!” Cool water passed my teeth and trickled down my throat. So good. My lips hungrily pursed for more.
“That’s it, boss. Drink up.”
“How is he?” Something told me I should’ve known the second voice. The thump of many feet vibrated the floor beneath me and with it came the buzz of many whispers.
“Looks like ten miles of rough road,” said the first voice as I gulped more sweet liquid. “Broken jaw, nose and god knows what else. Plus major burns on his torso, more than I want to look at. Seems like he was right about the silver, but pulling it off will peel a lot of skin off with it.”
“Damn, what a mess.” I felt someone come close. “I’m gonna fix you up right, Kal. Okay?”
“Okay, Alex,” I mumbled through the blood and water in my mouth. My eyes opened, Dom and Alex coming into blurry view. “But first … Dad and BB … the basement.” God, it hurt so much to talk. The pain from my broken jaw was tearing my skull apart.
Dom’s eyes widened. “You sure, boss?”
I nodded. “She knew we were coming … would want to keep them close … kill them in front of me just to torture me.” A tooth wiggled loose and I spat it out. “Careful … may be a booby trap or two.”
Dom and two others left to check the basement while Alex pulled out a sapphire and laid a hand on my forehead. “Just relax, Kal. You’re less beat up than when you fought that ghoul in your apartment.”
“Wait, kid …”
“What?”
“Grab a couple of those diamonds from that smashed coil over there … we’re gonna need them.”
He left for a few seconds and came back. “Done, boss.” The sapphire found my forehead again. “Now can I heal you?”
Sighing, I surrendered to the magic.
Golden warmth flowed through me, a relaxing, soothing feeling … much better than anything I’ve felt in, well, better than anything … even drawing four aces in Texas Hold ’em at the Bellagio.
“Son, are you okay?”
Aw, Dad … let me sleep.
“Son, you have to wake now.”
But I feel so good.
A different voice cut in. “Get up, Kal, it’s time to go. Come on, soldier, up and at ’em.”
Soldier? Time to go? Really … awww … that sucked. I cracked open one eye to see Dad’s round peasant face hovering over me. “Just one more hour, Dad. I’m tired.” How many times this week had I woken like this? Far too many, it seemed.
His face split into a wide smile. “Good to see you awake, boy. Your man Alex tells me you took quite a knock-about.”
Alex? Oh yeah … Alex … Margaret … the shotgun and the skull blowing apart like a watermelon hurled at pavement. “Urgh … help me up, will you, Dad?”
Strong hands gently assisted me to my feet, where I swayed a few moments before discovering equilibrium. Dad’s hand stayed on my shoulder the entire time, a pillar of steadiness.
Raising my head and opening my eyes wide, I took stock of my surroundings. The place was empty, wiped clean with typical Bureau efficiency. Only the holes from the deer slugs remained and I was willing to bet my last paycheck that they would be gone very soon.
Belatedly, I realized I wore nothing but my boxers. My hands caressed the tight skin of my chest, feeling the slight ridges of scar tissue from the touch of burning silver, a melty line that went round and round my torso and upper arms. At least it didn’t hurt anymore.
“Everything’s been disposed of,” BB remarked offhandedly, a bright shiner painting his left eye in glorious purple. “Alex just left and the rest of your team is waiting for us in the van.” He ran a long finger up my shoulder. “He did a great job on you, Kal. A lot less scarring that I thought.”
“The Tesla coil?” I kept my voice casual.
“Smashed to bits in your struggle.”
Aw darn. “Too bad.”
The look he tossed my way told me he was saving plenty of questions for later. Then, slowly, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, he smiled. I almost passed out from shock.
“Good job, Kal.” His hand found mine and pumped it hard. “Damn good job.”
Dad leaned close. ‘Thanks, son.”
I pasted a tired grin on my worn out face. “No problem, Dad.” To BB, “Boss, my contract’s up in five months. I quit.”