Morty had to admit it. He looked good tonight. Purple tights tucked into low, pull-on boots in a black suede. Lavender tunic almost to his knees, with a white belt and lots of showy pockets embroidered in white.
Even if the night was a bust, he could get into the nicest restaurants and parties in this rig. That dude must have really owed Omerlon a big favor. Even Xiomber was presentable, though he looked more like a banker, or a mortician, in severe black pants and blazer over a black shirt and black tie. Seriously, that lizard was a hole in the night, standing next to a supernova of awesome.
It wasn’t Omerlon’s champagne, but the house stuff was still damned good, as the three of them chatted about nothing and sipped. Omerlon was wearing a white toga tonight that made him look like how the Chaa were always portrayed on television. Even down to the purple stripe around the edge.
“Enjoying yourselves, gentlemen?” Omerlon asked, looking like a cat with the best cream in town.
“Indeed,” Xiomber replied with a nod. “Ravishing.”
Morty expected his egg-brother to click his heels together or something. What had come over the boy?
“This is a mark of my control of Orgoth Vortai,” Omerlon swept a hand out and nearly whacked a goon in the face.
Both bodyguards took a step back in unison, so Morty presumed that the man gestured a lot when he spoke. Useful to know.
“We’re convinced,” Xiomber said. “Right now, we’re down to brass tacks. Retirement plans and profit sharing.”
“Is that how Maximus did it?” Omerlon half-sneered and looked half-interested in the information.
“Among other things,” Morty heard Xiomber reply.
Morty’s attention was suddenly riveted onto a figure up on the balcony. Huge, even for a Vanir, if the Borren next to him was a good measure of size. The blond hair was long enough that it would get shaggy soon, and the beard was a pretty good disguise, but Morty had helped Talyarkinash with the basic upgrade designs.
That was Gareth. As a Vanir. Here. At this party.
Looking this way.
Their eyes met. Locked.
“Fardel,” Morty ejaculated before he could contain it.
“What?” Xiomber turned towards him, but Morty nudged him and gestured to the balcony with his chin.
Even Omerlon grew interested enough to glance over his shoulder.
“Oh, shit,” Xiomber muttered under his breath before raising his voice just enough for Omerlon to hear. “We’re blown.”
Morty was gone as soon as Xiomber said the word. If Gareth was here, there would be others.
There. The crazy Vanir cop chick from Hurquar. The other guy was probably her partner, the two them in dress uniforms tonight while Gareth had been in mufti.
Definitely time to skedaddle.
He could hear Xiomber right behind him, those mortician shoes slapping angrily at the marble with every step, while Morty’s boots squeaked.
A heavier tread close behind was Omerlon, trusting their instincts and joining them in flight.
Across the hall and past the giant head of the crazy Grace. Morty cursed whatever damned Grace architect had decided that stairs should slow you down to enjoy the art. Gareth was running after them with Vanir legs, and Morty couldn’t just throw himself forward if he wanted to make it to the bottom without any broken limbs.
And that fat bastard Omerlon cheated. Hit the top of the steps and stuck his wings out sideways to glide to the ground floor while Morty and his egg-brother were only halfway down.
At least he opened the door for them, hard enough that the catch hadn’t swung it back in their faces by the time they got there.
Morty heard the crime boss calling for his car on a comm, so maybe they had a chance to get out of this, if they stayed close to the guy. He had been planning to hit the door and bolt sideways, making the cops pick who to chase down in the darkness, but a personal vehicle just might get away.
The truck landed. It looked like something a plumber might own, minus only the name and comm number on the side, but the back sprang open and the fat angel waddled up the steps inside.
Morty was right on his ass when he cleared the doorway, and Xiomber slammed it shut with all his might as he got in.
“Go.” Morty yelled at the driver, a head visible through a window to the cab.
Omerlon had landed himself in a throne, gasping for air like a grounded whale shark. Morty grabbed Xiomber and pushed him into a pair of seats at the front, backs to the driver and facing the fat man as the engines surged with power.
He took the moment to hook his seatbelt, laughing to himself while Xiomber did the same. They had both picked that up from Gareth, the very man chasing them.
The driver had slammed the throttle to the stops. The whole vehicle seemed to squat for a moment on its haunches, before it leapt into the night sky like a jaguar pouncing on a bird in a tree.
Morty and Xiomber shared a secret grin as Omerlon was nearly dumped on his ass before he managed to grab onto the arms of his seat. The truck was pulling something like two G’s, more or less straight up. Hopefully enough to get some distance before a local cop car could start after them.
After that, it was a matter of getting underground and hiding before the Constables brought in everybody in town down here to chase them.
A thump on the outside hull beside Morty sounded an awful lot like a big Vanir landing on the running boards next to the driver. A moment later, a thump that sounded like a fist hitting the window.
Knowing Omerlon, they were bullet-proof, but the crime boss had only been expecting a normal cop. That sort of thing might not stop Gareth, if Talyarkinash had actually pulled it off.
This was about to get ugly.
“Boss, we got a passenger on the outside,” the driver yelled as the vehicle kept surging upwards into the night sky.
“Dump him off,” Omerlon called back.
“Hang on,” the driver replied.
Morty and Xiomber were already buckled in. Omerlon managed to do the same just in time as the vehicle turned almost fifty degrees to the left.
It was like being on a ride at a carnival.
Another thump on the side of the panel truck. Louder.
Angrier, if Morty had to put a better adjective to it.
Yeah, that sounded like a modified human losing his temper out there.
“Who is this guy?” Omerlon fixed them with a hard stare.
“Constable,” Xiomber offered. “We’ve run into him a few times. Mean SOB. Even worse than Grodray and Baker.”
“And he just happened to recognize you at the Ball?” Omerlon sneered.
Morty just shrugged. No way to explain that without getting himself killed.
Outside the vehicle pitched again. The thumps on the driver’s window got louder.
Suddenly, the glass shattered, letting a ripping wind into the interior of the van.
The vehicle leveled off some, as the driver was suddenly too busy wresting with Gareth to try to shake him loose.
Omerlon reached inside his toga as the noise grew worse. He came out with a pistol and Morty felt all the blood pool in his stomach.
“Since you know the guy, I’ll let you die with him,” Omerlon snarled.
Before Morty could react, Omerlon shot the flight console twice. In a flash, the fat man moved to the rear door, pushed it open and stepped out into the night.
“See you in hell,” trailed back into the cabin with the wind.
The words were quiet, but Morty could still hear them clearly. All the engines had gone silent as the craft slowed to a halt, paused, and began to free-fall.