Oban Nassar walked over to his desk—a black-and-gold marble monstrosity that screamed of decadence and power—and picked up a handful of dates. He took a bite of the sweet fruit as he walked around and leaned against the front of his desk. He said, “I’m sure you gentleman can understand our concern for security, considering the audacious and insulting nature of your attack on one of our associates merely to get our attention.”
Ackerman could feel the telepathic bullets Marcus was sending his way. Perhaps he had been a bit overzealous, but the message seemed to have been received in the manner he had intended.
He said, “Sometimes a situation calls for a certain level of audacity.”
Marcus snapped, “Shut up, Frank. My partner didn’t mean to insult you, Mr. Nassar. He can be a bit … abrasive.”
Oban raised a date to his mouth and bit down to the pit. “Are you aware of our company’s reputation, gentlemen? There are some horrible rumors floating around. Jealous competitors and governmental bureaucracies claim that our methods are extreme, but I feel that we have always displayed a measured response dictated purely by the nature of our business.”
Turning away from Oban, Ackerman faced the nearest of the armed guards, who stood beside a row of dark bookshelves. With a smile, he said, “The nature of the business we have come to discuss warranted a proper introduction.”
“Attacking one of our associates is how you like to introduce yourselves?”
Ackerman replied, “No, that was merely setting the appointment, and the stage. This is the introduction.”
On the last word, he leaped toward the closest bookshelf, pushing off the third level and diving toward the nearest guard. His bicep collided with the gunman’s throat. Ackerman squeezed and used the stunned man to change direction again, pulling the guard off balance and coming up directly behind the man. Just as he had mentally choreographed, he then grabbed the man by the gun arm, wrenched up, and tore the shoulder from its socket. In the same motion, he grabbed the H&K rifle by its grip and, holding it like a handgun, pointed it toward Oban.
Ackerman said, “Here’s the thing. Well, the first thing. You don’t really want to kill us, because you need to know who we actually work for. These men have been ordered to harm us only if absolutely necessary. That creates a hesitation in their actions, which leaves an opening for attack.”
Oban took another bite and said, “I’ll make a note for future reference.”
Ackerman kicked the guard away and made a show of disassembling the assault rifle, piece by piece, dropping each component to the floor. His fingers flew over the weapon with intimate knowledge. While in various institutions and in other down times throughout his life, he had studied all manner of weapons to their exact specifications. In those days, his access to the Internet was extremely limited, but a keen intellect could find ways to learn most anything.
He named off the components as his fingers gripped and pushed against the release mechanisms.
Once the last piece of the weapon had hit the floor, he continued, “Second thing. If the kind of service we have come to offer states that we can reach out and touch anyone, anywhere, anytime … Then how better to prove ourselves than by showing how easily we could kill you. But if we had come to harm you, then we would have done it already. Now, can we dispense with this nonsense and discuss business?”
Oban finished off the last of the dates and, to his men, said, “Stand down.” Then he gestured for two chairs to be brought over. “Please. Have a seat. You were right about my desire to know more about who employs the both of you, along with the Asian woman from last night.”
Ackerman dropped into one of the chairs. Marcus seemed hesitant, his jaw clenched and his face growing red. But, after a moment, he too sat down in front of Oban Nassar’s desk. Ackerman said, “Let’s just get the obvious question off the table. Are we cops or law enforcement of any kind? Well, I can assure you that I’m not on the side of any law beyond God and nature.”
Oban crossed his arms. “Why would you ever think that our company would want to hire a service that can, as you said, ‘reach out and touch someone?’ We’re an investment and asset-management firm. We have no need of such services.”
Marcus said, “We’ve done work back east for Eddie Caruso. We’re branching out, and he told us that you own north Cali. He suggested we reach out to you.”
“Yes, your associates mentioned that to Mr. Willoughby. But I also knew because Eddie—or The Great Caruso, as they call him now—contacted me this morning. He let me know to be expecting you.”
Ackerman maintained his expression despite the urge to roll his eyes. Marcus didn’t seem to be keeping his composure quite as well. His brother’s voice was almost a snarl when he replied, “And what did dearest Eddie have to say about us? Nice things, I hope.”
Oban smiled. “I assume that you’re Marcus. Eddie told me all about you. He said you were a cop.”