Twisted City (16 page)

“Remember,
Mr. Burtle isn’t senile, he just can’t see very well,” Mongoose tells Lathan
once more as the two
stand
in front of the door.

Mongoose
knocks on the door four times, waits a few seconds and knocks again.

“Does
his hearing still work well?” Lathan asks after waiting a while longer.

“Yeah,
I guess.” Mongoose says, and goes to banging on the door.

They
hear some commotion on the other side of the door and then a voice mumbling
incoherently. Mongoose bangs annoyingly on the door until the voice gets louder
and aggravated and when the door opens the old man yells, “What the hell is
going on out here?”

Mr.
Burtle is a small man with a bald head wreathed in gray hair from ear to ear.
Thick lensed spectacles that comically enhance his eyes three times their
normal size are perched on a small pointy nose. A funny looking man and one may
even say funnier looking when made irritated as he is now. He stares at
Mongoose, who isn’t much taller than himself, and then up at Lathan, regarding
both with such powerful
indignance
that if someone
else was to see him just then they will swear that he has just been profoundly
wronged by the two in some way.

Lathan
quickly speaks up, fearing the old man is about to go into fits. “We’re very
sorry to disturb you, sir, but I’m doing a thorough sweep of all residential
buildings, under strict orders of Mr. James Grant, in tracking and
exterminating a new breed of rodent-insect that is a prime carrier of disease
that will spread quickly if not contained.”

Mr.
Burtle’s
eyes get even bigger.
“Rodent-insects!
Spreading disease? Here?”

“Yes, sir.
But so far we’ve only had one serious
case.
The Smiths just two buildings down.
A terrible thing.
I’d rather not go into details but I will
say this, it was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen. It was already too
late when we found them. The things are fast but we were able to catch one of
them. Would you like to see?”

As
Lathan reaches into a small bag, Mr. Burtle, already half frightened from the
news of a new breed of rodent-insect spreading disease, recoiled apprehensively
as if Lathan is about to strike him down.
“Good God no!
I don’t want to see it!”

“No
need to worry, sir. It’s dead so it is quite harmless.” Lathan holds up a nasty
looking brown clump a few inches in length. Dark folds of shredded muscle
overlap and are shrunk together. In the eyes of a nearly blind person it may appear
to be just as Lathan says it is, a dead, diseased riddled rodent-insect, but
later on Lathan will retrieve it and take a delicious bite out of it.
And why not?
Spicy beef jerky is one of his favorite snacks.

Mr.
Burtle cautiously leans forward from the waist to examine the thing pinched
between Lathan’s index finger and thumb. His old wrinkled face contorts with
revulsion.

Before
he gets too close Lathan bags the jerky-rodent-insect and says, “We must act
fast, sir. I’ll need to take a look around your place; under your furniture, in
your closets, cabinets, nooks and crannies. They can be anywhere.”

Mr.
Burtle blinks rapidly. “I’ve never seen any rodents or insects in here. I keep
a clean place.”

“Neither
cleanliness nor filthiness matters to these things. They survive solely on
blood.
Human blood.”

This
bit of information seems to rock the old man’s world.
“Blood!
What in hell?”

“Yes.
What in hell is certainly
right.
So if you will allow
us to come in we will make this as fast as possible.”

Mr. Burtle steps back inside and holds
the door open for them to come in.
They enter what was once a small waiting area and secretary’s station that
branches off into two rooms. Now it looks much like a home furnished with a
couch, a recliner, a coffee table, a dinner table and chairs. Everything is
neatly placed and it does look clean.

“I’ll
start in here,” Lathan says.

He
lifts up the couch cushions, pulls it out from the wall and glimpses behind it,
pushes it back against the wall and repeats the process with the recliner. As
he does this Mongoose is on the other side of the room doing the same. He asks
the kid if he sees anything suspicious.

“Nope.
Nothing so far.”

Mr.
Burtle stands by the door as if he may bolt at any second.

Lathan
points at the two doors on the other side of the room. “What’s in there?”

“The
one on the right is my bedroom. The one on the left is where I’ve stored all my
belongings.”

“I’m
going to ask you to stay out here for your own safety.”

“Yes.
Yes, of course,” Mr. Burtle absolutely agrees.

Lathan
says to Mongoose, “Stay out here with him. If anything should happen, make sure
he gets to safety.”

“Okay,”
Mongoose endorses, trying his best to keep the imminent giggle from resounding
in his voice.

Lathan
enters through the door to the right and closes it behind him. There is a
single size box spring bed with two small
chest
of
drawers flanking both sides. Bookshelves built within the wall to the right are
filled with several books and stacks of paper. He goes straight to the
bookshelf.

The
bookshelf was perfectly constructed and installed within the wall, giving the
optical illusion that it is part of the buildings original interior design and
cannot be moved. Lathan goes to one side, reaches high into a corner, and
pushes. There’s a click and then the bookshelf moves forward an inch. Lathan
grabs hold of one of the shelves and swings the entire bookshelf outward. The
safe is 18” x 18”
,
its dial in the middle is numbered
zero to sixty. He knows the combination by heart. He turns the dial to the
correct numbers, turns the latch, and opens the door. Inside is a black
Samsonite briefcase. He takes it out, closes the door, and pushes the bookshelf
back in place. Without further ado he and Mongoose leave Mr.
Burtle’s
home while giving him two thumbs up and assuring
him that he will never have to worry about any diseased riddled blood thirsty
rodent-insects terrorizing him, he can sleep safe and sound, and the old man
never even noticed the black briefcase Lathan carries out with him.

The
story Lathan told Mongoose before they went to retrieve the briefcase was a
simple enough story. Lathan had a friend who used to work at the
Harrington
International,
his office used to be what is now Mr.
Burtle’s
home, and this friend left a briefcase with documents and letters in a safe
behind a bookshelf that are more of sentimental value than anything else and
he, Lathan, wanted to retrieve them for their sentimental value. Although
Lathan made it all sound so convincing Mongoose knows this to be only half
true. A friend who used to work here? Sure, why not.
A
briefcase full of documents and letters?
Maybe.
That they are more of sentimental value than anything else? Not likely.
Mongoose’s experience with old world deceit taught him to be able to differentiate
between truths and good lies. When someone seems to tell you everything there
is to tell
about a
certain something, especially when
they suddenly decide to use your willing assistance, half of it can be thrown
out as a lie, maybe even more, because they’re most likely making up some of
the story as they go along. But if they give you only specifics but keep
dishing out a bunch of unrelated information, or maybe slightly related in an
indirect way, you can bet that a good portion of that is also false. Usually,
not always, but usually when someone can back up what they tell you with some
show of proof can you then take it at face value.

Once
Lathan had possession of the briefcase he wanted to leave without even checking
the other room, making his story of a rodent-insect infestation look anything
but legit, but Mr. Burtle was so relieved to hear that everything was well and
clear that he didn’t seem to notice anyway. And it didn’t much matter to
Mongoose either because he’d already been paid. He tried to convince Lathan to
come back to his place to meet Max and kick it for a little while, hoping to
coax more information out of him and maybe even get a
peak
inside the briefcase (whatever is inside has to be good) but Lathan was
suddenly hit with the need to hurry back to his place. He had things to do, but
he’d catch up with him later.
Another lie.

Without
breaking stride Lathan goes straight to his place. He lays the briefcase flat
on his table and takes a moment to simply stare at its black leather exterior.
He slides the tips of his fingers over its smooth surface and down to the
combination locks at the sides of the handle. The combination he also knows by
heart. With his thumbs he rolls the dials to the correct numbers and pushes the
two buttons, releasing the latches. He opens the briefcase. Inside is a plain
white envelope and under the envelope is a metal box. The envelope is unsealed,
he opens the flap and extracts the folded piece of paper inside and reads what
is written. He reads it a second time, much slower, giving it much more
considerable thought. The relief he felt at finally retrieving the briefcase is
replaced by dejection. Although he made a promise, took an oath, and will see
to it that it is fulfilled, he never expected this.  The particulars are
so astounding that he doesn’t even think that this is possible. Yet if it
wasn’t possible then why would he be here right now?

Brakida
Mountains.
He will be traveling a lot further
than expected. And the name of the person who is mentioned in the letter
doesn’t even sound familiar.

He
slips the letter back into the envelope and puts it back in the briefcase while
lifting the steel box out of the briefcase. Examining the steel box, it is
nearly half the length and width of the briefcase, the surface is smooth with
no visible markings of any kind, and a small round disc about half an inch in
diameter is the only abstract piece on the box. He fiddles with it and
discovers that the disk-like cover moves to the side but springs back when
released.
A keyhole cover.
He pushes it to the side to
examine the keyhole, one that is very different than he’s ever seen before.
Tiny springy flaps conceal the keyhole. He takes the smallest tool he has and
gently inserts it into those tiny flaps.
ZAP!
He impulsively jumps up,
instantly releasing the tool as he shakes the electrical shock out of his hand.
Ouch!
What the hell is that? Some kind of self-generated electrical
current built within the box to prevent anyone from picking it open. He won’t
try that again.

He
lays it back down in the briefcase, unknowingly covering the letter that lay
inside, a detrimental mistake leaving it in there, but if he’d thought about it
he would have ripped it to shreds and burned the pieces. He will later regret
not doing so.

James
Grant sits in his comfortable couch and sips from a glass of watered down Jack
to help dull the slight headache he woke up with this morning. He isn’t a big
drinker, not like he once was, only on special occasions anymore, and last night
had been a special one. Although he did not drink a drop of whiskey last night,
he did have his fair share of wine and wine
always
gives him a
morning-after headache. He took two aspirins from his personal stash and soon
after half of his glass of watered down whiskey was gone so was the headache
and now the headache has been replaced with deep curiosity.

When
he first met Lathan he sensed something suspicious about him, but nothing as
identifiable of good or bad. He definitely portrays himself as being a man of
many secrets; secrets not easily shared. James isn’t leery of Lathan, at least
not in the sense that he is fearful of him.
No, nothing so
drastic.
He just feels that there is something there that he can’t quite
put his finger on.
Suspicions
.
So for
his own peace of mind he assigned one of his men to follow him wherever he went
outside the building, paying close attention to what he did and who he spoke
to, even if he, James himself, was with him. But nothing even mildly
interesting or suspicious ever turned up. Not long after Lathan made his heroic
move outside the gate James came close to calling off his spy (and for the
record he does not like to call it “spying”) but something urged him on so
after Lathan was well enough to get around again the spy continued his spying.

In
this day and age nothing can be rightly labeled as normal. Lathan came out of
nowhere driving what is one of the last model SUV’s ever manufactured, in
pristine condition save for a crack across the windshield, loaded down with
weapons galore (and for some personal reason he is now transforming into some
kind of war machine) and saves his niece from being raped and possibly murdered
by slicing up the two would-be rapist/murders with a katana sword. He is
unwilling to talk about where he came from, where he’s been, and where he
intends to go.

And now this.

A briefcase.

A
briefcase that he was not in possession of while entering the old
Harrington
International
building but he had possession of coming out and was in quite
a hurry coming back to his building.

Now
that
is unusual and suspicious.

Does
Lathan know someone in that building? And if so, what business can they
have?  His spy says that he stayed outside and waited for him to come back
out, thinking that Lathan might have spotted him and he did not want to risk
further discovery.

“You
did the right thing,” James assured him. “The last thing I want him to think is
that he’s being followed. What did you say the briefcase looked like?”

“Black
in color, and like any kind you’d see most business men carrying around back in
the day.” He waits for James to respond but when he doesn’t he says, “Do you
want me to go inside his place and check it out?
Shouldn’t be
a problem as long as he’s gone.”

James
falls into deep thought. It is none of his business what is inside that
briefcase but he is so damn curious. Is that what Lathan is here for? That
briefcase and whatever is inside? It has to be very important for a man of his
caliber to be hurrying back with it. A man like him will kill for something he
wants or believes in, that much is obvious. Intuition tells him that Lathan
will surely seriously hurt, if not kill, someone who invades his personal space
and belongings, won’t even think twice about it, pure instinct. James does not
want that. Lathan is a
friend,
and an ally, this is
his home now and James has made that clearly and publicly understood.

Yet
he has him followed and spied on as if he is not to be trusted.

“No,”
James finally answers. “Just keep doing what you’ve been doing and nothing
more. You’ve done well. Just make sure . . .” Make sure of what? He isn’t quite
sure. Yet
something
is there, just below the surface.
But
what?
“Just make sure no one gives him any trouble.”

After
he hears himself say that he realizes how ridicules it sounds and he wishes he
could take it back. Someone, anyone, giving Lathan trouble is an unlikely
occurrence. Even the most malevolent of people will be forced to keep
themselves in check when dealing with Lathan for fear of what he is capable of
and no one wants an up-close and personal altercation with the man’s blade.
It’s obvious by the way people treat Lathan, they respect him for what he has
done for everyone thus far, but they also fear him because of it as well.

Either
way, James lets it go at that. His spy leaves to go on with his spying while
James relaxes on his comfortable couch, sipping his watered down drink and
letting his thoughts wonder into the many different avenues of his mind.