Phoenix RisingEight: Black Jack on Red QueenOnce MacGyver had made his way back to his Jeep, he drove straight for Baba’s house, fighting the urge to floor the gas pedal. A ticket for speeding would be bad enough, but any cop who got a good look at him would have a lot of time-consuming questions; and the reports of the fire at Brookhearst would have gone out by now. Mac was grubby and soot-smeared, and his black leather jacket reeked of smoke and chemical fumes; when a red light forced him to stop, he shucked it off and dumped it behind the passenger seat. The black tank-top underneath smelled too, but not as badly.
The momentary distraction helped him resist the urge to run the red light, although he chafed at every delay. Baranyev might already have sent someone to Baba’s house to ask awkward questions.
Or shoot first and ask questions later.There were no cars drawn up in front of the house, and it seemed quiet; but Mac’s heart lurched into his throat at the sight of a light in the living room window. Someone was up – at three o’clock in the morning. He ran up softly to the door and tried the handle without bothering to knock. The door was unlocked: another bad sign. He slipped inside and peered around the corner into the living room.
Jason was sitting on the couch, his face ashen, staring blankly into space. Tasha’s orange tabby cat was curled in his lap, but he barely seemed to notice it; the cat occasionally rubbed against his hand with its head, and Jason petted it mechanically for a moment before losing track. When Mac walked into the room, he started and seemed about to burst into tears.
“Oh God, Mac, you’re finally here – wait, what are you doing here?” His eyes finally focused for a moment. “You look like hell.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Oh, hell, I’m sorry.”
“Jason, what’s going on? Is Baba here?” Jason shook his head. “Where’s Tasha?”
“
I don’t know! She and Gina should have been back hours ago. I didn’t know what to do – Gina’s got a spare key, so I came over here to wait.”
“Whoa, slow down.” Mac’s own anxiety was ebbing; he couldn’t imagine either Baba or Tasha going without a fight, and there was no sign of a struggle. Even the exquisite coffee set was in place, every fragile china cup intact. “Back from where?”
“They went over to Bryce’s place. There was supposed to be some kind of study group meeting tonight – last night – maybe I’m overreacting. I just – Bryce gives me the creeps, and Gina doesn’t
get it. She thinks he’s harmless. I try to keep an open mind, but . . .”
“You don’t have to have such an open mind that your brains fall out,” Mac muttered. “Jason, where’s Baba?”
“Not here – Tasha said she went off to spend a few days with friends. I don’t know where. Tasha said – oh, hell, what was it? – Baba said she’d ‘done what she could’. I don’t know what she meant. I mostly don’t anyway.” He was clutching the cat more tightly, but the animal didn’t struggle away.
Mac’s world gave an Alice-in-Wonderland lurch.
Okay, Baba. Just what game are you playing at? How come you were so willing to help me get to Baranyev?An inner voice pointed out that he’d set out to use Baba for just that purpose.
Yeah. You bet. Who’s using who?When the phone rang, the jangle cracked right across silence and raw nerves. MacGyver and Jason both started at the sound; then Jason was grabbing at the receiver. “Hello?”
“Jay – Jay, is that you?” It was Tasha’s voice, sounding very muzzy and faint. Mac leaned over so he could hear as well. “Oh, crap. That’s right. Baba’s not home, is she?”
“No, but Mac and I are here. Tasha, are you all right? Where are you?”
“ ‘m not sure – can’t think – oh, God, my stomach hurts . . . ”
Mac took the phone from Jason. “Tasha, it’s Mac. What’s going on? Is Gina with you?”
“Dunno – just woke up – I think I’m still at Bryce’s. Back bedroom . . . I found a phone. I think he put something in the wine. Yeah. Must be Bryce’s. Local call. And his house stinks. Same smell.”
Mac looked at Jason. “How long to get to Bryce’s place?”
Jason blinked. “Maybe ten minutes. Not much traffic – ”
“Tasha, can you hear me? Stay put. Don’t go anywhere or do
anything. If anyone comes in, pretend that you’re still out cold. You understand?”
“ ‘k – ”
“We’re coming over to get you. Stay calm. We’ll be right there.” Mac rang off, leaned over Jason and gripped his arm, helping him to his feet. “C’mon, we’ll talk as we go. I’ll drive – you give me directions.”
Jason’s concentration was so scattered that Mac had to talk to him steadily as they drove, to make certain his mind stayed on track. “What’s goin’ on with Bryce? Has he got something against you and Gina?”
“Gina and I jumped the fire together on Midsummer, Mac. Remember? That means we’re engaged.” He pulled himself up a little straighter in his seat, shedding some of the helpless fog that had wrapped around him. “And if the DXS has a problem with that, they can go to hell.”
“Did Bryce have a problem with it?”
“Yeah, I think so. He was way too eager to play comforter for Gina when I didn’t come home last winter – and I don’t think he was real happy when I finally did.”
“I’ll bet. I kinda got that feeling myself.”
“You did? Christ, I wish I’d asked you about him earlier – I kept telling myself I should be – ”
“Yeah, I remember. More open-minded.”
“Mac, what do you think’s going on?”
“I can’t be sure, but Tasha sounded to me like she could’ve been dosed with rohypnol. You ever hear of Bryce going to that kind of length?”
“No – honestly, most of the time he doesn’t need to make an effort. He’s even more of a babe magnet than you are – he actually
tries, for one thing.” Mac gave Jason a quelling look, but the younger man didn’t notice. “He mostly targets women who don’t think they’re attractive, and anyone who wants to feel like they’re something special – he has a knack of really focusing his attention on you. And he’s usually really good at sorting out who’s susceptible.”
“He should’ve stayed away from Baba, then.”
“Yeah. I think he wanted the extra clout he thought he could get from hanging around her. You didn’t see him at his best at Midsummer – Tasha’s really good at needling him, and you threw him off his stride even farther. But he’s smooth. He always has a string of people signing up for classes and study groups – you know how the Bay Area is overflowing with folks looking for ‘spiritual enlightenment’. And somehow they’re always willing to chip in for his groceries and his beer money.”
“You mean he’s a con artist.”
“Not exactly. Half the time, I think he buys his own line of bull – he thinks he’s really a spiritual leader, and his ‘followers’ are just doing the right thing in keeping him afloat. If he had a little more ambition, he might grow up to be a con artist.”
φMost of the ten-minute drive to Bryce’s house followed a straight route right down the economic slope. The houses and apartment buildings grew shabbier, and more neglected; the cars parked on the street grew fewer, older, and more battered; lawns grew ill-kempt and then disappeared, replaced by patches of bare dirt and clumps of tall weeds. The occasional yards that retained their plantings were untended and overgrown, looking more like small patches of jungle than anything else.
MacGyver felt an odd sense of familiarity, and suddenly remembered his old buddy Jack Dalton. He hadn’t seen Jack in years – he’d lost touch with a lot of people after he’d started working for the DXS and had begun to travel so much of the time. He didn’t exactly miss Jack, though, not after the number of times he’d watched Jack’s self-destructive cycles in and out of this kind of neighbourhood – there was one like it in every city: the kind of place where the rent was low, the leases were short and the neighbours kept to themselves. And somehow those moves inevitably wound up with Mac doing the moving, or at least the heavy lifting.
When Jason pointed out Bryce’s house – a older, two-story house with peeling paint, a sagging screen door and dilapidated front steps – Mac drove past it and parked on the far side of the house next door. “Who’s likely to be there, besides Bryce and the girls?”
Jason shook his head, shrugging. “He’s always got a few housemates, but they come and go so fast I can’t keep track of them. Half of them are stoners – I think they pay in kind if they can’t make the rent.”
As they quietly approached the back door, MacGyver reached into his pocket for his knife, and scowled when he remembered.
Dang it! Still down two knives. As he looked around to see what else might be at hand, a movement caught his eye – a smoke-grey shape emerged from a narrow opening at the bottom of the window, landed lightly on the porch, and paused to sniff at Mac’s ankles before wrapping itself around them, purring enthusiastically.
Mac leaned down and scratched the cat’s ears and chin. “Thanks, buddy.” He hadn’t spotted the partly-open window. In the trash of the back yard, he located a piece of broken pipe with the right kind of bend towards the tip, and by standing on a handy milk crate, he was able to slide his arm in and reach far enough to catch the latch of the deadbolt on the back door.
Once inside, the first thing that hit them was the smell – stale and musty, with overtones of cigarette smoke and old pizza. Bryce might be able to con rent money from his housemates and beer money from his ‘students’, but it seemed he couldn’t con anyone into doing any housework. Mac’s own housekeeping was haphazard at best, but Bryce’s kitchen made him want to retch. He heard Jason behind him, stifling a choked cough.
“No wonder that cat was so friendly,” Jason murmured. “I mean, you smell like a chemical incinerator, but that’s got to be an improvement over all this.”
Mac gave him an annoyed look and gestured for him to be quiet. He could hear someone coming down the hall towards the kitchen. The man who shuffled in from the hallway was tall, beefy, and slovenly, wearing a pair of dirty sweatpants and a sweatshirt that looked and smelled as if he’d been sleeping in it for a week. He made a beeline for the refrigerator and stopped short at the sight of Jason and MacGyver.
“What the . . . ” He peered blearily at Jason. “Well, look at that. It’s Jay-boy. Come lookin’ for your girlfriend?”
Mac raised an eyebrow at Jason. “This must be one of the housemates.”
Jason nodded. “He’s named Mark.” Mac guessed from Jason’s expression that he’d had a few run-ins with the bruiser, and hadn’t come off well.
Mac turned towards the newcomer. “Howja do, Mark. We’ve got business with Bryce. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to just . . . ” Mac made an airy gesture with his fingers “ . . . go off somewhere and meditate for a while?”
Mark’s answer was slurred, but unprintable.
Mac looked at Jason. “That wasn’t very enlightened.”
“Nope.”
MacGyver took a step forward, and Mark took a swing at him. Mac snatched a mop from beside the fridge, blocked the badly aimed blow with it, and deftly slid it between Mark’s legs and gave a twist and a jerk. Mark toppled and fell, waving his arms, narrowly missing the kitchen counter with his head but landing hard enough for the wind to be slammed out of him.
“What the fu . . .”
Mac rapped him on the head with the mop handle, not hard enough to knock him cold but enough to make him yelp and lie still. “It’s called a ‘mop’. When you get your breath back, you might try using it on the floor once in a while.” He dropped the mop on top of Mark, stepped over him, and slipped out into the hallway.
Jason leaned over the man as he passed and murmured, “Lemme give you some free advice, Mark – when you get your breath back, just get the hell out of Dodge. You copy?” He stepped over the sprawled form in turn and hurried after Mac, grinning.
I remember the first time I ever walked up to a kid who was shoving around a younger boy and decked him. My hand hurt for hours, and my Mom was furious, but I couldn’t stop grinning over it. That wasn’t very ‘enlightened’ either, I guess. But it felt pretty good.Mac turned to Jason as the younger man came up, and saw the grin on his face. “We need to find Tasha first – she said she thought she was in a back bedroom. Where would that be?”
Tasha was curled up on an unmade bed in a filthy room piled high with assorted junk; Mac guessed that she had passed out again after making her call for help. She blinked at them blearily.
“Jay . . . Mac . . . was it – oh crap. It
wasn’t a bad dream, was it?” She curled up more tightly on herself and retched.
Jason stroked her hair. “Sorry,
Tatiana. Nightmare, yes; but no dream. Tasha, what happened?”
“The – the study group ended as usual – Bryce kept Gina on, talking, and of course I couldn’t leave without her – then he pulls out this bottle of wine and says he wanted to propose a toast to you and Gina. No, wait – that’s not what he said. A toast to Gina’s future happiness. That was it.” Tasha made a face. “I don’t remember much after that. I didn’t drink much out of my glass – somehow I just didn’t like the idea of sharing his hospitality.”
“Good thing you didn’t.” Mac had stayed by the door, listening for any sounds of movement in the rest of the house. “Did Gina?”
“Yeah, she laughed and tossed it right back. I remember that.”
“We gotta find her, then. Tasha, when you called us, did you stay awake long enough to call 9-1-1?”
Somehow, he wasn’t surprised by the look of stubbornness that settled over her face. A small, tight community – and the police were invaders from outside, not to be trusted with the group’s troubles. She shook her head, then groaned and clutched at it. “Ow. Oh crap. No, I didn’t. Do we have to? Can’t we . . . ”
“All right, all right. I’ll let it go for now. Where’s Bryce’s bedroom?”
“Why?”
“Well, he’ll have taken Gina there, right?”
Tasha shook her head again, more carefully. “No, I’m sure they’ll be downstairs in the temple.”
“The
what?”
Jason broke in. “Down in the basement. That’s what he calls it, anyway – of course, he also calls himself a spiritual leader.”
The basement offered up a new bouquet of smells – mostly dust and mildew, with a heavy reek of cheap patchouli incense freshly overlaid. There wasn’t much furniture, other than a few battered chairs and a wall of brick-and-board bookcases that held a mishmash of books: mythology, spirituality, mysticism, European fairy tales and Native American legends, running the gamut from Joseph Campbell and Robert Graves all the way down through Aleister Crowley to lurid novels about UFO abductions. The walls held tattered posters of Zodiac charts.
A gaudy throw rug had been spread out in the middle of the cheap, thin carpeting, and Gina was lying on it, full length. She looked deeply and peacefully asleep. Mac felt a wash of relief when he saw that except for being barefoot, she was still fully clothed: in her white cotton dress and Egyptian jewelry, she looked oddly like an image of a goddess. Beside her, Bryce was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, his eyes shut and his arms raised above her, mumbling and chanting.
The chant ended in a strangled squawk and a thump when Jason ran forward, shoved Bryce violently aside and gathered Gina in his arms. “Baby – baby, you okay? Mac, is she all right?”
Ignoring Bryce, Mac knelt beside Jason and lifted an eyelid with his thumb. “I think so, but we better get her to a hospital. Tasha – ”
Tasha was standing over Bryce, hands on her hips, glaring down at him. She picked up a handful of the rose petals that were scattered on the floor and threw them in his face. Pure rage had apparently burned away her lingering shakiness. “You b*stard. You goddamned
b*stard. You were trying to cast a love spell, weren’t you? How
dare you! Bryce, you are so totally
lame! Jason, what was he chanting?”
Jason glanced up with a distracted look. “Gibberish, mostly – although parts of it sounded like a really bad mistranslation of the Heart Scarab prayer . . . ”
MacGyver felt a return of the Alice-in-Wonderland feeling.
Okay, Jason, you were right. A lot weird. And no, I never let it get this close. “I don’t care if he was reciting hockey scores. We need to get her to ER so she can be kept under observation while it wears off. And get tested for rohypnol. And for signs of rape. Sorry, Jason.”
Bryce was glaring at them and rubbing the elbow he’d landed on when he was knocked over. “I didn’t touch her!”
“Okay. If you say so,” Mac snapped. “So she’ll have to get tested for signs of
attempted rape. And there’s the little matter of unlawful detainment. Tasha, would you please go back upstairs and make that call now?”
Tasha didn’t move. “Can’t we just take her to the hospital ourselves?” She met MacGyver’s look with a freshly mulish expression. “Baba gets nervous at the thought of bringing in the authorities . . . she doesn’t really trust them, you see.”
“Oh,
geez.” Mac ran a hand through his hair. “What’s she gonna do instead? Put a curse on him?”
“Well, yeah, she might.” Tasha’s chin went up. “Don’t you think that matters? You can believe or not, but once she puts the word out, his name’s mud around here. You think she can’t do it? You think it doesn’t make a difference?”
“That’s not the point!” Mac threw up his hands. “
Fine, curse him if you like. But would you
please press charges too?” He pointed at Bryce, who was still lying on the floor, looking sulky but not contrite. “Don’t you know what’s gonna happen? He’ll just move on to somewhere else, hang up his shingle and start over. Do the next group a favour, and make sure he’s got a police record following him, okay?”
Jason broke in. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“You just try it, Jay-boy,” Bryce sneered. “You just try and make it stick. You ain’t got nothin’.” Bryce leaned back on his elbows, glaring at Jason. “She wouldn’t let me
touch her all those months you were off in Europe doing whatever – you never even picked up the phone and called her, you jerk. You put her through hell.”
Mac looked at the harsh lines that had appeared in Jason’s face. He had called in a favour at the DXS to gain access to Jason Blake’s debriefing file after the rescue: eight months in one of the Eastern Bloc’s most notorious hell-holes. After one good look, Mac slid his arms under Gina’s still form, taking her weight away from Jason. As soon as he was unencumbered, Jason climbed to his feet.
“Beauty is sacred, man. Why should it get wasted on a pathetic dweeb like you?” Bryce stood up in turn, towering over Jason as he had at the Midsummer festival, obviously not aware of the change in the other man. “You were never good enough for her. She’s a
highly evolved soul. Who the hell are you to get in my way?”
“I’m the guy who ought to punch your lights out.” Jason glanced over at MacGyver as Bryce started to laugh.
MacGyver merely nodded.
For a complete novice, Jason didn’t do too badly. Bryce crumpled up and lay on the floor whimpering, although Mac suspected his pride was more bruised than anything else.
“Well, that was unenlightened.” Mac tried to swallow his grin, but it wasn’t easy.
Jason was shaking his hand, obviously surprised at how much the blow had hurt him in turn. “Yeah, but it sure felt good.”
Tasha sniffed. “Men.”
MacGyver turned to look at her. “Yeah? You mean you didn’t want to take a swing at him yourself?”
Tasha flushed and looked away. “Okay, okay, you got me. You’re damned right I would.”
“Figured as much. Jason, next time, ladies first. Got it?” MacGyver stood up and lifted Gina’s limp form in his arms.
Jason bent over her, alarmed again. “Geez, Mac. Is she going to be all right?”
“She’ll be fine – she just needs to sleep it off. But she’ll be better off with medical care. C’mon. Let’s get outta here.”
φThe first pale flush of predawn was beginning to touch the sky when they came out onto the front stoop of Bryce’s house, but the front lawn was in deep shadow, a jungle of overgrown and untended trees and bushes. For a moment, Mac wished they had gone out the back door instead, but he was too tired to worry about turning back, not with the Jeep only a short distance away.
He hadn’t yet reached the end of the walk when a man stepped out from behind the tall, unkempt hedges that fronted the street, barring the way.
MacGyver looked over his shoulder, hoping Jason and Tasha might be far enough behind him to bolt, and saw a second man in nondescript clothing emerge from the shadows of the sagging porch to block their retreat.
The first man spoke quietly but with icy authority. “KGB. Be calm.” The American accent was almost perfect, as it would have to be for any stateside operative. He looked at Gina, lying unconscious in Mac’s arms in her white dress and gaudy jewelry, and added to his partner, “
Holy crap, Vasily. They told us Americans were decadent, but I never imagined anything like this.” Even in Russian, the tone of disgusted contempt was plain.
How the heck am I supposed to stay calm? Cliffhanger! A-gain!
Ahemm! Anyway.. keep up the great work! You and all the fine authors on this site make my early mornings bearable. <Virtual Hug for everyone!>
