Chapter 005

The Tiburcio

The Russos clomped down the porch steps in their matching tactical boots while I put the finishing touches on my stopgap repairs. It wasn’t a long-term solution, but it should hold until I got back from my unscheduled tête-à-tête with their boss. They rounded the cabin’s east side and headed for the darkness at the back of the property; I went west so I could deal with the breaker box. I hoped they hadn’t messed it up too badly in their search for power.

Apart from being left open, the box looked no worse for the wear. I flipped the master switch back to the off position and slammed the access panel shut on its rusted hinges.

Luna peeked out from the clouds long enough to illuminate the ragged bulwark of the woodpile. Amidst the action, I’d forgotten all about my backup.

“CAT!” I hollered.

“Where?” Luca answered from the opposite side of the cabin. The worry suffusing his thick-tongued enunciation was underscored by the sinister whine of a pulse rifle ramping to full power.

CAT came trotting out from behind the woodpile, tongue wagging. As tempting as it was to antagonize the big galoot with the idea of cougars and bobcats running amok, I had no interest in CAT getting shot over it.

“Stand down,” I called out as CAT and I turned the corner. The silhouettes of the brothers were spelled out by the running lights of the Tiburcio as they stood around the boarding ramp, waiting for me to join.

“That’s no cat.” Luca chuckled and lowered his weapon. “That’s a dog, dummy.”

“Nothing gets by you, eh, Darwin?”

I think Matteo winked at me, but the swelling of his eye made it hard to tell.

This was the first good look I’d gotten at him without the door in the way. He had the same olive skin as his brothers but the similarities ended there. While Luca’s face was a grotesque caricature of Marco’s rugged handsomeness, with each individual feature blown up to ridiculous proportions, Matteo’s nose and jawline were slim and angular. It gave off conflicting impressions of razor-sharp danger and crystalline frailty. The slash of a mouth beneath his ratty mustache quirked into a mischievous grin I couldn’t help but return.

“It’s the name he came with,” I said. “Trust me, I’ve tried my best to convince him otherwise.”

“Should I take it he is your plus-one?” Marco asked, propping the hatch open for us with one hand.

“Don’t worry, he travels well,” I assured him.

“Friends?” CAT’s tail blurred as his gaze flicked from brother to brother. Luca slunk back against the hull of the ship while Matteo knelt and extended a hand for requisite sniffing.

“Yeah, good friends.” Marco told him. “Even better once we get moving.” He nudged the hatch open a bit further and CAT, taking the hint, scampered inside. I trudged up the ramp after him, loath to guess what all the Russos might have left out for him to get into.

My concerns were entirely unfounded. The interior of the Tiburcio was immaculate, its galvanized surfaces in showroom condition. It was a smallish craft, the spacefaring equivalent of a puddle jumper from early avionics—big enough to get the job done, but just barely. A bit over 40 feet from tip to tail, its interior stood tall enough to afford plenty of headroom for everyone except Luca. A sliding partition toward the front sectioned the cockpit off from the aft, which contained a gleaming kitchenette and a cozy lounge area that presumably folded out into bunks. An imposing weapons rack mounted to one wall contained an arsenal better suited to a vessel five times this size.

CAT pounced up onto a leatherine loveseat situated unfortunately next to the door of the latrine as advertised. He turned two tight circles and hunkered down, his tail still whisking away merrily.

“He shed much?” Matteo asked. He’d assumed a post next to the weapons rack and was returning the items handed to him by Marco and Luca to their designated spots.

“He’s a dog,” I sniped back. “That gonna be a problem?”

Matteo jostled Luca’s plasma rifle until it slotted into place then raised his hands in a sign of surrender. “Hey, I was just asking. I figured if he did, I’d leave the vacuum out ’til we dropped you back off.” He nodded at a boxy, handheld contraption with an unguarded trigger that I’d mistaken for another item off the rack. A dustbuster. “Boss wanted us to make sure we made a good impression.”

“Oh.” I took a seat on the sole edge of the loveseat that CAT had generously left available for me and scratched his sable coat, surreptitiously checking for any signs of loose hairs. “Uhh, he should be fine, but I appreciate it. And it looks great in here, by the way.”

“It’s our pleasure here at Russo Air.” Matteo snapped the handheld vacuum to his brow in a smart salute before shoving it into a charging dock mounted to the wall.

“I thought this was the Tiburcio.” Luca shuffled his hunched mass to the larger of the remaining couches and lowered himself onto it. He extended his frame to its full length, rolling the crick out of his neck as he went. I could only imagine the toll cramming himself into spaces built to the specifications of conventional humans took on his body.

“Always has been, always will be.” Marco pulled the hatch shut behind him and double-checked the locking mechanism with a couple of quick tugs. “I let Mr. Denaro know we’d be back in about half an hour, give or take. Parking around your office is a bitch.”

He wasn’t wrong. The two-hour drive to the city was bad enough, but finding somewhere to stash my clunker always felt like it took twice as long. Greyson Tower was located in what the rental agent referred to as a ‘historic neighborhood’, which was a lovely way of letting me know that things around there hadn’t always been that bad. The lease came with the option of a guaranteed spot in the underground garage, but for the price I’d have been better off renting out a second office to park in. Now whenever I drove down I took my chances circling the block in an ever-widening spiral, usually winding up at least a couple of streets away. Considering that their vehicle was twice as big as mine, finding something within that range would be a blessing.

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Marco slid open the front partition and hopped into a swiveling captain’s chair, flicking switches and pressing buttons as he rotated toward the windshield. I felt a low rumble in my chest as the ship’s engines spooled up for takeoff. I tried to remain casual while sliding my hands along the bench of the seat in search of a safety belt. After turning up nothing hidden under CAT, I settled for planting my feet firmly against the floorboards and pressing myself flush against the seat back. Luca, still prone, busied himself with the remote control of the entertainment center. Matteo rummaged through the cabinets in the kitchenette. If either of them were concerned about securing themselves with proper restraints, they did a hell of a job of hiding it.

“Can I get you anything?” Matteo asked, having moved on to the coldbox. “Looks like we got a couple beers, some coconut water, diet cola—”

“Do we have any regular?” Luca interrupted.

“Guests first, Lou.” Matteo shuffled the clinking contents of the fridge around for a better look. “And no, we don’t. I can also brew up a pot of joe if that’s more your speed.”

“Beer sounds great.” Coffee was probably the more responsible choice given the hour, but given the circumstances, I felt I deserved it.

He passed me a chilled bottle, its paper label gone pulpy with condensation. “Anything for our furry friend?”

“Beer.” CAT gazed at me hopefully.

I rolled my eyes. “If you’ve got a bowl for water, that would be great.”

“One house special, coming up.” He pulled out two more longnecks, tossed one onto Luca’s lap, and filled a chipped ceramic bowl at the sink. I had to admit, their hospitality was going a long way toward helping me forget I was only a somewhat willing passenger on this voyage.

I popped my cap just as the thrusters came online with a muffled roar like rushing waters. Matteo must have caught me stiffen up as he handed me the water dish.

“You’re in good hands. Marco’s aces on the stick. He could probably fly us there in your beater if he had to. No offense.”

“None taken.” I took a swig to calm my nerves, then another because I enjoy beer. I contemplated the image of the five of us packed into my daily driver, soaring majestically over the New York skyline. It took the edge off the uncanny sensation of my stomach getting hammered down to my knees by the g-forces of vertical takeoff. The drink didn’t hurt either. I checked its label: Tycho Gold, a Lunar domestic. Maybe not worth the trip out there on its own, but worth keeping in mind if I found myself in the neighborhood. Which I wouldn’t. We hadn’t even reached cruising altitude and the air was already too thin for my tastes.

I remembered the cork coaster stashed in my pocket. Sorry, Vance Wilder. Space was simply not an option. Then again, it wasn’t like he was the only game in town.

“Hey Matteo, do you have any idea what Fran—” I caught myself. “Mr. Denaro wants to see me about?”

“Call him what you like when he’s not around. Lord knows you couldn’t do any worse than we do. But we would appreciate it if you showed proper respect once we got there. It is a reflection on us, after all.”

“Absolutely,” I responded automatically. I had no idea why I felt such an urge to stay on Matteo’s good side.

“Appreciate it. And to answer your question…” Matteo looked over his shoulder to see if Luca was listening in. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s probably best to wait and hear it from the man himself.” He grinned reassuringly, letting me know that my reaction was more visible than intended. “No, nothing like that. This one’s just a bit above my paygrade. Plus, I know better than to put words into Mr. Denaro’s mouth.”

“Hey, Matty, can I get a hand up here?” Marco called from the cockpit.

Matteo winked at me, as if to say watch this. “What, you don’t want Luca?”

“I don’t fit,” Luca moaned from the couch.

“But you’re closer,” Matteo countered.

“He’s too fucking big and I don’t want him up here,” Marco shot back. “I can’t steer with his nutsack pressed up against my ear.”

“Too big,” Luca echoed with a shrug.

“Fiiine.” Matteo clapped a hand to my shoulder, an overly familiar gesture that normally would have made me bristle. Instead I felt strangely placated. “On my way, mon capitan.”

He headed for the front, his strides unaffected by the impressive pace the craft had reached. From the couch, Luca continued navigating through the menus on a flat panel monitor hanging near the cockpit partition. His feet dangled over the arms almost up to his knee and his mouth hung open, jaw slackened. I wondered how much additional effort it took to control a mandible that size. From first impressions, there didn’t seem to be much use in leaning on him for any answers. I’d be better off enjoying what was left of the trip in quiet, preparing to finally meet Frankie Denaro face to face.

For all the effort I had put into avoiding it up until this point, I didn’t feel as defeated as I might have imagined. Sometimes there was just no avoiding your destiny, especially when it came calling in an armed gunship.

We touched down on Water Street in a spot with a clear view of dingy Greyson Tower. I chalked up Marco’s prime parking to him having the advantage of a bird’s eye view. It was just after three, meaning we still had time to catch last call at O’Sullivan’s if we hurried. I half-heartedly considered suggesting a change of venue for the meeting, suddenly more embarrassed than usual over the crummy state of my professional affairs. The Russos not only had a top-of-the-line ship, but they’d even gone so far as to clean it for me. The shiniest thing in my office, on the other hand, was a second-hand filing cabinet that currently contained the meager contents of my snack shelf. The building’s elderly super, Mr. Spano, wasn’t quite as on top of the rodent problem as he’d been in his prime.

The Tiburcio’s various systems gave a collective sigh as it powered down and settled into place. Matteo emerged from the cockpit and took up his position at the weapons rack once again. He selected a compact EDG from the rack and holstered it in a shoulder rig hidden under his jacket. A larger piece, of the same streamlined shape but blown up to jumbo size, predictably went to Luca, who was at first too busy brushing crumbs from his lap to the floor to accept it. I had no idea where they’d come from, as I didn’t see him eat. I’d been too focused on how to explain myself to Frankie Denaro.

I couldn’t decide whether he’d admire me for sticking to my convictions and taking full ownership of the work I did for his wife, or if I’d be better off throwing myself on his mercy and seeing how things played out. Normally, that would be an easy decision for me but I was exhausted. My instincts were shot. In a single day I’d been outmaneuvered in court by bush league tactics and shanghaied from my own home without a single shot fired. I wasn’t a betting man, but if I were, it would be on anyone but me.

“You guys don’t really need those,” I joked. “I’ll come along willingly.”

“They’re not for you, Max,” Marco said, “Have you seen the shithole you work in?” He dumped his sidearm into his low-slung hip holster and unlocked the hatch. “No offense, of course.”

At least they cared about my feelings.

“None taken.”

I scratched at CAT’s scruff to rouse him from his nap. Before his eyes opened, his nostrils flared wide to take in the acrid bouquet of a city steeped its own juices.

“Work?” One ear remained flopped over as he sat up, adding a confused inflection that his vocal synthesizer couldn’t manage.

“We’ll see, buddy,” I whispered, “We’ll see.”