Chapter Two
The stranger had apparently approached while Michael was concentrated on Diomedes. Now that he was closer, Michael was able to get a better look at him. Michael pegged the stranger at about six feet, roughly his own height, and of average build, though his long overcoat made it hard to be sure. A suit and tie were just visible through the bit that hung open. The man was basically unremarkable, his only prominent feature being a black ponytail. With his hands in his pockets, he looked between the two men. Michael looked back to his friend, unsure of what to do. Diomedes still said nothing.
The man with the ponytail paused, also waiting for a reaction from the large man. Getting none, he continued. "He is right, but beyond that," he said to Michael, "I doubt he knows any more than you do."
In a motion almost too quick to see, Diomedes reached back and grabbed the front of the man's coat at the neck, pulling him down. Only after the man was caught, his head pulled down level to his captor's, did Diomedes turn to look at him. Though his voice was frigid, his impatience was obvious. "Do you have a point?"
The man with the ponytail smiled and comfortably clasped his hands behind his back as if he were bending down of his own accord. "Oh, I have more than a point." His voice was precise and cool. "I have a proposition." Michael was impressed by the stranger's composure. "Although," he continued, "I'd much prefer to deliver it sitting down."
Diomedes regarded the man for a moment. He then grunted quietly in reply and slid further down the seat, pushing the man absently onto the other half of the booth. "Talk."
The man settled into his new seat, turning first to Michael. "I can see your friend is, understandably, not in the best of moods, so I'll attempt to be brief. As I've already mentioned, the destruction of your building was not an accident." Here the stranger glanced over to where Diomedes' hand tightened around his glass. "Nor was it an attempt on your life, if that's what you're thinking," he added quickly. "As a matter of fact, I can't give you much of an idea of the reason behind it, other than to say it was arson. I don't know how much attention you pay the news...the few other little fires started around the city recently?"
The man once again paused, waiting for reaction. Michael stayed silent, deciding to defer to Diomedes in this case. Instead he thought about what the stranger was saying, that they weren't the victims of a random accident, but of a random crime. Somehow the idea made him feel even more helpless.
"It was just a random arson...," Michael whispered despite himself. Diomedes glanced at him, his stern expression unchanged.
"Yes, perpetrated by the same man who caused the others."
"You're sure of that?" questioned Diomedes.
The stranger paused for a moment, turning to look at the freelancer. "My employer is. He is also sure of his identity, at least--" The man was cut off as Diomedes turned quickly in the booth, hand going to the man's throat, this time pinning him against the back of the seat.
"Tell me," he said in a harsh whisper. "Now!"
Although it faded quickly from sight before being replaced by his previous confident manner, Michael could tell the man was caught off guard. Even knowing that Diomedes had cybernetic enhancements that helped him move so rapidly, Michael couldn't help finding his own surprise in agreement with the stranger's. Diomedes' rage had worn through his patience the way Michael's own helpless feelings had worn through his hope, and the man with the ponytail had caught the result. He smiled, a trace of nervousness on his face, and glanced down at the hand at his neck.
"Ah, perhaps now would be a good time to tell you of my proposition."
Diomedes' hand tightened. The look on his face should have made his anger and impatience painfully apparent to the stranger, even without the hand about his neck. "Wrong. Now would be the time for you to tell me who the bastard is."
"You want to kill him?" the man managed to gasp.
"I'm going to kill somebody." The tone of the statement made it clear that the man with the ponytail was definitely one of the people in question.
"That's the proposition," gasped the man, managing a smug grin. Diomedes watched him silently for a moment, not seeming to have heard. The stranger looked at him, obviously expecting to be let go after his last pitch, but as the grip about his neck continued to hold, the smile faded. He glanced at Michael, who watched, unsure of what to do. He didn't think that his friend would kill the man, but he realized with more than a little nervousness that he didn't absolutely know that he wouldn't, either. He may have just been trying to frighten the stranger. Diomedes had once told him the importance of always maintaining a powerful image in this sort of situation, but the man didn't seem frightened so much as--like Michael--unsure.
Suddenly Diomedes relaxed his grip, releasing the man and turning back to the table. "So tell."
Aside from absentmindedly rubbing the growing welt on his neck as he settled back into his seat again, the man continued as if nothing terribly unusual had happened. Placing his left arm on the table, he rolled up his sleeve to expose the underside of his forearm. His hand clenched briefly and a moment later a rectangular portion of skin about five inches long folded upward to reveal a series of buttons.
The quality of the artificial arm was impressive. Michael knew enough about cybernetics and synthetic skin to know that the seamless concealment of the computer was quite expensive. Whoever this man's "employer" was, they obviously paid him quite well.
The stranger touched a few keys and a screen on the underside of the concealing flap came to life. Michael and Diomedes both watched closely as the image of what looked to be a warehouse appeared.
"Where's this?" asked Michael.
"One of the other arson sites. Watch."
A figure appeared on the screen, running along the roof of the building. There was no sound with the image, but if there had been it appeared that they would have heard the breaking of glass as after a short distance the figure swung down over the side and disappeared, feet first, through the window.
"This was taken a few days ago by a rather resourceful person who then sold it to my employer. Considering what little can be made out so far, it doesn't seem to have been such a wonderful bargain. Though if you'll watch a little longer..."
The man trailed off as they continued to observe the picture. About ten seconds later, the figure was visible again, jumping out of the same window to the ground. Without missing a beat, the figure began running away from the building in the general direction of the camera, and a second later the building erupted in a depressingly familiar way. Michael looked up at Diomedes, who briefly returned the gaze before looking back at the screen. The stranger pushed a button and the image paused.
The light from the fire illuminated the figure somewhat, and Michael could make out a little of some type of full body suit, although its flat black coloring made it difficult to see entirely. An occasional glint of metal could also be seen in places, but beyond that, he saw nothing. It was too far away to discern a face.
"A little bit better," remarked the ponytailed man. "If we enlarge here and enhance the image..." He trailed off again, pressing more buttons. Soon they were looking at a close-up of the figure's face, half-illuminated by the light of the fire. The other half was just a shadow in the flames. Michael studied the face. It was no one he recognized.
Diomedes studied the image as well. "That's him?" It was more a statement than a question.
"Do you recognize him?" responded the man.
Diomedes continued to observe the picture before finally answering. "No. Who is he?"
The man closed up his arm and pulled his sleeve back up. "We don't know."
Diomedes frowned darkly, glaring at him. "You said--"
"Had you allowed me to finish my sentence a while back," interrupted the stranger, his voice remaining cool, "you would have heard me say that we know who did it, not exactly who he is."
"Not exactly?" questioned Michael, speaking up.
"I was getting to that. We do know one additional thing about him." The man paused, as if searching for a way to say something. "He seems to match the general vague description of someone who's rumored to be calling himself 'Wraith.' Apparently he fancies himself a vigilante, fighting 'evil doers,'" said the man with a mocking chuckle. "Gangers and the like. Though as you can attest to, he sometimes misses the mark a bit."
"And you want him killed," stated Diomedes. The man nodded.
"Why?" asked Michael. Diomedes flashed him a stern look.
"I'm just a facilitator," shrugged the stranger. "I don't ask, they don't tell me." Michael almost asked who 'they' were, but thought better of it. It didn't seem like the man cared to share that with them, and, as Diomedes hadn't touched on the subject, he figured it wasn't something you asked. He made a mental note to talk to Diomedes about it later.
Diomedes turned to face the man, making eye contact for the first time without assaulting him. "How much?"
"Ten thousand," he replied simply. "Two up front, plus, of course, the information I've already given you."
"Which we need for the job anyway."
"Granted, but one could argue that the information was given in trust that the job would be accepted," responded the man calmly.
"You gave it because your neck was being squeezed. That was your choice, you pay for it."
The man with the ponytail scowled at Diomedes' statement. "I hardly think that--"
The freelancer cut him off. "Fifteen. We have to find him, first."
The stranger looked at Michael, who had been listening silently. "Your friend here is bold. Given his previous behavior, he planned to do what the job requires even before it came along." He looked back to Diomedes, a trace of smugness in his expression. "Now he seeks to throw away the chance of compensation."
Diomedes' pale eyes narrowed. "I said I was going to kill somebody. You're still here."
Though the man appeared unfazed by the threat, he nevertheless responded after a few moments. "I can do as much as twelve. I'd suggest you take it before I decide to leave."
Diomedes turned back to the table. "Twelve. With three up front."
"Done," the stranger replied, not seeming to care. He placed the money and a card on the table and stood up. "Call there when it's done," he said, indicating the number written on the card. "He shouldn't be too hard to find. Maybe," he added with a mocking smile, "if he hears you're looking for him, he'll help you out and come for you." Without waiting for a response, he turned and left the bar.
Diomedes watched him go. It was plain from his expression that whatever he was thinking about the man wasn't good. One of the many things that irritated his roommate was a smug attitude.
For his own part, Michael felt his spirits rising. The fire that took almost everything away from him was starting to give him some of the things he never had--a chance to do something adventurous, something to help people. Catching the vigilante-turned-arsonist could prevent more useless destruction. The fact that the man in question called himself what he did only made things more mysterious, if a touch absurd.
The idea that they were going to kill the man did give Michael cause for concern, however. On the one hand, he had little faith in the justice system. The driving ideas behind it were noble enough, but he had heard too many stories of corruption and ineffectual operation, seen too much crime going on unchecked, to have much practical faith in it. He recognized the occasional need for the individual to act on his own at times--corporations and others who could afford it did that every day, hiring freelancers and private investigators. Yet on the other hand the actual thought of killing had him wary. He reminded himself that Diomedes was a part of this and he trusted his judgment. If the man were an arsonist, lives would be saved.
"Diomedes," he said, "how can we be sure about what that guy said?"
The large freelancer looked up from his own brief thoughts to Michael. "Trust the money, kid," he replied distantly. "It's a constant."
Michael nodded at the advice. He realized that they were going to have to find the man anyway, and that process would likely help to answer his questions. It suddenly occurred to him that he personally had no idea how they would go about tracking him down, and he mentioned this to Diomedes.
"I'm thinking about that." Diomedes looked absently at the wall. "May need to hire some help with this one."
"What?" asked Michael, instantly worried that he was going to be left out. "Aren't I--"
The freelancer frowned in response. "For finding him," he corrected. "You don't know where the mark is any more than me."
Michael nodded, relieved that he was still being included, despite the derogatory way he had said it. He knew Diomedes hadn't meant it as an insult, of course, it was just his standard manner. He was right. If he said they needed help, they needed help.
"There's someone I know...," Diomedes trailed off, scowling.
"But...?"
"He's a jackass. Also the best guy for the job."
Michael remembered someone who had once come to the apartment to talk to Diomedes about something that the freelancer hadn't let him hear. He had seemed nice enough in the brief time Michael had spent with him. From what Michael could tell the guy had a rather constant sense of humor, and that might have been part of why Diomedes found him irritating. One thing Michael had noticed on the farm was that Diomedes lacked a real appreciation for humor, and following their reunion appeared to have little tolerance for it at all. Of course, Michael reminded himself, it may have been something else entirely. He didn't really experience much of the man to tell. He couldn't even remember his name. Michael asked if this was the man he meant.
Diomedes nodded, still scowling. "Hiatt," he confirmed. Putting his hand over the payment he had put under his coat, he paused for a moment. Then, appearing to come to a decision, he pulled out a cell phone, dialing resignedly. "If anyone can find the mark, it's him."
Michael permitted himself a quick smile at his friend's attempt at persuading himself and waited while Diomedes was on the phone. He allowed himself to think that things might possibly turn out all right. Maybe that was just how his life worked--hope from tragedy. When he was four, his mother died of cancer after his father had run off, yet his uncle had raised him well. His uncle's death had meant the loss of his only family. Yet if his uncle were still alive Michael might still be on the farm, helping him "for just one more year" to keep it going as Michael had done each year since he had originally planned to leave at eighteen. Though it had been Michael's own choice, he had secretly begun to think of the farm as an invisible chain that kept him from experiencing more of the outside world. He smiled sadly. Maybe soon he'd be able to have the gain without the tragedy.
Diomedes finished up on the phone and hung up, rolling his eyes darkly. Michael watched him for an explanation with an expectant look that took Diomedes a few moments to notice.
"He'll meet us here soon." It was obvious he was not entirely thrilled as he lifted his glass for the first time. "Looks like you're a real freelancer now, kid," he said simply before taking a drink.
Michael smiled at the thought and tried to focus away from the night's losses. A new stage of his life was finally beginning. Diomedes was no longer just a role model; he was about to become his mentor. The thought was enough to make him forget the day's earlier disaster for a moment.
Diomedes sat the glass down, his stern, artificial eyes falling on Michael. "Don't screw up."
A Shadow in the Flames, a sci-fi thriller by Michael G. Munz
~Available Now~
Get your copy...