Dark Magic

14

The Coyi Cafe was in an area of the city called Alphabet City, the avenues named after the first letters of the alphabet. The axe was rubbing Wolfe’s leg, and he ditched it in a trash bin.

The cafe had red brick walls and a menu of organic loose-leaf teas from the Far East. Wolfe ordered a cup of Lung Ching tea and a grilled pork sandwich called a Banh Mi. When his waitress was gone, he leaned back in his chair. The place was crowded. Everyone on a laptop or smart-phone. He needed to get one of these people to let him use their laptop so he could get on the Internet, and check his bank accounts. He could have done this with a smartphone, only he didn’t carry a smartphone for fear of it being traced. And his laptop was in his hotel room on the other side of town.

He listened to the people around him. When he put his mind to it, he could hear just about anything, even an insect crawling up a wall. He didn’t think that someone in his profession could have asked for a better gift.

The college girl at the next table was a good candidate. With a laptop open in front of her, she ate lunch while instant-messaging a friend. He listened to her breathing, which told him a great deal about her personal state of mind. Her breathing was slow and normal. Not a hint of excitement or stress was going on in her life as of this moment. Wolfe tugged her sleeve.

“Sorry to bother you. I’m here on holiday, and just got a call from my bank saying I may have been robbed. I need to get on the Internet, and make sure everything’s okay. I know this is a terrible intrusion, but may I use your laptop?”

She studied him for a few moments. Her breathing did not change. That told Wolfe she had bought his story.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Jeremy. What’s yours?”

“Blair. How long will you be?”

“A few minutes at most. I’d like to pay for your lunch.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Please. I insist.”

“Well, all right.”

She spun the laptop around so it faced him. Wolfe pulled his chair up to her table. From his wallet he removed a slip of paper containing the access codes to his different accounts and began to type. The Web site for his bank in the Caymans appeared. He entered his user name and password, and waited for his account to come up.

Even monsters had dreams. Wolfe’s dream was to one day move to the Seychelles Islands in the Indian Ocean, and start up a business. He had his eye on a small ferry that took people out to the coral reefs in the outer islands. It was a two-person operation, which was where Rita came in.

His account appeared and he checked the balance. To his surprise, all of the money was still there. It gave him hope that maybe he hadn’t taken such a bad hit.

Exiting the screen, he pulled up the Web site for his bank account in Guernsey, a tiny island in the English Channel. The money in Guernsey was still there as well.

“What the hell,” he said under his breath.

“Did you get robbed?” Blair asked.

He’d forgotten all about her. He shook his head and smiled.

“Good,” she said.

He checked his bank accounts on the Isle of Man, Luxembourg, and Andorra. Not a penny had been touched in any account, and a numbing sensation crept over him.

Rowe had tricked him. The little psychic had figured out Wolfe was an assassin. Instead of panicking, Rowe had looked into Wolfe’s black soul, and found the things which Wolfe was afraid of. The expression “played like a fiddle” came to mind.

Rowe had been wearing a bathrobe during the reading. More than likely, he’d retreated to his apartment, and would be easy to hunt down.

Wolfe stood up. His waitress came over and told him his food would be right out.

“Keep it,” he told her.

He started to leave, and caught Blair looking at him.

“You offered to pay for my lunch,” she said.

“Piss off,” he said.

He hit the sidewalk. He checked the trash bin for his axe. It had already been pinched.

He started to run. If he’d learned anything on the battlefield, it was that every second counted when it came to dealing with the enemy. Rowe’s apartment was three blocks away. A two-minute run, if he caught the lights right. He passed a courier holding a delivery envelope. Parked by the curb was a Suzuki motorbike with a helmet resting on the seat.

Wolfe stopped. “That a Razor?”

“Sure is,” the courier replied.

The courier stared at the addresses on the storefronts. He looked lost. His breathing reflected this. It was slightly accelerated.

Wolfe glanced up and down Avenue B. The street was filled with delivery trucks and yellow cabs, while the sidewalks were filled with people holding newspapers over their heads. Some of his best killing had been done in the middle of busy cities like this. People assumed they were safe in crowds, and that no harm could possibly come to them. Wolfe knew otherwise.

Wolfe got up next to the courier. Raising his arm, he chopped the side of the man’s neck. The courier’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he crumpled into Wolfe’s arms. A quick search of his pockets turned up a key ring. Wolfe laid the courier onto the sidewalk as two punked-out teenagers walked past.

“My friend’s feeling a bit under the weather,” Wolfe explained. “He’ll come round.”

Wolfe straddled the Razor. The bike lived up to its name. It was sleek and made plenty of noise. Soon he was racing crosstown with revenge on his mind. Lester Rowe was going to pay for messing with Wolfe’s dreams.