Hardbingers

11

A customer for Abe's real line of merchandise came in so Jack left them to their dealing. His headache had faded but still nagged him. His stomach felt sour.

This called for a beer.

He was halfway to Julio's when his cell phone rang: the man himself.

"Julio. Just on my way over."

"Maybe you shouldn't, meng. One those gun guys from last night showed up."

Jack stopped walking.

"The big one or the smaller?"

"Smaller."

Davis.

"What's he doing?"

"Just sitting at the bar, drinking a draft. He let me pat him down. Say he don't wan' no trouble. He's clean but I dunno. I look outside, don't see nobody, but maybe you better stay away."

Hell with that. Julio's was his hang and he wanted a beer in Julio's.

"See you in a few."

If it had been Miller he might have thought twice, but Jack had sensed a core of decency in Davis. Question was, what did he want? Talk? Okay, Jack could talk. He still had questions.

But just the same, certain precautions were called for.

He made a slow approach to Julio's, checking all the cars and nooks and crannies. But he didn't stop there. He ambled a block past the front door, still checking.

No one. At least no one he could make.

As he stepped inside he spotted Davis at the bar. He wasn't in his suit and was just polishing off his draft. Without breaking stride Jack tapped him on the back and motioned him to follow. He led him to his rear table where he assumed his usual back-to-the-wall position, eyes on the door. Davis pulled out a chair opposite him and dropped into it. He thrust out his hand.

"Cal Davis."

Jack shook it. "Jack. What are you drinking?"

"Stella. Didn't expect to find it on tap in a dive like this."

Dive… Julio would have liked that. He worked hard keeping his place a dive. And Davis had passed the first test: He didn't drink Bud or—God forbid—Bud Light.

Jack signaled to Julio for two Stellas, then leaned toward Davis.

"I hear you want to talk."

"Yeah." He ran a hand across his short blond hair and put on an affable smile; Jack didn't know how real it was. "Interesting morning, huh?"

"Very. What do we talk about?"

The beers came then and Davis lifted his in a toast.

"To lots of interesting mornings."

Jack had a sense that Davis was trying to soften him up, charm him. Jack wasn't in the mood for charm.

"Interesting is personal. And it's something of a curse to the Chinese."

Another smile. "Touched"

"Talk."

Davis sighed. "Nothing too serious to say. Just want to see if I can persuade you to throw in with the MV."

"I gave my answer."

"I know." Davis lost his smile and leaned forward. "But 'I'm not a joiner' doesn't cut it. This isn't about you or me or the Oculus. The stakes in this battle go way beyond us. They impact on everyone you know and love."

"You don't get it: I've never worked with anyone. I don't know how. I'd be more of a hindrance than a help."

"That's a cop-out." He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. "Your Puerto Rican friend behind the bar, the one who's got one eye on me and the other on the sawed-off he keeps under the bar. He and everything he knows and loves are at stake. How about your attachments? Got a girlfriend, a wife, kids?"

All of the above—sort of. But wasn't about to tell Davis.

"My business."

He shrugged. "Fair enough. I don't see you doing the Ward Cleaver or Jim Anderson thing, but what—?"

"Let me ask you something," Jack said. 'The Oculus—and speaking of the Oculus, does he have a real name? You know, like Joe or Tom or Fred? I don't see his mother leaning out the back door shouting, 'Ocky, dinner's ready!'"

"His mother was an Oculus, and she did have a name for him. But as with all Oculi, that fell by the wayside once he assumed the role. We address him as Oculus but out of earshot he's 'the 0.'"

"Okay. The 0 says I'm the Heir. What exactly does that mean?"

Davis gave him a wide-eyed stare. "You mean you don't know?"

Jack was sick of hints—he wanted a full explanation. Maybe he could squeeze one out of Davis.

"Nope. Heir to what?"

"Why… the role of Sentinel."

"And just when does that happen?"

"Should something happen to the Sentinel, something final, you will step into the role."

"Swell." That was what he'd gathered. "But I'm just a regular guy. I can't fight the Otherness… or the Adversary."

"When you're elevated to the part, you'll be changed. You'll have… powers."

Jack didn't want powers.

"All right. How many of these Sentinels have there been?"

"Only one."

Jack blinked. "One? That would mean he's…"

"Immortal. Right."

This was crazy. But then, everything had become crazy. The world he knew now was not the world he'd grown up in.

Davis added, "Immortal in the sense that he can't age. But not invulnerable. He can be killed."

Jack shook his head. Me? Immortal? He couldn't buy it. It was the stuff of fantasy novels, and he didn't like fantasy novels. Never happen.

"What planet are you from, Davis?"

"This one. But I've peeked behind the veil—and so have you—and seen the real world, the one that's hidden from the vast bulk of humanity. We both know truths that would drive many of them over the edge."

"Maybe we're over the edge."

But Jack didn't think so. He'd fought through a ship full of nightmares, seen glowing bottomless holes in the earth, and fought the frightful things that rose from one of them.

"We're not. But you not knowing you're the Heir… makes me wonder if the Oculus might be mistaken."

Jack tried not to sound hopeful. "Why's that?"

Davis frowned. "The Heir is supposed to be molded since birth to be the Sentinel. That's why we've always assumed he'd be one of the yeniceri."

Here was an opening Jack had been waiting for. He pounced.

"But aren't all you guys, in a way, molded from birth to be something?"

"Yeah, but the Heir would be different. He would face the Otherness and come away scarred but alive." He stared at Jack's chest. "You fit the scarred part, but…"

"But I haven't been molded."

"I gather not."

Now the question Jack had wanted to ask ever since he'd seen the Ocu-lus's eyes.

"Who molded you?"

Davis shifted his gaze to his beer. "Two wonderful, inspiring men."

"Are they related?"

Jack had started to say, "Were" but switched to the present tense at the last instant.

Davis's head snapped up. Suspicion sparked in his eyes.

"Why do you ask?"

Jack shrugged. "No particular reason. Something in your tone… like they're a father-son team or something."

He held his breath, hoping Davis would open a door by saying a certain word.

"They were brothers—twins."

And there it was, lying on the table. The Twins… Jack had butted heads with them last April.

"'Were'?"

A nod. "They're gone. The Twins sensed the Otherness preparing for a major coup and went to put a stop to it. Neither has been seen or heard from since."

For a few seconds he was afraid Davis would begin to cry. Jack looked away, not just to cut off the sight of the man's welling eyes, but to keep his own from giving anything away.

The Twins… two identically odd-looking ducks in black suits and fedoras and dark glasses. They were gone—for good—because of Jack. He hadn't realized until the end what side they were on. But that wouldn't have changed matters: It had been him or them.

He shook his head. No good guys in this war, just black and different shades of gray.

Davis said, "We always assumed—they always assumed—that one of them would be the Heir."

That explained something. Right after their deaths he'd felt a change, as if some mantle had fallen onto his shoulders. He hadn't understood then, but he knew now: The Ally was saying, Okay, they're gone because of you, so you take their place.

"You said they sensed the Otherness preparing a coup. You mean the Ocu-lus, don't you?"

He shook his head. "They had the sight as well."

That explained the weird black eyes he'd spotted on one of them.

"They raised us, trained us… they were like foster fathers."

And that explained Zeklos's odd plural when he mentioned losing his fathers.

"That's another reason you should throw in with us. We can protect you."

Jack had to say it: "Like you did the Twins?"

Davis's eyes flashed. "They tended to operate on their own. Sometimes they'd bring yeniceri along, but they saw themselves as a two-man team. If we'd been along maybe they'd still be alive. They wouldn't let us protect them, but you… we can take your back."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

Davis smiled. "So you don't live in a vacuum after all. You have people you care about. Who?"

"You'll never know."

"I don't care to. But look at the big picture: By joining us you could make the world a safer place, and that means safer for them."

A low blow, but one that hit home.

On the other hand, from what he'd seen so far, these guys didn't seem much of a threat to the Otherness. The Ally needed a better team on its side if it was going to beat the Adversary.

"What makes you think you're having any impact?"

Davis rubbed his jaw. "I'm sure we didn't impress you last night, but we lost our center and a good deal of our focus last spring when we lost the Twins. Your involvement might center us again."

"And what would Mister Happy Face say about that?"

Davis smiled. "Miller? He'll hate it. He's headstrong and impulsive, and flies off the handle too easily, but he's dedicated to the cause. You've only seen his dark side."

"Right. Like he's got a light side."

Davis frowned. "Well, come to think of it, if he does, I've never seen it. But he'll go along with whatever the Oculus and the majority decide."

"But I shouldn't turn my back on him?"

"Like they say, you can choose your friends but you can't choose your family. Miller is family—all yeniceri are brothers—so I won't bad-mouth him. He's got his faults. One of them happens to be a vicious streak about a mile wide, but he's an in-your-face type. Your back will be safe. It'll be your front you'll have to watch."

Davis finished his beer and grabbed Jack's empty mug.

"This round's on me."

Jack leaned back and watched him as he headed for the bar. Something likable about Davis, something trustworthy.

But he couldn't see joining the MV and working with them. Couldn't see himself working with anybody.

But that was the old Jack. And the old Jack was about to disappear and reemerge as Mirko Abdic.

Maybe Mirko Abdic would need something like the Militia Vigilum.

Jack didn't know. He decided not to make a decision either way. He'd temporize with Davis—make no promises but not slam the door—and think on it.

Everything, it seemed, was changing.