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MR. GOLD AND MS. SILVER

B lack gripped an extra-large mug in his hand as he walked through the door into the all-glass conference room.

He didn’t hesitate to stare at his guests, or to size them up unapologetically.

He sipped the four-shot macchiato Kiko made him, unsure if he wanted to kiss her or smack her. He’d wanted the caffeine––badly––but this might be enough to make him vibrate out of his skin by the time the meeting finished.

In general, he’d been fucking volatile lately, so feeding him this much caffeine meant they’d deserve whatever came as a result.

Well, not all of them would.

You need to talk to Miri.

His mind stuttered, fractured.

Gaos. You really, really need to talk to her.

He forced back the pain that rose, but not before he had a passing thought that his own mind had gotten a fuck of a lot louder since the dragon-mind-monologue had gone away.

He walked towards the two very F.B.I. agent-looking people––apart from the expensive suits, as Kiko said––and didn’t hold out a hand until the first of them did.

“Mr. Quentin R. Black?” the man asked.

F.B.I.-looking fucker #1 stood up, hand out, a faint smile at his lips.

French. Interesting.

The accent was faint, but Black definitely heard it.

“Yes.” He shook the hand. “Mr. Gold?”

The faint smile tilted into something closer to a smirk. “Obviously, yes, we did not wish to give out our real names to the hired help. We’d hoped to intrigue you into coming to visit with us, Mr. Black. We did not mean to come across as facetious… or overly affected.”

Black grunted. “Right.”

“My real name is––”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Black cut in, blunt. “Not until I know what you want. I’d wager I’m less trustworthy than ‘the help’ you declined to be transparent with just now. I’m significantly more petty and vindictive than any of them.”

A silence fell.

Black never minded awkward silences. He found them useful.

He took another sip of the delicious, mind-blowing strong coffee, and waited.

“We did not mean to cause offense,” Mr. Gold began cautiously.

“No, you meant to intrigue me.” Black smiled, but didn’t let it touch his eyes. “Or possibly convince me you’re supremely important persons, or members of one terrifyingly clever and dangerous clandestine service or another.” Black took another sip, that depthless smile still on his face. “Which tells me you probably aren’t very important, and likely not worth my personal time and attention. Otherwise you wouldn’t need to play these stupid games.”

Another sip. His gaze remained flat.

“Although,” he added thoughtfully. “I suppose your efforts were also a success, given I’m here, standing in front of you.”

He took another sip of the macchiato and shrugged.

“How can I help you both?” he asked politely.

The politeness sounded maybe just the tiniest bit mocking.

His eyes slid to the woman, Ms. Silver, who remained standing a few feet behind Mr. Gold. She never offered her hand, or made any indication she intended to come closer. She didn’t smile, frown, or look embarrassed at his words, but gazed at Black silently, Sphinx-like. Her pale blue eyes were difficult to read, even for him.

Her mind appeared to be entirely blank.

Black took a sip of the macchiato, grimaced.

He never took his eyes off the woman.

Her light definitely felt human. Had she spent years practicing some form of mental training? Meditation? Qi-Gong? Scientology? Did she have some latent sight ability of her own, like a handful of humans he’d encountered over the years?

Of course, there was also a chance she knew what he was.

If so, there was an easy enough remedy, but first he’d want to know where the hell she came from. He’d also want to know who else might know.

Who the fuck were these weirdos?

His eyes flickered back to Mr. Gold.

“State your business,” he said, a touch less polite. “Or I’m going to decide I’m not very intrigued after all, and send one of my employees in here to deal with you.”

The smile on the Frenchman’s face remained friendly, if now verging on knowing.

Or smarmy.

“You do not know us, perhaps,” Gold conceded. “But you surely know the person and companies we represent. We would like to hire you for a task that requires a great deal of discretion, Mr. Black. Both political and media discretion… and in terms of law enforcement.”

Black’s antennae went up.

He grunted, looking between them. “Law enforcement?”

The man seemed to read his expression. He held up both hands in a calming gesture, palms forward.

“Only temporarily,” he reassured Black.

Black was not reassured.

“Who do you represent?” he asked sharply. “And don’t be coy about it. I don’t take anonymous clients, so you’re wasting my time and yours if you try to give me another bullshit pseudonym.”

For the first time, the two clients looked not at him, but at one another.

If they’d been seers, the look would have been pretty normal.

On humans, it was fucking bizarre.

When that too-long, silent stare ended, Ms. Silver turned her head. She gazed through the glass walls to the bullpen outside the conference room, her expression unmoving.

Mr. Gold’s brown eyes returned to Black alone.

“Have you heard of the Lion Hunter’s Academy?” he asked.

Black, who’d been in the middle of taking his next sip of the high-octane espresso drink Kiko made for him, nearly choked on that sip. He turned to glare at Mr. Gold openly that time, but again, the man held up his hands in reassurance.

Again, Black was not reassured.

“We are not affiliated,” Gold clarified.

Black scowled. “Why the fuck would you ask me that, then?”

The man exchanged looks with his counterpart a second time.

Again… it was weird.

“You are aware, we are told,” Mr. Gold said next. “Of the for-profit, international military support group that calls itself Archangel?”

Black felt his mood sour a few degrees more.

“Military support group” was quite the euphemism for a bunch of hired killers.

When he didn’t speak, or change expression, they exchanged another look.

He had to assume this was leading somewhere, but wherever it was, they’d better get there damned soon. He mulled locking them in a room with Jem and Nick, have them use their different but highly-compatible skillsets to pull every thought, piece of intelligence, nefarious plot, and potentially blackmail-worthy action committed by either of these two freaks.

Black was about to use his headset to sub-vocally suggest the same to Kiko, and to have her locate Jem and Nick, find out if they were in the building at least, when the woman, Ms. Silver, addressed him directly for the first time.

She still didn’t smile. She didn’t wear any expression on her face at all.

Maybe he’d been wrong about her being human.

Maybe she was a robot.

“We believe you’re the man we need for this job, Mr. Black,” she said.

Her voice was deeper than he’d expected, almost husky. She stepped in front of Mr. Gold, and held out a hand with an enormous diamond ring. What looked like a platinum and diamond bracelet fell down the thin circle of her wrist.

“I am Rania Gorren,” she said, matter of fact. “Chief Counsel over all of Rucker Enterprises, as well as personal lawyer of Lucian Rucker and his estate.”

Black blinked, unable to entirely hide his shock.

Lucian Rucker? What the fuck did that worm-faced parasite want with him?

He couldn’t read the woman, so he had to ask.

“Rucker’s lawyer,” he muttered after he released her firm grip. “Why would Lucian want to hire me? He’s got access to––”

“I represent Lucian Rucker, Mr. Black,” the woman cut in with that husky voice. “I have for over fifteen years. But he isn’t the person who sent me, not directly. I am now, unfortunately, in a very different position relative to Lucian and his assets.”

Black’s frown deepened. “Meaning what?”

Had Lucian fired her? Did they come here, wanting him to go after Luc?

Because that would be… interesting. Intriguing, even. He might even be tempted.

He didn’t have long to wonder.

“He’s been murdered.” Her lips twitched the tiniest bit. “We’d like you to find out who did it, Mr. Black… preferably before we’re forced to report it to the police.”

B lack’s mind fell into something akin to a tactical mode, or an analytical one, at least.

Rucker Enterprises.

The Lion Hunter’s Club.

Archangel.

What the fuck was this even about?

While he didn’t really want to be on the radar of any of that, he couldn’t see himself just walking away from the meeting empty-handed, either. He had to admit, too, his curiosity was piqued. Could that psychopath really be dead?

If so, why wouldn’t they want the police involved?

Just off the top of his head, Black could think of a few thousand people who would happily dance on that fucker’s grave.

From what he remembered of “just call me Luc” Rucker, he was a showboating little prick with a God complex, notably distasteful hygiene, horrible taste in clothes, the social habits of a troll, and a media hound who put Black to shame even at his absolute worst.

Miri would despise him.

Well, would have despised him, apparently.

Black didn’t like the mental control he felt on the lawyer, though.

Even if she was just an ordinary human with an unusual ability to silence her mind, something about her felt very off. Cowboy was the most Zen piece of shit Black knew, and his mind wasn’t as utterly and completely silent as hers.

Something about that silence bothered him.

He wondered for a second time if the best approach might be to hold them here. Have them tranquilized. Go through both of their memories and minds in considerable depth. Confirm or find out who they were, what they wanted from him, what they knew about him, then erase every part of the interrogation and, hopefully, erase what they knew about him, too.

Something told him to wait.

There would be time enough for that later.

“Why wouldn’t you just go to the police?” Black asked finally.

He took another sip of the macchiato and kept his tone polite, if a touch cold.

“If you work for who you say you do,” he added. “You have access to some of the most highly-trained security teams in the world. Given Rucker’s connections in the military, you’d likely have the F.B.I. working tirelessly to find his killer, not to mention S.F.P.D., and probably Homeland Security. What could I possibly offer that you don’t already have?”

Mr. Gold and the woman who’d introduced herself as Rania Gorren exchanged another look.

Black felt a muscle in his cheek twitch.

He was getting really tired of this shit.

He considered saying something a lot more blunt, but Gorren surprised him by speaking again. She seemed to have taken over their side of negotiations.

She also struck him as clearly being in charge.

“You remember the two organizations we just asked you about, Mr. Black?” she asked.

Black gave her a flat stare.

“That is why I am here,” she said simply. “That is why I’m speaking with you and not with Homeland Security. Or the F.B.I. Or anyone at S.F.P.D.”

“But you claim you don’t work for either of them?” Black clarified. He took a sip of the macchiato, grimaced. “Did Lucian have contracts with them or something? Was he a member of the Lion Hunter’s Academy, or––”

“No, Mr. Black,” she cut in dismissively. “That is not the nature of our interest.”

She pulled forward a leather satchel that hung from a strap on her shoulder. She unzipped the top to get to several folders that lived inside.

“Those organizations are not allies of Mr. Rucker’s, nor of any of his holdings,” she added without inflection. “Right now, they are our two primary suspects.”

She paused when he choked slightly on his macchiato.

“We wish you to determine if one or both of them are behind Mr. Rucker’s murder,” she continued next. “And if not, who else is likely to have done it.” She lifted an eyebrow, her pale blue eyes holding a harder light. “Preferably without either organization knowing we are looking into them,” she added in warning.

Jesus, Black thought.

If he was smart, he wouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole.

But the woman, Rania Gorren, was still talking.

“We have no desire to burn bridges unnecessarily.” She cleared her throat. “Nor to make enemies without reason. We are a business, Mr. Black. A very large and profitable one. One with significant impacts to the entire stock market. This is not about vengeance, or grudges. It is about discerning the truth so we can decide how best to proceed.”

She held out the two files she’d extracted from her case.

When Black didn’t take them, she simply bent down and set them on the glass coffee table at the center of the room.

Straightening, she clasped her hands in front of the leather case.

“Given those concerns, I would again emphasize the utmost importance of discretion around this ask,” she warned. “You will be paid very, very handsomely if you choose to accept the job, but discretion will be an non-negotiable element of your acceptance. You are not to show anyone even a single page of the documentation shared with your organization by ours, nor any video surveillance, nor any other information received through us, nor anything you learn in the course of your own investigations. You are not to speak of this job, the terms of the contract, Lucian Rucker, Rucker Enterprises, or any of our subsidiaries, with anyone, for any reason, without our prior clearance and the appropriate paperwork being signed and cleared by our security team. This includes anyone within your own organization, Mr. Black.”

Black scowled.

He opened his mouth, but the person calling herself Rania Gorren held up a hand to head him off, a silent command for him to wait until she’d finished.

“All of your expenses will be covered in full,” she continued. “You may utilize anyone on your team you wish, as long as they pass our security screenings. If you agree to our terms, we would like an up-front list of up to eight employees right now, so we can expedite that process and get you working as soon as we leave here. Assuming that list of persons clears our own vetting, you may share any and all information we share with you, and you and they will be granted access to the crime site, and the associated Rucker Enterprises property.”

Black folded his arms. He sipped his macchiato from the mug he still held.

Rania Gorren cleared her throat.

“As I said, we will require their names in advance… really, as soon as possible, as there is considerable urgency to this job, as you might well imagine. Each member of that initial team will also sign confidentiality agreements, as will you.”

Black set down his mug on the glass coffee table. He picked up the files just placed there by Gorren, and flipped open the one on top as he straightened.

He stared at the photo of a dead body there, and frowned.

“You think Archangel or the Lion Hunter’s Academy… or possibly both of them… just shot him out in the open like this?” Black quirked a dark eyebrow skeptically at each of them. “For what reason? They don’t do things without a reason, Ms. Gorren, Archangel in particular. Did your boss do something to piss them off? Steal anything of theirs? Attempt to blackmail them?”

Mr. Gold and Ms. Silver exchanged shocked looks.

“No––” Rania Gorren began coldly.

“Absolutely not!” Mr. Gold cut in, even more forcefully.

Black didn’t voice his own thoughts on that, or on their supposed offense.

He knew Rucker well enough to know he was capable of much worse.

He closed the file, and stared at them flatly.

“Then what is the motive?” He kept his voice pleasant, still polite. “Isn’t the Lion’s Academy usually filled with people with the exact same profile as your newly-late Mr. Rucker? And Archangel doesn’t generally go after civilians. Not unless they see them as a major threat to their interests… or to the stability of the world… or if that civilian majorly pisses them off, steals from them, or tries to blackmail them, as I said. So if it’s not the blackmail or the theft, which one of those things do you suppose motivated Archangel to kill your boss?”

He held the file out to her, his demeanor still polite.

“Oh, and I don’t need the money,” he added pleasantly. “So compromising myself and my company by putting either or both into the path of a highly dangerous organization like Archangel would definitely require a far more meaningful incentive than that, I’m afraid. I doubt such an incentive exists, to be honest. I have no ambitions like you seem to imagine. I seek the quiet life as C.E.O. and lead investigator of a fully above-board private investigation and security firm. I’m not keen to end up dead in a ditch because I pissed off a group of over-trained mercs, or in trouble with the authorities after being set up by some of the richest sadists in the world who run the Lion Hunter’s Academy…”

There was a loaded silence.

Neither of Mr. Gold nor Rania Gorren made a move to take the file back from Black’s outstretched hand.

Eventually, Black lowered it.

He tossed the file back on the coffee table between them.

He watched with growing impatience as the two suit-wearing fucks exchanged more meaning-laden looks. One thing he was fairly certain of now: he actually believed them that they worked for Rucker Enterprises, not Archangel. He’d been a little worried about that initially. Really, he’d been worried about it since the mercenary group’s name came up.

“What is this really about?” he asked. “Is that in your file, too?”

“We were clear what this is about, Mr. Black,” the one called Mr. Gold said, his French accent more prominent. “It is about the brutal murder of a beloved boss, partner, father, colleague, and friend––”

Black grunted, unimpressed.

“If that’s all this was,” he pointed out. “You would have gone to the police.”

“––A murder we would like solved by someone who won’t pin it on a party that’s not responsible,” Gorren added, her voice darker. “We, too, are aware of the forces behind the groups we named. Which is why we need you to look into this. We’d rather bring in law enforcement after we have more concrete information. We’d like to feel relatively confident when sharing our evidence and suspicions with someone higher-up than the local police.”

“We would also like to know significantly more about the motive of whoever did this,” Mr. Gold added, his voice emotional compared to hers. “You asked us why this happened? Why someone would do this? We do not know, Mr. Black.” He threw up his hands. “We do not have an explanation. And if one of these two groups was utilized to kill Lucian, we believe they will be in a position to influence many levels of law enforcement to guide any official investigations. Likely in ways that will not provide us the true facts.”

Black fought not to snort.

That was a lot of words to say they thought the police and the F.B.I. could be bought off. Clearly this Gorren and Mr. Gold thought whoever did this would grease palms and provide a patsy instead of the person who was actually guilty.

He wondered if they were right, or if that was more bullshit, too.

“Then you think it was a hit?” Black asked.

Rania exhaled, now visibly annoyed.

“We think it is a possibility, yes,” Mr. Gold said, giving Gorren a nervous glance. “Our security team found… chatter… indicating both groups were active in San Francisco over the past few days. And we are told both have been used for such purposes.”

Black nodded, mostly to himself. He couldn’t argue with that.

He could also admit, if reluctantly, he was intrigued.

Gold hesitated, glanced at his companion with the ghostly pale eyes, as if asking her permission. Something in her empty stare must have convinced him he had it.

“There is something else, Mr. Black,” Gold went on carefully. “There is deeply secret technology involved. If that technology is at risk, we need to know that, too.”

“Technology?” Black’s antennae rose again. “What technology?” he asked coldly.

When neither of them even attempted to answer, he frowned. He decided to take a chance, aiming a thumb at the blue-eyed woman.

“Is it whatever the hell she’s got inside her brain?” he asked, blunt. “Or did Luc create some other super-illegal gizmo that’s not supposed to exist?”

The silence that time was practically physical.

It also told Black exactly what he’d wanted to know.

Fuck.

There was a good chance he couldn’t afford not to take this.