Stories, continued and interrupted, of beings from wherever the sky calls to the dreamers, the wind whispers to the wanderers, and the road calls to the determined.
Once upon a time... In a galaxy far, far away, that the elders call "California", a young(er) Mariner and her young(ish) Necromancer husband went on a little trip down memory lane. I found this on an older computer, and I've cleaned it up and put some polish on it, and here you are, Pharlen and Jack, with Jackie in tow... Hope you enjoy!
Shadows On Glass
Looking rather harried, Pharlen ticked off the luggage set ready to go in the foyer, glancing at one of Jack's handy dandy zombies standing waiting by the door. She frowned a bit, pausing to brush her fox cloak, then checked the clock for the millionth time.
Jack trotted up to give Pharlen a quick kiss, glancing over the luggage while ticking off hand drawn boxes on a checklist he'd made. Talk about efficient. Pharlen had to chuckle.
"Is this everything?" she asked, indicating the suitcases.
"I think so. Oh! Hell, I almost forgot the most important thing!" Jack dropped his list and dashed madly towards the basement. Pharlen quirked a brow, then took a few curious steps after Jack.
"AH! Eureka!" Jack called triumphantly, returning with a big smile, holding a flat, rectangular blue box in hand, "Blackjack!"
"You mean like something you wack over peoples head?" It was a natural assumption on Pharlen's part. But Jack laughed.
"Blackjack Chewing Gum, goof."
Pharlen tilted her head, her smile saying she did not understand. Jack scoffed at her humorously, peeling open a packet and poking a stick of the gum into her mouth.
"You don't fly without Blackjack gum. It's a rule."
"You can see my lack of comprehension from here. But it's tasty gum!" Pharlen retorted. Jack shook his head, disappointed, but as he didn't actually know why one never flew without Blackjack gum, he let it go.
"You have all those letters?" Pharlen asked once Jack started to pick up the luggage. Jack nodded, indicating one of the cases.
Jack tended to receive a lot of correspondence. Every now and then, he would be treated to blackmail threats, to insinuations that his true nature was known. Usually, easily dealt with.
This time it was a different. This time, he was receiving letters insisting that his European properties were being abused. Mainly a lot of semi hysterical and half baked tree huggers in Eastern Europe, mostly in Germany. Things that he normally would toss into the trash.
However, after a certain amount of letters, Jack felt it prudent to see with his own eyes the state of things.
"Are we ready?" Jack chuckled, once more lifting the bags. Pharlen nodded after a moment's thought, and tagged along after Jack and the zombie carrying bags to the pristine and elderly hearse waiting. Never let it be said that they did not travel in style.
"Will there be a castle?" she piped up. Jack chuckled softly.
"Lots of them. We could go visit Vlad Tepis' castle. They give tours."
"You mean you don't own one?" Pharlen demanded, chortling, as Jack turned to face her after setting the bags into the hearse.
"I wish! Naw, most of my property was open land or places that are rented by industrial firms."
"Oh... well, we'll have to look for one," she decided with a teasing lift of brow, "You'll likely want a tower to lock your daughter in when she turns thirteen."
Jack paused, rubbing his chin in thought.
"That's not a bad idea..."
"Jaa-aack... I was teasing!" Pharlen insisted. Jack laughed, pulling her close for a kiss.
It still was novel to Pharlen, to get into a car and go somewhere. To not just be shown off. To be taken out without the slightest expectation of anyone finding her strange. Pharlen bounced a bit on the hearse seat, looking out at the slowly wakening cold winter night. She flashed a grin at Jack.
"Gonna make a jet setter of me!"
"Did you have any doubt?" he responded with a purr, watching the road.
"I never realized you did so much travel... s'neat! When's the last time you were in Germany? Must have been a while."
"Ohh, you'd be surprised the places people used to want me to go to kill folks," Jack drawled, amused, "Fifteen, sixteen years ago I think."
"Places to go, people to kill," Pharlen agreed. She had to say it.
"You have no idea how often I was tempted to say that," he agreed, laughing.
"So you just want to check this holding company or whatever it is out, right? Or are they accountants...?" she asked abruptly, settling down, resting her hands over her belly. The baby was awake and starting a drum solo on her ribs again.
"Ya. I have a feeling that they're skimming cash off the top. Oh, sort of both actually. They work more as a holding company for me, but they have a fair number of accountant types running the numbers, hence the possibility that they've been monkeying around with my money," Jack murmured. Business wasn't really Pharlen's strong suit.
"Kay, so they manage your European earnings, then invest and all that with them. And you were gone for a few years. Well, would they have known you got tossed out of reality for a while...?" she asked, her brows knitting.
"I don't think so. I mean, the zombies kept things running fairly normally, and I did put notices that I, myself, would be out on sabbatical for a while before I got sucked to Rhydin. But it wasn't like I was able to call or personally contact anyone for a long while there," he explained as he guided the hearse onto the freeway. It was amazing how well behaved Los Angeles drivers became upon sighting a hearse.
And this was an honest to God Cadillac hearse of hoary and venerable age, deep glossy black and tuned to perfection. Not one of those abomination Honda Hearses. They looked like rolling Tylenols. He could only pray Rose Hills Memorial didn't lose their minds and purchase the aerodynamically designed little hearselings. They painted all of their motor stock dusty pink as it was.
"Whyfore the foresight? To alert everyone you'd be gone?" Pharlen wondered. She found his former life quite fascinating.
"They probably took the opportunity to jerk things around then," Jack mused darkly, only to glance to Pharlen, "Pardon? Oh, because that's when I was bent on hunting down everything I could on 2-4-5 Trioxin gas. And we know how well that went."
"Fate is simply determined to keep you an honest man, Jack Corian Tombs," she assured him, leaning against his shoulder as he drove. Jack sniffed.
"But I enjoy being a shady character."
"And you look darn fine doing it, too!"
Jack laughed, kissing the top of her head, "Sweet talker."
Pharlen gave a sly grin aside to him as they tootled off the freeway.
"Mmm... still think you're part of secret alliance of justice seeking mysterious characters."
Jack laughed outright, ruffling her hair.
"I need a decoder ring, though."
Pharlen blinked abruptly, then promptly rummaged into her purse. She knew she'd forgotten something. Yule had passed and she'd totally forgotten one thing.
What Jack really adored was the pulp fiction detectives. The mysterious and shady world of Doc Savage, the Shadow, the Spider... The stories were real, he assured Pharlen. He had even once seen the greatest of them all, the Shadow.
Grinning, Pharlen glanced up to Jack, then put on a wide eyed and awestricken face, for all the world as if preparing to ask about his last Elvis sighting.
"What was going on, the night you saw him?"
"Hmm?" Jack responded, before his voice took on a reverent tone, "Oh! you mean... Him?"
For a moment, Jack seemed a bit embarrassed. He shrugged, fingers gripping the steering wheel.
"I'd like to say I'd just gotten out of a fight, or had completed a big hit," he admitted, the tips of his ears going pink as the rest of his words faded into mumbling. Pharlen seemed not to notice the beginnings of the blush, still busy rootling in her purse. She made an encouraging sound.
Somehow, that engendered a fully involved flushing of Jack's face, beautifully illuminated in the vapor lights of a stop light. He could feel the heat of the blood risen to his skin, and silently glared at the damned traffic signal. Change, damn it, change!
Pharlen's brows lifted as she tried to decipher Jacks mumbling. The words 'Christmas' and 'dance' were fairly clear, but my, was he a lovely shade of crimson!
Jack finally grumbled, rubbing at a cheek as he finally pulled away from the treacherous stop light.
"...Had just gotten out of the Rockettes Christmas Review."
"Ooo! You are a leg man! And then?" Pharlen cackled, giving a gratuitous brow waggle. Jack laughed softly.
"You know it, doll. Well, I'd gotten out of the Radio Music Hall and was walking back to my hotel when I passed an alley and saw him. He was up on a fire escape, dashing to a roof."
"Did you follow?" Pharlen demanded, wide eyed.
"I was too stunned to move, and by the time I could, he was long gone," Jack admitted, soft chagrin in his tones.
"Did he see you?"
"Ya! Had the nose and eyebrows and eyes and everything! Just like on the magazine covers," he blurted out, sounding abruptly like some hero struck teenaged kid. Jack paused a moment, repeating his own words under his breath.
Well, Pharlen knew what he meant.
"Anyhow, to let you get a look at him, knowing you saw him," she insisted. Jack chuckled as she lay her hand over this stick shift hand. "I mean, you'd think he'd come back and kill you."
"That's what I thought! Decided to postpone my scheduled hit by a week, after that," he admitted. He was good, but he wasn't the Shadow. "Actually... I was always hoping I'd end up becoming one of his agents despite being someone he was more likely to hunt down."
"I wonder. I mean, he walked a pretty razor edge of justice. Maybe you wouldn't be so far off from being tapped as an agent."
"Awww... I'd have gotten one of those cool red gem rings like in the books if I were," Jack chuckled, rather exasperated as they hit another red light.
"Oh! Like this?" Pharlen beamed, suddenly pushing a brass and red glass ring into Jacks hand. He blinked and stared at the ring, then at her. Which was this, though? One of the hundreds of knock offs handed out as premiums when one purchased the product sponsoring the radio show? Or...?
"How'd you get it...?" Jack asked, tipping his head as he inspected the ring. It was a little too old and battered to decide what it really was.
"Well, at an antique shop, actually. Old man just happened to have one," Pharlen admitted, "We talked for a while, then he just came up with it."
"Thank you... thank you thank you!" Jack blurted out, kissing her soundly, reaching for stick shift and steering wheel as the drivers behind him finally tired of being respectful to a hearse and started honking to get him moving through the green light.
"I still think you'd have made a terrific defender of justice," Pharlen told him with a firm nod.
"Oh, I'd end up charging everyone I saved money for my troubles," Jack chuckled. Pharlen crowed and leaned against his arm.
"Ah hah! That's it! You've got to overcome that money hounding tendency of yours!" she insisted, then she considered darkly, "But since the Shadow and them were all independently wealthy, they had to get it somewhere. Possibly from a century odd spent money grubbing."
"Well, Doc Savage was supposed to have gotten his from these Mayan people he saved. They had tons and tons of gold but no use for it," Jack chuckled, shaking his head.
"Hmph. And if there's no handy Mayans with lots of gold?" Pharlen demanded.
"Most of the pulp characters got it some basically legit way. Well, except for the Shadow. He was always supposed to have used less than scrupulous methods. They never really described how the Shadow got his money. Just that he 'came upon it'," Jack mused, guiding the hearse into the vast lab rat maze that was the LAX airport parking lot.
"That does sound interesting. I mean, one just doesn't just find large amounts of cash," Pharlen mused, then she gave a wry grin, "Unless you're picking up a payoff."
"Good point. The Shadow was always the bad boy of the pulp heroes," Jack chuckled. She smiled, nuzzling her cheek to his shoulder.
"You're my hero, Jack."
Jack could only smile softly to that as he guided the hearse to the unloading zone.
The intelligence reports from New York, though disconcerting, were right on the money. Jack Tombs Jr. was indeed on board the small commuter flight coming into the local air field. This presented a problem, but not an insurmountable one.
After all, the Tombs Foundation had run itself for years without hide nor hair of Mr. Tombs. No reason why it could not do this again.
The aircraft taxied obediently before the port, a flight of stairs wheeling fore and aft. Mainly business people began to disembark. A scattering of tourists.
Finally. There were few photographs, but one of those precious images had made it to Germany. It was Tombs. One of the last to leave the plane. He stood on the flight of stairs, a target beckoning for lead, even turning his back to the airport.
A woman in white fox fur cloak stepped after Tombs. He reached out to her, ruffling her hair, lifting the hood tenderly over her head. Then he kissed her before helping her down the stairs.
This could alter matters considerably. Possibly make them much simpler.
The man had marvelous radar. They had been warned that he did. It was fascinating to see. Jacks step became warier, he moved to place himself between the woman and those watching him, his eyes narrowed.
"Herr Tombs?"
That brought Jack to a halt, though he moved the woman with him further behind him. He nodded once, looking from one to the other.
Two gray men. They seemed so perfectly inoffensive and unremarkable that they had to have been genetically engineered. They bowed in unison, both careful to give Jack all at the space he desired.
There was plenty of time, after all, to get to know him better.
"I am Arlois Astilbe, Mr. Tombs, and this is Mr. Selks, my assistant. I am CO of Astilbe International, handling your European holdings," the thinner and taller of the pair noted in impeccable English with only a mild German accent. Jack's gaze cut from one man to the other. He nodded once.
"Pleased to meet you. How nice of you to meet me at the airport."
"We had word of your traveling here, and of course wished to meet you. We have a car waiting. We'll pick up your luggage and take you to your hotel, if it is agreeable," Astilbe smiled. It was a generic, well bred smile. No warmth, no malice, just an advertising agency's nod towards hospitality.
And yet, the young lady with Mr. Tombs shrank back from it. Almost behind him, one delicately pale hand on his waist. A sparkling ring of platinum and diamond on her finger. One very like it rested on Jacks left hand.
"This is, I assume, your wife?" Astilbe noted, giving a polite bow to the lady. Jack didn't like that. He didn't want attention on his woman at all. He simply nodded, but made no effort to introduce the lady, nor did she make any effort to make herself known.
Not a very American attitude. This was an old fashioned modesty not often seen even in Europe.
"You're really ahead of your game, Herr Astilbe. I'm impressed," Jack noted coolly. He had not made announcement of his intentions to visit. He knew he would not have to point that out. Astilbe smiled again, taking this as a compliment.
"I make it my business to be ahead of the game. That is why you profit from my stewardship," he murmured. Jack raised a brow.
It wasn't often that he met someone as arrogant as he was.
"May I see some identification? I'd rather know that I'm dealing with people who are whom they say they are," Jack inquired calmly. Astilbe wasn't offended in the least, and promptly produced his wallet.
"Of course. It was your father, was it not, who first began dealing with the company that I have come to head?" he noted. Jack inspected the credentials with a practiced eye, then nodded. Astilbe was who he said he was.
"Yes, he was. Fine man. A true gem of society," Jack agreed with a bright smile. As was noted in his file, Jack enjoyed feeding his ego.
It was easy to talk about what a fine man Jack Tombs Sr. was when you were portraying your own son.
"You are here, I assume, on pleasure? I would be delighted to show you and your lovely wife around," Astilbe assured them. Jack abruptly began to guide Pharlen towards the baggage claim area, flashing a smile towards Astilbe.
"One should never assume, Mr. Astilbe. Only makes an ass of u and me, after all. And yes, that would be nice to have a tour. But first we'd both like to check into our rooms and what not."
"How charming. Of course," Astilbe agreed, waving for his assistant to follow.
A limousine awaited the party as they stepped out, Selks drawing along Jack and Pharlen's luggage as if well aware of the couple's notorious paranoia. He never once moved out of their sight.
Astilbe held the door to the car open for Pharlen, smiling genially upon the woman. She grumbled, seeming to have trouble gathering herself and her cloak up to get into the low slung vehicle. Jack came to the rescue, all but lifting her and placing her within.
As the car settled into the rhythm of traffic, Selks behind the wheel, Astilbe regarded the couple with the most animation they'd seen so far.
"I understand you do not drink, Mr. Tombs, but perhaps your lovely wife...?"
Jack simply arched a brow. He shook his head faintly. Pharlen said nothing, curling further into the cloak and cowl, resting against Jack more like a pet than a woman.
Wife or whatever Pharlen was. Apparently, she was beyond well trained. Astilbe spared disdain for this man who wished so tame and domesticated a woman.
"So Mr. Astilbe. How have my affairs been faring as of late?" Jack decided to ask calmly, finding the passing scenery of interest.
"Ah, they are going quite well. We have made, I think, several stunning deals lately which will profit your account enormously," he responded with sudden warmth in his voice. Money moved him when nothing else would.
"Is that so? With whom, may I ask?" Jack murmured, tipping his head faintly.
"If you would care to come to the offices before leaving, I would be pleased to show you your folio. Various firms in the city and country. Mainly industrial concerns, some purely financial," Astilbe responded, all but seeming to taste the reality of money behind his words. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, seeming quite pleased.
Jack glanced to Pharlen, taking a moment to resettle the cowl over her face if to keep the sun from her, then he regarded Astilbe once more.
"So Mr. Astilbe, what would you recommend in the way of entertainment in the area?" A somewhat naïve smile accompanied his query. Just a sweet, doofus kid.
"I could of course send you to my favorite club, the food is superb, dancing, and elegant atmosphere. There are theaters, opera houses, many fine museums and galleries. I suppose you would like to see the castles?"
That did seem to draw both Jack and Pharlen's attention. Just like touring youngsters. But then Jack was lifting his brows, managing to look innocently concerned.
"I happened upon CNN a few nights back, and saw a rather disturbing editorial on various industrial firms in the area posing a serious health risk, particularly environmentally, as of late."
Astilbe smiled, indulgent. One would think this younger Tombs lacked his father's cold hearted ruthlessness.
"It is an unfortunate trend of the less scrupulous. I have always adhered to the governing laws, myself, and sponsor several ecological societies," he assured Jack.
Part of the reason Astilbe had been so determined to take over the company handling Tombs European holding, in fact, had been because of the notorious lack of close attention to the properties uses. The finances had always been closely checked, embezzlement and misappropriation were nigh on impossible. However, where that money came from and how it was invested simply never was an issue.
"I must admit, though, Mr. Tombs, I was surprised to hear my new York correspondent say you were on your way here. You've been quite reclusive, one might say, for several years. Though I am sure your bride had much to do with that," Astilbe eyed Pharlen a moment as he spoke. Just where did she come from? There was no mention of Jack, let alone of Jack courting the fair maiden, for years. Jack chuckled brightly.
"We all need time to step away from the lime light, take a while to relax."
Still no absolute confirmation on who this woman was. But there was no way Jack could hide the way he looked at her. There was no way a man could hide or disguise that gaze of adoration.
"Of course. But it is delightful to meet you at last. I never had the pleasure of meeting your father, I'm told he was quite the shrewd investor."
The opportunistic American pig who, with that sidekick of siren broad, had taken advantage of the second world war to come in and buy prime property dirt cheap. He wasn't shrewd, he as a con artist and profiteer.
"That he was. Why, if it weren't for dear ol' Dad, we may have never known such comfort," Jack agreed gladly. He'd been quite the con artist and profiteer, and that had been all the easier by inhabiting the body of a seductive beauty.
Pharlen rolled her eyes faintly, amused. She could literally feel Jack puffing up on his own ego.
Astilbe glowered faintly over his drink.
"It is indeed rare that one can be so far sighted. I will make reservations at my club for you tonight, I'll leave the limousine and Selks at your disposal," he murmured, "How long will you be staying?"
Jack smiled a lazy, contented expression taking his features as he caressed the back of Pharlen's hand, playing with her wedding set.
"Oh, week or two. We haven't decided. Who knows? If it's enjoyable, we might take a second home here."
If it was a bluff, it was a good one. Astilbe's smile thinned considerably.
"This is a lovely country, though much cooler in climate than you're used to, I would think."
"Ahhh, the cold's in my blood," Jack retorted impishly. Mortician humor.
"It must be, few do choose to come here in winter on the spur of the moment," Astilbe agreed somewhat distastefully. It may be a respected and needful profession, but a mortician was still one who handled the dead. The shop jokes would never be in good taste.
"One should be at least a bit impulsive. Wouldn't be an exciting life if one wasn't," Jack beamed sunnily. Astilbe responded with a wintery smile.
"Yes, true enough. One cannot be timid in the financial world."
Everything always went back to money.
"Precisely. Now, tell me a bit about yourself, Mr. Astilbe."
Jack couldn't care less about Astilbe, and he was certain Astilbe knew that. It wasn't just genial small talk, or even a desire to find out potentially useful tidbits about the man's habits.
After all, if Astilbe was stupid enough to hand those out, then he wasn't worth the bullet it'd take to kill him for mismanagement. Jack simply wished to create the image of the the young, sweet kid come to tour Dad's holdings with his gentle bride.
"Ah, well, I am from the city, here; my family has lived in the area for as long as there are records. It is more than my business to work here, it is a matter of family honor," Astilbe replied. It was conventional and patriotic.
"Very impressive. Very impressive indeed."
"I like to think so, though I'm told I limit my options, choosing to work out of a relatively small city. However, as you are aware, that does not keep me from the international community," Astilbe beamed, for a short moment. Money and success meant everything to him.
"Are you married?" Pharlen abruptly piped up. The question seemed to confuse Astilbe slightly, or it drove him to closely inspect this bare trace of personality from the woman. A little Californian bunny Jack scooped out of finishing school?
"No, I'm afraid not. I tend to be married to my work," he admitted, then Astilbe eyed Jack a moment, "I had rather thought you were, yourself, a confirmed bachelor. Like your father."
Oh, that was subtle. Jack smiled faintly.
"I've always believed romance was a personal thing. Not something one blasted off to the Weekly World News simply because your family has a bit of financial success. Mom died when I was very young. Dad never remarried."
"I hadn't heard, I'm sorry to hear that. But you will find that the European tabloids are quite intrusive," Astilbe responded.
"We really don't talk of Moms' passing much. It seems to be a bit of family history that tends to repeat itself. I pray no longer," Jack abruptly went on. If Astilbe had done his homework, then he'd know that Jack Tombs "Senior" had lost his mother early, as well.
"It often does seem certain trouble can run in families," Astilbe mused, eyeing Pharlen, then Jack, another smile, "But I am sure your charming wife would be spared such a grim fate."
Jack eyed Astilbe sidelong as he seemed to struggle with some touchingly nostalgic emotion. The vehicle slowed as it pulled into a driveway.
"Here is your hotel, I did not expect that there would be a Mrs. Tombs with you, though the suite should be more than satisfactory..." Astilbe noted as they pulled into a large Black Forest style hotel.
Jack glanced at the building. Astilbe was thorough. He'd booked a room there, but he had this feeling that Astilbe upgraded it and put it onto his company tab.
Nice write off.
"Your offices are still in their original location, yes?" Jack inquired.
"Naturally. I do try to honor the old ways as much as possible."
"Excellent. We'll pay a visit before we leave," Jack murmured, watching Astilbe. This time, Astilbe managed to hide the faint sense of annoyance.
"If you need anything at all, please call upon me. I would be delighted to show you around the offices."
Astilbe got out of the car, then stood, watching as Jack helped Pharlen out. He frowned as the cloak swung aside, then exchanged baffled stares with Selks as the other man unloaded the trunk.
Pharlen wasn't chubby. She was obviously and heavily pregnant.
"And when is the baby due, incidentally?" Astilbe asked, stilted. It was just a little strange that a young couple would take to jet setting while expecting. But not terrifically strange.
"Oh-- March. Right?" Pharlen blinked, looking to Jack. He chuckled, kissing her cheek.
"Somewhere in there, doll."
"Congratulations, I hope for every blessing on the child," Astilbe announced with a slight bow.
"Thank you. And thank you for the ride, Mr. Astilbe. I'm sure we'll be seeing one another quite soon. Mr. Selks," Jack murmured, looking from one to the other calmly.
"The numbers for my phone and pager are in your suite, Mr. Tombs," Selks informed him. He returned to the limousine, though Astilble had the foresight to park his Porsche in the lot.
Thorough. Jack had to admit that. They were damn thorough.
Astilbe flipped open his cellular phone almost before he'd pulled out of the hotels parking lot, annoyance clear over his features. The moment his call rang through he spoke, clear and precise tones cut through with his irritation.
"I expect full information on my clients, Matilde. I do not expect to be taken unaware by a clients new spouse and child to be."
The unfortunate Matilde was silent, staring at a handy wall. She knew she couldn't demand that Astilbe repeat himself, but it was too astounding a remark for her accept it without at least her mind protesting the outrage.
"There was no current record of Mr. Tombs legally marrying anyone," Matilde managed to choke out, "Nor has there been any intelligence on Mr. Tombs meeting with anyone publicly or privately save for clients, and that's only been in the past twelve months or so. The only difference between the past year and the years prior to his four year absence is that he seems to keep a black pony in his back yard now."
Astilbe paused. That would be bizarre even if Jack lived in an area zoned for horses. He abruptly pulled to the side of the road to continue the conversation.
"Clarify, Matilde. Jack Tombs is morbidly afraid of animals."
"I realize that. But we have reports of a black pony in his back yard, and also of him seeming to talk to it and pat it."
"I need confirmation that this Jack Tombs is the one from five years ago," Astilbe demanded, irritated.
"I'm working on that now. There aren't many who can positively identify him," Matilde grimaced, already tapping away at her computer. Unfortunately, Jack was also a technophobe. He'd never have any identity on the information highway. Her best bet was in chasing down people who did have identities on the Web who might also know Jack.
"Refresh me on his file," Astilbe demanded, and Matilde nodded, pulling up the data base.
"Von Tombs, Jack Corian. AKA Jack Corian Tombs Senior and Junior. Born in California, 1910. Parents deceased, one living near relative, Mildred Tombs, who raised him after his mother's death at an early age. They aren't close," Matilde rattled off quickly. Astilbe nodded, silent.
"No known female companionship beyond a liaison with a 'Betty' in the 1930s. Betty is deceased. Murdered, which remains unsolved. No known close friends after that point. Hit man assassin with a sterling record. Maintains the Von Tombs Family Mortuary and the Hollywood Cemetery. There are three assistants, ghouls, who manage them in his absence."
"And?" Astilbe prompted in some flat annoyance, starting his car up once more. Matilde cringed. She ran through the file, then found to her relief that more data had been added.
"And. We have a deathbed deposition that it was Jack Tombs who broke into a private research facility to steal some form of classified gas; the agent who told our people this wasn't sure exactly what it was, but was fairly sure it was a compound called 2-4-5 Trioxin. In the ensuing pursuit, Tombs' vehicle was seen to go off the road, and literally vanish," she went on.
"There being when that mysterious absence began," Astilbe mused darkly, "More than time enough for that maniac to make something of that gas. Now he is back. With a pregnant albino woman with all the spirit of a well mannered lap dog."
"Ah, sir, there is record of Tombs being seen with an albino woman, but that record is from 1963," Matilde supplied. Astilbe smiled faintly, bringing his car to a full and complete stop to allow a gaggle of fresh faced youngsters to cross the street.
"I had forgotten."
"Yes, sir. She seemed, to the few accounts that were taken, to be somewhat disconnected. One woman reported that the albino seemed to be one of Tomb's ghouls or zombies. That he seemed quite fond of it."
"Ah. Now there is some valuable information. Trioxin gas, Jack Tombs, and a mysterious disappearance along with a lengthy absence combined with one rather vapid seeming woman. Now is she a cover or an experiment? That is the question. Either way, I want the woman and unborn child in our custody. I think this will be quite useful. Particularly if Tombs proves to be uncooperative," Astilbe murmured, tapping at the cel phone.
Matilde couldn't help but to shudder.
"I'll get right on it, sir."
"I want people to check out that pony, as well. One does not just get over a phobia. Talk to everyone. Anyone. I shall stop for lunch, then meet you at the office. Goodbye," Astilbe decided, flipping the phone off before hearing Matilde's response.
It sounded like Jack had shown up to check up on Astilbe's handling of his European accounts. Sounded like. Astilbe didn't buy it. Little moved Jack in the past save whispers of embezzlement.
Astilbe always had fondly envisioned the day when Jack had no further use. The day when the man's secrets were no longer terrible enough to hold back the vengeance so richly deserved.
The day when those rumored hints of the capacity for wide scale destruction came to fruition, to be taken from the madman by hands far more capable.
The hotel suite was damn nice. If it hadn't have been, Jack would have been disappointed. The bugging device was damn nice, too, and well hidden. It was good to see he still garnered respect.
It was considerably easier to locate bugs with Pharlen's aid. Electronic fields and scents were simple things for her to locate. She watched curiously, chatting aimlessly about her parents, as Jack quietly wired a small Walkman to the bug.
It wouldn't take their listeners long to figure out that they were listening to a talk radio station, but that wasn't the point. It was just a little something for them to think about.
Grinning rather like a coyote in the hen house, Jack stepped down from the chair, gazing up at the chandelier. He'd neatly duct taped the radio out of sight. Winking to Pharlen, he went to her, taking her cloak and shaking it out before hanging it. He turned back to her, loosely wrapping arms around her shoulders.
"So when am I gonna meet 'mom and dad'?" Jack chuckled, running his hand over her belly. Pharlen groaned, a laugh in the tone.
"Do you want to? I mean, they'll love you -- and that worries me!"
"I could dress in flannel and Bermuda shorts, talk about pocket lint and pork ears if you'd rather," he teased, walking Pharlen to the bed. She flopped to it with a giggle.
"Dad does that on the weekends, honcho. Swedish optional."
"You're kidding," Jack chuckled.
"Nau. When you're very wealthy, you no longer give a flying hoot over doing whatever you feel like doing," Pharlen chuckled, rolling to her side. There were mints on the pillows. She snagged one and ate it. "Remember I told you, our family reunions usually get busted by the cops...?"
Jack laughed, shaking his head. She had the strangest damn family units in the world. Part of why Pharlen was just so fascinating.
"So? What can I do to freak out your parents, huh?" he demanded, kicking his shoes to the floor, "Tie you up with duct tape and make you talk dirty Swedish to me?"
"Nau, that wouldn't do it. Hmm," she mused, watching as he stood once more to hang up his jacket, "Gee, actually, since you're a successful businessman who's tamed their bad girl who went off to be a desert bum, there's not much you can do to blow their minds!"
"Hm... Somethin' about dirty Swedish does sound appealing," Jack drawled, setting aside his shoulder holsters before dropping a knee to the bed. She leaned towards him.
"I'm not enough dirty Swede for you?"
"Whoa-ho! There's actually a defined form of dirty Swede?" Jack grinned, petting her cheek, "What is a dirty Swedish word, anyway?"
Giggling, Pharlen kissed Jack softly, then nuzzled his cheek. She lifted a brow and grinned.
"Bush Tav'yon."
Jack chuckled as he asked what it meant, then he jumped as Pharlen groped him very rudely.
"Move your meat," she assured him. Jack laughed, batting his eyes at her.
"Where should I move it, huh?"
"To rub my back, like you promised," Pharlen demanded imperiously. Jack shook his head, doing as she commanded.
"Yanno, pookie, Astilbe seemed surprised to see you for meeting us at the gate," Pharlen noted abruptly. Jack nodded to that as he focused on her back.
"Dunno if I can put my finger on it, but he kept checking you out," Pharlen frowned, squirming to get comfortable, "Sure, someone could have called him to tell him you were on your way. You stand out, but how many in New York know you on sight...?
"Either someone very old or very dead," Jack mused, "I tried to stay away from cameras as best I could."
"They seemed badly surprised to see me," Pharlen mused. Jack nodded to that.
"For a long while, the only gals I'd ever been seen with were hits, doll," he explained somewhat wryly, "Looks like we have some major league investigating to do. More than what I planned."
"Dead. I'd bet on someone dead," she grunted as she pressed to Jack's hands. He nodded slowly.
"That means our good buddy Mr. A is more than just a good businessman," he murmured softly, "Should deposit some lead in his brain just for safety's sake."
"Well, first let's make sure he hasn't screwed your European holdings," Pharlen chuckled.
Jack frowned as he worked out the stressed points in Pharlen's back.
"I'm starting to wonder about those chemical plants now. I'm no tree hugger, but they fine the hell out of you here for any environmental damage," he noted softly, "I'd make a great scapegoat for that, wouldn't I?"
"Best place to hide something bad is behind charitable works," Pharlen murmured, breaking into a loud, sloppy purring. Jack nodded slowly.
"And most of those letters were to inform me of Astilbe allowing the more dangerous chemical factories to be established on my lands," he mused, "Like I'm really going to let the undeveloped properties be annexed back into park land."
"Sounds like you've been set up to be a hero," Pharlen smirked faintly. Jack laughed.
"The patsy," he corrected, finally moving to tuck her under the blankets, "I get played up like a total do gooding business man, then when I show my true colors, Astilbe can arise as the true hero. Typical."
"Why bother? That's a lot of work, isn't it?"
"There's people here who have a lot of good reasons to really loathe me, doll," Jack chuckled softly, "Not much they can do, but they're here."
"Just because you did some profiteering during the war?" Pharlen asked, amused.
"Germans forgive, but never forget. That's why there's still so many bombed out buildings dotting the landscape and taking up valuable real estate," he shrugged, pulling the blankets around Pharlen carefully, "Warm enough?"
"Yeah."
"Get some sleep, doll. I'm going to get a little research done," Jack smiled, leaning over to kiss her forehead. Pharlen smiled and closed her eyes.
Jack watched Pharlen for a long while, silent. He shouldn't have brought her with him. She wouldn't stay behind. She had a bad habit of overconfidence.
Well, if it came to that, Pharlen could squeak out of harm's way. Trouble was, she'd come right back for him. Jack exhaled, stroking her hair. His soul was bound to hers, she wouldn't lose him. Unfortunately, she tended to forget that in the heat of the moment.
Possessive as a spoiled child. Jack laughed faintly as he went to the desk, pulling out all the advertisement laden travel brochures left there for the guests use.
If it only was people itching to get back at Jack for his wartime profiteering, then it wouldn't be any big deal. Properly managed, he could end up profiting more from any attempts at vengeance.
However, it wasn't just Jack's ability to take financial advantage of civil unrest that had bought him more IOU's for cement shoes.
The Trioxin gas wasn't even a dream back then to the necromancer. It was someone else's dream. Probably inspired by himself. Jack glanced at Pharlen once more.
How in the hell would he get her to run if it was more than business?
Chemical plants. Jack exhaled, moving to get into his suit case.
Just like magic. Astilbe sent a limousine to take the charming young Von Tombs couple to an exclusive night club, with his compliments. It was impressive, and did nothing at all to instill either Jack or Pharlen with any trust at all.
Velvet ropes kept the sidewalk scum at bay, a linebacker of a doorman and bouncer shoved the riff raff further back as he opened the door to the limo. Jack cast a keen gaze over the line of hopefuls trying to get into the club.
Mainly older teens, no one that looked like a sniper. Which was the ultimate problem with snipers: These days, any fresh faced kid was as good as an assassin. Jack snorted faintly as he helped Pharlen from the car.
"Quite a place, don't ya think?" he mused, and Pharlen shrugged.
"Eh, what'd you expect from a dude like Astilbe?"
"Got me there," Jack chuckled, once more carefully drawing the fox cloak around her, "Even with the money I have, I've never been one for high dining."
Though he was well enough versed in it to get his little barbarians manners up to par for such a place. Jack chuckled as he took Pharlen's arm to walk her into the club.
A group of teens, headed by a skinny blonde girl, started screeching at the fur wearing murderer and ruiner of the planet. Pharlen cruised past the insults and challenges without a jot of notice.
If looks could kill, Jack just dropped the one that wiped out Hiroshima on the tree huggers. He turned that death dealing glare to the doorman, who was quick to redirect the shrieking group. Pharlen simply shook her head.
"Oh, let the man do his job."
Jack grinned at that, escorting her in with a minimum of fuss. Astilbe was clearly a carte blanche at this place. Jack scanned the club intently as he handed over Pharlen's cloak and his coat and hat.
It wasn't trendy, it was classic. It was classic to the point of trendy. Soft jazz, spacious glass and brass expanses, dark woods and impeccable service. Not a place where the unwashed managed to sneak in with a good haircut and stylish shoes.
"So what do you think of things so far?" Jack asked quietly as he took his seat, eyeing Pharlen over the menu. It was, he knew, a hard call for her. She should have always graced such places as this. But never had.
"Seems too good, you know what I mean?" Pharlen finally offered slowly. Jack nodded slowly.
"Ya, it is a bit showy."
Pharlen indicated the club, then shrugged.
"This may be Astilbes' usual, but this is starting to get me edgy. Way showy. He knows you've always been rather reclusive," she pointed out. Jack smiled tightly.
"Precisely. Kinda makes me think he's trying to see if I'll slip, or get the creeps from being in public, or just looking to size us up."
"Ja. I dunno, I'm just really interested in the state of your affairs here, now," she decided rather gravely. Jack snorted in faint amusement.
"We should start checking up on that ASAP. I'm also getting the impression the high dazzle factor is just that -- dazzle. Keep us distracted from business."
Jack paused almost imperceptibly, catching a reflection in his water glass. Well. Lookit there. One of the tree huggers managed to gain admittance to the holy interior with some older couple. He quirked a brow, then smiled to Pharlen, a sidelong glance directing her gaze where he wanted it.
"Might've even worked well if I was a twenty-one year old know nothing college scum," he went on smoothly. Pharlen grinned.
"But you're not."
"Zsa Zsa Gabor would kill for my beauty secrets," Jack told her with a wag of his brows.
"You mean she hasn't?" Pharlen gasped, wide eyed. Jack considered that darkly.
"You never know. She does seem kinda ruthless on TV."
Pharlen giggled, catching Jacks hand to kiss his knuckle.
"Ya never know about them women with odd names."
The banter was light and playful, but it served its purpose. Jack and Pharlen watched the girl from the front of the club evenly, never for a moment seeming that they did watch the girl with apparently her aunt and uncle.
So the blonde girl wasn't just sidewalk trash. She had money somewhere in the family. Her clothing weren't up to the moment stylish, but she dressed carefully to avoid ill using any poor living creature.
Jack wondered if he should tell her that the thick rubber soles of her cruelty free vinyl knee boots were made with deceased pig products. But then he smiled to Pharlen.
"I dunno. I think the more unique the name, the better the gal," he purred, reaching up to pet her cheek. Pharlen's brows lifted, and Jack glanced to the water glass. Sure enough, little blondie slipped her keepers and made a beeline to the Tombs' after briefly consulting with a waiter.
"Aww, you say the sweetest things. You just like knowing I pack heat," Pharlen purred seductively. A fascinating statement on her part that Jack would have liked to pursue further, but that blasted girl appeared right at his elbow.
"Can I help you?" Jack queried flatly to the girl, not bothering to look at her. She halted, only to grin inanely.
"Excuse me, but are you Jack Tombs?"
"Who wants to know?" he asked lazily, flicking a wink to Pharlen before turning to eye the girl.
The girl faltered slightly as both Jack and Pharlen regarded her. There was something so heartless and cold in both of their eyes. Shaking herself, the girl gave an even brighter smile.
"Oh! I'm Deedra Shore, I wrote you?" she blurted out, as if waiting for Jack to recognize her.
"You have fans. Not many morticians can say that," Pharlen purred softly. Jack rolled his eyes.
"I get lots of correspondence, Miss Shore. And it's Jack Tombs Jr., just so there's no confusion."
Deedra nodded, venturing closer, big shiny smile on her face replacing the vague disappointment at realizing that he didn't recall her.
"My club and I wrote, see, we really wanted to let you know what was really go--..."
Jack blinked mildly as he gazed up at her. Deedra's face had frozen along with her voice. She finally realized that he was the man with the evil fur wearing woman. While that was amusing, Deedra was interrupting. The quicker they got her away from their table, the better.
"Club?" he prompted. Deedra swallowed hard and nodded, forging on bravely.
"Uh huh, my environment club, you know, we do things to save the earth," she offered. It was good that Deedra had been so startled. That was probably a severe paring down of her usual eco crusader speech.
"Oh, yes of course, and I can help you how...?" Jack asked with a sudden nod of understanding.
Now he recalled the girl's name. She and her friends had sent him bales of mail, in fact. Most of it was nonsensical ravings, but a few of the missives gave him great pause. Mainly the parts about just how serious the consequences for ecological damage where in Germany.
"Because you know, in this country, you get fined really harsh for environmental damage and well, we had to tell you, because the people working for Mr. Astilbe, and maybe him, I dunno, he does really good things, but they're funding some high pollution factories," Deedra finally managed to blurt out. She could only stare in horror at Pharlen.
Jack glanced to Pharlen, himself. She returned a faint lift of her brows and fainter shrug. Deedra drew in a breath and went on in a rush.
"But anyhow, everyone knows all your good work to help the earth, so we really thought it was strange that suddenly you're funding these really dangerous plants, here, I've got flyers..." Deedra blurted out, rummaging into her purse.
Pharlen and Jack stared at the girl. Definitely, he was being set up to be a patsy, Jack decided.
"Which factories would these be?" he asked, taking the flyers that Deedra shoved to him. They were typical for protests against new construction, written in German. He paused to read them, frowning slightly.
After a moment, Jack gestured to a chair.
"No sense in getting varicose veins. Have a seat."
Baffled faintly at Jack's version of gallantry, Deedra sank to the chair, then she tapped at the flyers.
"See, it's all there, there's this chemical plant, and it's not on stable ground, stuff'll just sink right into the earth," she explained, riffling through the flyers as Jack tried to read them, "And that one would be like clear cutting this ancient forest, and I just knew you would never do such a thing!"
Jack paused, exchanging a dour glance with Pharlen. That "you" of Deedra's had bordered on adoration. As it was, the girl was gazing wide and dewy eyed at the necromancer.
"Uh huh," Jack responded tonelessly, "So let me get this straight. Land I own is being rented out to an industrial firm, yet it isn't the land I own in any industrial approved building sites?"
Deedra nodded firmly after a moment.
"Right. And it just seems so strange. I told everyone that. I know you'd never risk old growth forests. All the other wonderful programs you sponsor, I just knew it had to be a scam," she declared.
To hell with the old growth forests, Jack wanted to know why that moron Astilbe was doing something so stupid. It was sure to attract the wrong sort of attention. It already had.
Tucking an exclusive and expensive spa into that old growth forest made sense. Clear cutting it for a chemical plant was going to make people scream.
Pharlen frowned slightly, then lifted her chin.
"What programs, dear?"
Jack paused, glancing from Pharlen to Deedra. The girl puffed up slightly, tossing her head. The warmongering fur wearer certainly wouldn't know about the wonderful programs Jack funded!
"Oh, you know, for pollution controls, and for replanting and reclaiming land and the scouts, too!"
"Scouts...?" Jack repeated in a dull tone. He looked as poleaxed as an ox. Deedra twinkled at him.
"Girl and Boy Guides? They're Scouts in the US, right?"
Pharlen had to struggle to keep from bursting out laughing. Jack looked nauseous.
"My goodness, Jack, I had no idea you were so philanthropic," Pharlen finally had to murmur. Jack eyed her sourly, then pulled a saccharine smile across his face.
"Miss Shore, I'm sorry. I failed to introduce you to my wife. Miss Shore, Pharlen Von Tombs."
Pharlen graciously greeted the young lady, non plussed by the less than articulate response to that. Deedra was somewhere between horrified and crushed. Some glitter queen had gotten her hooks into the saintly Jack Tombs!
Deedra fidgeted, then she flicked her hair, gazing at Jack imploringly.
"But you did come to stop the companies, right?"
"I came to check on how my affairs were doing," Jack shrugged noncommitally. Deedra paused before getting something of a knowing look on her face.
"Ohhh... Yes, of course. I didn't blow anything, did I?" she whispered, eyes wide. Jack eyed Pharlen sourly. Either she was having false labor pains, or she was trying desperately not to burst out laughing.
"Of course not," Jack told her calmly. Deedra beamed once more, relieved.
"If my friends and I can help, we know everything about the sites, and we're very discreet."
"Excuse me?" Jack blinked, double taking on the girl. It didn't help his concentration that Pharlen began mouthing 'Batman... Batman... Batman'. Deedra nodded, hunkering down a bit.
"You know, to put a stop to the building," she mumbled, her gaze uneasily shifting about.
"Of course. I'll look into it as soon as I approve the bill to wipe out the local marmot population and sell their furs to super models; immediately followed by the eviction of the various lower class community members and their forcing into various sweatshops where they'll live a long and dreadful life of servitude," Jack assured the girl sunnily.
"Thank you so much!" Deedra burbled, hopping to her feet, "I'd better get back to my aunt and uncle. Be really careful, cause the guys are everywh..."
Jack watched politely as Deedra's thought process slammed to a halt. It did forestall her from hugging him in a moment of exuberance, for which Jack was grateful for.
"Oh... You're joking. You're funny, Mr. Tombs. Thank you!" she finally decided. Jack glowered at Pharlen as she burst into highly suspect coughing.
"Ye-ah... right," he muttered, as Deedra bopped away, clearly thrilled. Jack waited in patient exasperation as Pharlen tittered helplessly into her napkin.
"Cripes, what brand of paint fumes does she sniff?" he muttered, rubbing at his brow.
"Denial is a powerful thing, doll," Pharlen giggled, shrugging, "But paint sniffer or not, I think we found us a few threads worth pulling."
"You got a point, doll. But geez!" Jack abruptly chuckled, shaking his head, "I wonder why she's lasted as long as she has without someone pulling her threads to just to get through the day."
"Wonder Bunnies always manage to survive. I dunno, she seemed sincere," she pointed out. Jack nodded.
"Well, if what she said is true, just gives me another reason to kick Astilbe's Armani wearing butt," he grumbled, "Son of a bitch thought of it before me."
"There, there, you'll think up another scam," Pharlen soothed, patting his hand, "Maybe they'd heard how you vanished mysteriously, and assumed from the wounds reported on you that the cops finished the job and decided to sink you instead of deal with the paperwork."
"But it wasn't the cops who were chasing me," Jack protested mildly, "Was some sort of private security for a government sanctioned research facility. Very hush-hush."
Pharlen pouted slightly. She always envisioned a big Los Angeles car chase preceding Jack's less than illustrious arrival to the realm of RhyDin.
"Like a James Bond film, ya know?" Jack chuckled, softly, "It was one hell of a big car chase, just no sirens."
Perking slightly to that, Pharlen chuckled.
"Well, like I said, they seemed surprised to see you, for meeting us and all. Maybe they know a little too much."
"We'll have to deal with them then," he murmured, reaching across the table to chuck her cheek, "Just in case."
The front entry to the club was considerably quieter as Jack and Pharlen stepped out. The doorman nodded, hanging back as Jack waved him off. The limousine pulled up quietly.
Pharlen paused, her brows drawing together. She glanced up at Jack quickly.
"What's wrong?" he asked softly.
"I smell blood," she responded, then gazed tersely at the back of the limo. Jack nodded slowly, watching as Selks climbed out of the drivers seat.
"Plans?" he murmured. Pharlen regarded Selks coolly as he walked to the side doors, then glanced up at Jack once more.
"I'll drive, you deal with him."
That worked for a plan. Jack watched, his eyes glinting in apprehension and pride as his beloved bumped into Selks, pick pocketing the ape with the ease of a pro.
"You know, Mr. Selks, I was wondering what kind of late night life the city had to offer," Jack purred softly, dropping an arm over Selks' shoulders and moving him away from the car a step, "Any suggestions?"
Selks considered, frowning heavily as he allowed Jack to move him aside. He finally shrugged, rubbing at his jaw.
"Few places you might enjoy. Dancing and whatnot. Might want to drop the little woman back off at the hotel, though," Selks offered quietly, giving a lewd grin.
Charming. Jack smiled in return however, tolerant and amused.
"Do you drink, Mr. Selks?"
"Some," Selks agreed, smirking. Jack gave a bright smile, leaning closer to the man as if to keep Pharlen from hearing him.
"So do I. Some," Jack assured him, winking. Pharlen quietly picked out the ignition key from the ring she'd lifted from Selks, then nodded to Jack.
"The 'little woman' is quite a driver. Let's you and me celebrate my first trip to the country, ay?" Jack went on persuasively. Selks blinked, reflexively reaching for his keys. He stared as he realized they were gone.
"Oh, I didn't just marry her for looks, Mr. Selks. She's also my bodyguard and personal assistant," Jack grinned as Selks faltered, giving an aloof wave, "You understand how it is."
After a moment, Selks nodded suspiciously.
"Yes."
Pharlen grabbed the roof of the limo in order to swing into the vehicle. She settled herself as best she could, then stabbed the key into the ignition. Jack chuckled warmly as the car purred to life.
"We better pile in. When she wants to go, she's usually more than willing to ditch ya," he told Selks, gesturing to the limo's interior. Selks glared at Pharlen before he slid into the car. She had inhumanly light fingers to snatch his keys.
"So how long have you been working with Mr. Astilbe?" Jack asked brightly, making himself cozy by the bar. Selks eyed Jack coldly, gripping the seat as the car lurched from the curb.
"Since I left college," Selks responded icily, "Is there some reason for this? If Mrs. Tombs really wanted to drive--"
"She likes to practice her old tricks. Actually, that's how she and I met, you know," Jack grinned, "She tried to pick my pocket."
The limo peeled away with Pharlen's characteristic jerky handling. Her head barely cleared the dashboard of the heavy vehicle. She turned the intercom between driver's seat and cabin on, listening intently.
"Most men would look in askance of a woman with such talents," Selks smiled thinly.
"I'm anything but most men," Jack shrugged, "What were you majoring in, might I ask?"
Selks eyed Jack keenly, his eyes narrowing. What was the fascination with his background?
"Business, if you must know. Accounting, law, theory."
"My! Quite impressive. I merely attempted medicine with a minor in chemistry," Jack nodded, gesturing to the bar, "The drinks? Bourbon."
Selks nodded, smirking faintly. He leaned over to take up a bottle of bourbon and two glasses.
"I had not heard that you drank alcohol, Mr. Tombs," Selks noted, eyeing the man. Was this Jack Tombs? There always was question. There wasn't any reliable source to identify him.
"Perhaps your data on me is a bit out of date," Jack smiled.
"Perhaps. You have rather been out of the public eye."
Jack quirked his brows as he took the glass Selks offered. He lifted it as if in salute.
"One can develop new tastes, after all. So how have my holdings been faring, really?" Jack shrugged pragmatically, then he lifted his brows, "After all, it's Mr. Astilbes job to make everything look nice and neat. I wanna know the real scoop from someone who's been there. Who knows what's going on but doesn't have to dress up the facts."
Flattery. Along with a subtle insinuation that disloyalty could be profitable. Selks eyed Jack. He wasn't as smooth as he was reputed to be. Not as smooth as he should have been to have managed to rip off so much land from the Nazi regime.
"They do well, as you will see for yourself. There are two new factories set to lease your land, those will be quite lucrative ventures," Selks responded, his eyes glittering.
"What sort of factories, might I ask?" Jack asked with something approaching a wide eyed stare.
"One is a chemicals manufacturer, the other is general industrial, making mainly electronic components," Selk replied, confirming what Jack already knew. He glanced to the front seat as the limo swerved heavily. Jack could claim Pharlen as his body guard and driver all he liked, the woman drove like she just learned.
Jack raised the glass to his lips as Selks spoke, then as Pharlen's wild jerk distracted the other man, Jack simply poured the bourbon into the seat cushion. Jack smiled faintly to Pharlen's reflection in the rear view mirror.
"I do enjoy chemistry," Jack assured Selks earnestly, "They're being erected on the pre-developed property that my father set aside specifically for industrial use, yes?"
Selks paused, smiling thinly.
"No, I do not believe so, those are fully inhabited at the present time. One is a redeveloped lot, the other is undeveloped."
Jack tipped his head, a faint expression of worry on his features.
"Why, I don't remember giving final approval on the development of any of the natural property."
"I wouldn't know that end of the matter, Mr. Astilbe naturally tends to that," Selks replied repressively. He frowned slightly as Jack extended his glass for a refill.
"Ah, well. Let's hope he has a good explanation yes?" Jack smiled engagingly, "Wouldn't want a factory on the spot I might choose to build our new summer home."
Selks groused softly as Pharlen seemed specifically to swerve each time his glass was at his lips. He braced his feet, then shrugged to Jack's remark.
"I doubt Mr. Astilbe would condemn scenic property to industrialization. His family has lived here for centuries, he appreciates the beauty of this country."
"Oh? That's not what a bird told me," Jack noted, a disturbingly avian cant to his head, "Some nasty business about putting the chemical factory right on it, in fact."
Selks paused as he refilled his own glass, eyeing Jack keener than one ought for a moment. He finally composed his features into a subtle regret.
"We rather hoped you had not heard these things, Mr. Tombs. Patent nonsense from a group of excitable activists."
"Even the most outrageous claims usually hold at least a grain of truth within them," Jack chided softly. Another violent swerve, and Jack tipped out half of the bourbon during Selks wild gaze over his shoulder at Pharlen.
"We have all the permits and surveys in order, these self proclaimed environmentalists are simply hysterical. Any time a new lot is opened or an old one recovered you will get these claims," Selks shrugged as if it was all inevitable. Jack eyed him keenly.
"Why, I thought you said you didn't know anything about that end of the business. Mr. Astilbe is supposed to be the one with answers, yes...?"
Selks said nothing, draining his glass. Let the fool gain courage from the drink. Let Jack think that Selks' tongue was loosened.
Though, really, Selks was feeling the alcohol more than he should.
"That would mean that development was being pushed without approval from myself. How disconcerting, Mr. Selks," Jack went on, tsking softly.
"I do not know his particulars on your approval," Selks replied mechanically, "You will have plenty of time to discuss this with Mr. Astilbe."
Jack watched Selks for a long moment, seeming nothing more than intelligently concerned over something he didn't know a damn thing about. It was always chancy to slip a barbiturate into a glass that would be filled by the victim, but one couldn't hope for a better distraction than a terrible driver behind the wheel.
"I should hope I would," Jack finally nodded.
Selks nodded curtly, shifting his weight heavily as the limo wove drunkenly. He spared a moment to wonder where in the hell they were going.
"By the way, what's in the trunk?" Jack asked crisply.
"By the way, what's in the trunk?" Jack asked crisply. Selks stared at the man, startled.
"The spare tire."
Jack laughed warmly.
"Well! That must be quite a spare tire to get such a reaction from you Mr. Selks!"
"It is something of a strange question," Selks responded with a thin smile.
"Is it? I mean, don't you hear that strange thumping noise?"
Not that Jack could hear it himself, but it was amusing to see Selks' reactions.
"I do not," Selks informed Jack coldly. Though he didn't have his back to the trunk. Jack did.
"Really? I can kind of hear and almost feel this steady thump thump," Jack offered, frowning as if in concentration.
"It may simply be a loose bolt or flaw in the wheel," Selks responded, his jaw set tight. Who did this bastard think he was, Edgar Allen Poe?
Pharlen forgot the 'come to a full and complete stop before making a turn' rule again. Selks found himself all but thrown aside. Jack rode it out, watching the man curiously.
"I suppose, but since when do wheels feel like pounding against your back?"
"Just what are you insinuating?" Selks demanded in a low, terse voice. Jacks eyes narrowed, glinting eerily green in the passing illumination of street lights.
"You know precisely what I'm insinuating Mr. Selks."
Selks regarded Jack coolly over his drink. So was this it? The man throws down his hand there and then? This couldn't be Jack Tombs. Not the man who'd been so feared for so long.
"I am afraid not."
"You hit an animal and put it in the trunk, but it isn't quite dead yet," Jack sniffed primly.
Wary surprise came into Selks' eyes at that plausible excuse that Jack offered. He debated on whether or not he should take it.
"As far as I know, the trunk has nothing but the tire in it. I would not let an animal suffer."
"I really dislike animals. Bad experience as a child," Jack sighed, "Well, we best pull over and take a look."
"If you feel it necessary," Selks virtually sneered.
"You seem bothered, Mr. Selks. Is something wrong?" Jack queried a moment later, all honest concern. Selks regarded Jack covertly.
Very wrong, in fact. Astilbe would be furious if Selks' failed to handle the Tombs' in the manner the older man desired.
"Your wife's driving is a bit more erratic than I am used to, that's all," Selks finally smirked, then he shrugged, "If you really feel you must look into the trunk, by all means. Let's look in the trunk."
"California driving seems that way to many people outside the state. Very good," Jack purred, then he lifted his voice, "Doll, can you pull over please?"
"Okay," Pharlen agreed. And stop she did, with a spring popping halt alongside some darkened park. Selks watched Jack carefully, then politely swung open the door.
"I will need the keys," Selks noted sweetly.
"Trunk release! Found it!" Pharlen cheered, squirming to manage to tug the latch. Jack simply smiled as he slid out of the limo as the trunk popped open.
"I wasn't sure your wife could still bend over that far, in the condition she is in," Selks told Jack, an expression of loathing in his eyes.
To hell with the masks. If the bastard was going to force their hand, then Selks was more than happy to oblige. Astilbe would certainly understand.
"An amazing woman, ain't she?" Jack purred, following Selks to the back of the car. He flicked his wrist slightly, stepping behind and somewhat to the right of Selks.
"Definitely," Selks noted nastily, glancing back to look Jack over with clear disdain in his eyes, "One has to wonder how that could have occurred."
Selks' hand moved along the inside of the trunk breifly, then he slipped it away to grasp the top of the hood. Disconnecting the trunks interior light, Jack realized. Nice trick. He'd remember it. Trunk interior lights came after his retirement.
No spared fancy words or one liners, the moment Selks moved to open the trunk, Jack hooked his arm around the man's throat from behind, driving the scalpel into his right kidney, twisting and wiggling the thin blade. It was quick and clean, but it would take a few moments for the man to go down.
An abrupt howl tore from Selks, and he grabbed for Jack's wrist, damn near flinging Jack over his shoulder with an abrupt furious strength. Claws dug into Jack's skin deeply.
Jack let out a yelp. He was not expecting that resistance at all. He barely held onto Selks' throat and his own balance. The claws hadn't registered in Jacks' mind yet.
A wolfish snarl escaped Selks as he turned his head to glower at Jack. Jack's eyes went wide with horror. Selks' eyes flared yellow, gray fur raised from shaven skin. Worse, canines lowered from a swiftly elongating face.
"I'll kill you, leech!" Selks bellowed, wrenching to get Jack into his claws.
Jack screamed in blind panic at the transformation. Phobic terror lent him strength, sheer instinct guided his hand as he slashed wildly with the scalpel. Strikes landed over arteries and veins, the majority simply cutting deep into flesh and muscle.
Selks heaved at Jack, trying to get the man where he could reach him. He flailed at the razor edged attack, stumbling against the open trunk. He swiped at Jack viciously.
Jack clung to Selks' back like gum to the underside of a pizza parlor table, knowing if Selks had even the slightest room to move, he'd be dead before he hit the pavement. Keeping the kill clean wasn't even a distant concern, Jack stabbed into Selks throat repeatedly, gibbering with maddened terror.
Selks shoved back violently, heaving Jack back with a surge of adrenaline. Jack fell back, stunned, dropping the scalpel as he stumbled to his backside.
Before Selks could move, a single shot rang out. The report seemed to echo for a long while. Jack stared as Selks slowly collapsed to the pavement. By the time the man hit, he was a rather large gray wolf.
"S'were wolf, Jack," Pharlen told him, startled. Queen of the obvious, but Jack only nodded, shivering hard as he stared at the body of the animal.
"You okay, baby?" Pharlen asked, returning her pistol to her purse and stepping to him. She couldn't quite kneel beside him, so she stood close, petting his hair, pressing his cheek to her thigh.
Jack nodded again, his breathing still erratic. He stared at his torn wrist.
"He get you?" she frowned. Jack swallowed hard.
"Only a little."
"Ugh. Well he looks healthy, shouldn't be rabid," Pharlen exhaled, eyeing the wolf, "That doesn't turn you into a werewolf, too, does it? Or is that only in London?"
That was the last thing Jack wanted to hear. He jerked and stared at her vapidly.
"Does it!? I don't know!"
"Nau, I don't think so. S'obscure legend. Don't worry about it," Pharlen laughed softly, pressing his cheek to her. Jack relaxed faintly at that, but knew he would be neurotically checking his teeth and beard for overgrowth for months afterwards.
"Anyhow, that's not a bite, it's a scratch," Pharlen pointed out. Jack closed his eyes and exhaled.
"Gotta... gotta do somethin' about the corpse," he whispered.
Pharlen grimaced, then simply uses a shred of the now empty clothing Selks was wearing to bandage Jack's wrist. She shrugged.
"It's just a wolf that someones pit bull tore up."
"But won't he turn back like in the movies?" Jack asked slowly, staring at the dead wolf. Dead animals, he had no trouble with.
"I think he did. At least, Kirha says they'll revert to whatever they started from when they're killed," Pharlen mused, peering at the animal herself. It did indeed look like a pit bull had gotten to the wolf.
"He was a dog to start?" Jack demanded, stupefied.
"This dude must have been born a wolf. Ja, looks like it."
Pharlen clearly had just fried the poor necromancer's brain. Jack didn't want to know what he did know about were creatures.
Jack drew in a deep breath, then scrabbled to his feet as Pharlen finished bandaging his wrist. He exhaled, brushing himself off as best he could, then grimaced.
"Better see what's in the trunk."
Jack pushed the trunk lid open, glancing at the dead wolf once more, just in case it pulled a horror film classic and got up for one last scare.
"My bullets are silver, silly. He ain't getting up," Pharlen chided, divining his expression. Jack laughed faintly.
"You do come prepared."
So did Jack. He reconnected the trunks light, then lifted a brow. A tarp had been pulled over something. Still, a human ankle was readily apparent. Jack frowned, then pulled the tarp away.
"You were wrong about the wonder bunnies, Doll," Jack noted dryly.
Deedra Shore lay in a bloody heap in the trunk. She was even still warm.
Pharlen's nose wrinkled as she peered under Jack's arm into the trunk.
"Oh, yuck. That poor kid. Why would Selks kill her? She's harmless."
Jack mused, abruptly looking around the immediate vicinity. If he was lucky, then Deedra's spirit might still be tagging along with the corpse. It was very fresh, after all.
"Maybe he's just a jerk. Or she was more important or had better connections than we know."
Luck was still with him, though it was twisted luck. Jack picked Deedra's spirit out quickly, but she wasn't coherent. She was furious and not making much sense.
"Deedra?" Jack called. Hopefully, the sound of her name would help focus her.
"Is she there?" Pharlen asked, looking around haplessly. Jack nodded slowly. All Deedra would or could do was to replay a steady and horrific scene of being cornered and savaged behind the restaurant by a man-wolf.
"She's not making much sense yet."
If ever. Not all ghosts became coherent.
"Ah, well, I could try and put her back in there, if you can fix it enough to support life," Pharlen offered with a shrug. Jack exhaled, considering.
"I can only reanimate, not bring back life," he reminded her, looking over the corpse closely. He absently touched over the wounds, pressing the gashes back together, melding what could easily be fixed.
"Ja, I can put the soul back in. But the body has to be able to support life," she chuckled. He nodded pragmatically.
"Depends on whether any chunks were ripped out or not."
Deedra, meantime, went from recounting the wolf attack to babbling incoherently about knowing too much. Jack frowned as he listened to her. She made a brilliant spirit, it was difficult to know that Pharlen saw the wraith as only a light, if that much.
Fortunately, the body was reasonably intact. There wasn't any major internal damage. Jack had seen bodies savaged by animals and were beasts. It gave him great pause to see how neatly Deedra was killed. He glanced at the dead wolf once more.
"You're so good at that," Pharlen smiled, bumping against Jack affectionately. He chuckled. He never gave much thought to his strange command over dead flesh, until he lost it.
Pharlen was right, after all. The power was always his, he just had to learn them and reclaim them. Jack watched his hands, the familiar greenish glow of his own soul, patch-worked together from dozens of others, flowing from his fingers into the dead flesh before him.
People wondered why Jack was such a remarkable mortician.
Deedra began to babble in outrage as she realized that her killer lay at Pharlen's feet. Jack rolled his eyes, exasperated.
"What?" Pharlen asked.
"Now she's upset that we killed an endangered species."
That figured. Pharlen snorted, withdrawing a small glass sphere from within her cloak.
"As if she wasn't bad enough alive," Jack added sourly. Pharlen snickered.
"Shh. I have to focus."
Chuckling, Jack fell quiet, simply finishing up on Deedra's body. Pharlen lifted the sphere to her fingertips, drawing in a breath. She concentrated on the glass intensely, beginning to sing.
Not three measures into the melody, not even a single other spirit attracted to her voice and song, and the sphere blazed white in Pharlen's fingertips. She startled badly, her pink eyes opening wide. She hadn't even been able to ask Deedra if she wanted back into her body before the spirit flashed from behind Jack and into the sphere.
"Oh!" Pharlen yipped. Jack turned, blinking at the brilliance of the flash. He chewed his lower lip, then shrugged.
"You got the right spirit, ya? Really don't want Selks coming back like in a bad horror flick."
"I didn't expect so forceful a recall," Pharlen admitted slowly. Then she wrinkled her nose. "I hate flicks like that. Make sure it's her!"
Jack shrugged dispassionately, leaning over to sniff over Deedra's corpse. He then turned to Pharlen, inhaling the air over the sphere in her hand. He may not have the ability to smell real things as well as Pharlen, but he could tell the difference between dead things with disturbing accuracy.
"Ya, it's her. She reeks of tofu and wildflowers," Jack told her sourly. Pharlen giggled, moving to kiss his lips.
"Only you, sweet."
Selks spirit, now that Jack thought about it, was no where to be seen. He frowned as he scanned the immediate area.
"Hopefully, this little incident will teach her a little common sense in her tree hugging," Pharlen murmured, eyeing Deedra's quiescent form. "The world lost much when you dropped out of med school, m'love. Even if you can only do that on the dead right now."
Jack chuckled.
"Oh, if what I can do went public, I'd either be in a test lab, revered as a religious figure, or burned at the stake by freak-o fundamentalists," he chided.
"Oh, dear, true enough," she laughed faintly, "But just with your surgical technique alone, that is artistry. Is she done?"
Jack wiped the majority of the gore covering his hands off on the tarp, beaming.
"Yup. And thank you. It really means much to me to know that."
Pharlen smiled to Jack adoringly as she lay the glass sphere over Deedra's chest.
"Wouldn't want to keep you from knowing your good points, sweet," she assured him.
Again, Pharlen didn't even get the chance to get fancy -- the spirit literally leapt from the containment sphere like electricity arcing. Green flame raced over the girls body like St. Elmo's fire. Pharlen jerked, back, stunned, her eyes wide.
"Dang! Someone had their Wheaties today!" Jack sputtered. Pharlen nodded.
"No kidding! That is a danged powerful life force," she agreed dourly. Pharlen moved to kick start the vital systems, only to find that Deedra was breathing already.
Jack could only stare. It was mildly comforting to see that Pharlen was just as astounded as he.
"Well. I don't think Selks did a very good job of killing the poor kid," Pharlen finally decided. Jack glanced at her sidelong. Pharlen infused Deedra with soft gray energy, speeding regeneration that was working overtime as it was.
"She's healing awfully fast," Pharlen told Jack, rather unnecessarily, "But she doesn't have cat or wolf scent. She's not Bastet or Garou."
That was a relief to hear, but it was still damn strange. Jack just nodded.
"Esh. Some people are just naturally strong. Might have some ancient dryad blood, lot of tree huggers do," she shrugged.
"S'kind of freaky really. Does she take PCP or something!?" Jack blurted out.
"Naw, she's clean. Deedra? Can you hear me?" Pharlen chuckled.
Deedra mumbled hoarsely. Pretty good for having had a recent amateur tracheotomy.
"Call for an ambulance or just dump her in an ER?" Pharlen asked Jack, then she shook herself, "Or gee, heck, wait a few minutes and just drive her home!"
"Well, why don't we wait for Super Girl to come to and ask her what she'd prefer," Jack temporized. Actually, he was curious to see if Deedra wouldn't just fly off while she was at it.
"Ja. Let's get her out of the trunk and into the car, get her some juice," Pharlen chuckled. Deedra was already flailing weakly. This was some impressive recovery.
"All right then. I'll drive," Jack agreed humorously. Pharlen wrinkled her nose at him as he lifted the girl from the trunk.
"Aw, didn't you like my driving?" she grinned impishly, "I could almost see out over the hood!"
Deedra stared in horror at the placid face of the warmongering fur wearer. Pharlen tilted her head, watching the girl. After a moment, Deedra cleared her throat, then froze, realizing that the pelts of murdered foxes were lain over her.
It was warm and soft, though.
"Are you all right, Miss Shore?" Pharlen asked gently, pouring a glass of orange juice for her. Deedra gurgled faintly.
"Take it easy. You had a bad scare," Pharlen smiled, carefully helping the girl to sit up. Deedra drank gratefully, shuddering as she was assailed by sudden and horrific visions of some vicious man wolf lumbering towards her. She gasped, pushing the glass away.
"It wasn't just a wolf it was a man, it was huge it..." Deedra babbled, grabbing at Pharlen's arms. Pharlen's eyelids lowered and she nodded, her voice soothing.
"Yes, yes, it was, but it's gone now. You're safe. It didn't lay a fang on you."
Deedra stared at Pharlen. It had, though. It had torn out her throat, and she couldn't stop it at all.
"You don't believe me."
"I believe you. Do you know why it attacked you?" Pharlen smiled, pressing the juice on the girl once more.
"I... It said I knew too much. I'd be more useful dead," Deedra responded slowly, her eyes like saucers as she took the glass.
More useful dead. Jack knelt into the interior of the limo, frowning as he grabbed a few napkins to wipe his hands.
"Was that all it said?" he asked quietly. Deedra stared at him blankly.
Of course. He had rescued her. Jack Tombs Jr. had arrived out of the shadows to save her from the raging beast.
"I... I think so."
"We'll take you home. Where do you live?" Jack nodded, turning his gaze to Pharlen. She frowned slightly. Somehow, Deedra's words had more meaning for him than her.
"But... I... I'd rather stay with you," Deedra blurted out.
"We'll take you home," Jack repeated flatly. He needed this like he needed a hole in his head.
Crushed, Deedra sighed, finally giving her address and directions. Jack nodded. The limo was equipped with NorthStar. He'd just input her address, the computer would give likely better directions.
"Who have you spoken to, about your concerns for the new chemical and manufacturing plants?" Pharlen prodded as Jack shut the doors and got behind the wheel of the car. Deedra blinked several times.
"Well, everyone. I mean, you can't get the word out if you don't get the word out."
"Is there someone heading your club? Or is that you?"
Deedra shrugged torturously.
"Well, yes, but he has to lay low. Because the industrialists and warmongers want to kill him."
Pharlen quirked a brow, glancing at the back of Jack's head. She nodded as she saw him shrug.
"So you carry out his orders?" Pharlen asked. Deedra huffed faintly.
"It's not like that! God, you sound just like my mother and father! He doesn't order us around, he just knows what's right, and tells us what we should do!" she blurted out, "It's not like we're a bunch of drones!"
That was debatable. Pharlen caught the amused flash of one of Jack's eyes from the rear view mirror.
"What do your parents say, by the way?" Jack called over his shoulder.
Deedra pouted ferociously, huddling up under the fox cloak without realizing what she was doing.
"They said he's some eco terrorist, and he's using us to do his dirty work. That he's putting us into danger, and probably isn't even interested in ecology, and has some other angle," she responded ungraciously.
Jack sighed softly. And the bastard thought of it first. He'd been away from the con circuit too long.
"Okay. Can you put us in touch with him?" Jack asked. Deedra glared briefly at Pharlen, then nodded.
"But he only said Mr. Tombs. He never said anything about anyone else," she informed them snippily. Pharlen lifted a brow, exchanging a brief glance with Jack.
"All right, then can you put me in touch with him, and then I'll break it to him that there's a Mrs. Tombs," Jack smiled rather thinly. Deedra shot another covert glare at Pharlen.
There were no pictures of Jack Tombs, but he'd been described to her often enough. Thin and tall; a pale, almost sallow complexion; noticeably green eyes; black hair worn combed back from his face. It was the tendency for the man to appear as if he was stuck in the 1930s that had caught Deedra's fancy.
Add to that the philanthropist that Jack seemed to be, and he was suddenly a larger than life hero figure. After so many day dreams, Jack did finally appear; every bit as handsome as Deedra envisioned, and he showed up with a wife.
A glamorous, fur wearing barbaric monster of a wife, at that.
"Yes. I can," Deedra finally admitted sulkily. This wasn't how she envisioned this meeting!
"Good. When?" Jack nodded. Deedra sighed, shrugging.
"Well, was s'posed t' meet him t'night, after I left the club."
"Where to?" Jack nodded. Better to speak with the organ grinder than the monkey, after all.
Sighing heavily, Deedra gave another glower to Pharlen, then simply rattled off the directions.
"I'm curious, Miss Shore. Does Astilbe or anyone working for him know about this man?" Pharlen queried as she finally leaned back on the seat.
Deedra began to speak, then she just stared, her jaw falling open, at the older woman's rather distended midsection. She blinked, looking from that evidence of an intimate marital relationship to the back of Jack's head.
"Well, they want to kill him. But I don't think they know he's heading our group."
Daisy knew very damn well that Jack would threaten to make glue and dog food of her if he caught her eating his mothers roses, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt her. She chortled softly to herself as she browsed the full blown velvety red blooms.
All was well at the cemetery. Daisy did conscientiously check that before she succumbed to temptation. It was a lively cemetery, likely because of what Jack was. Several ghosts had their anchor points in the old graveyard.
Daisy munched reflexively on another rose, feeling the twitching worms of apprehension writhe in her mind.
Daisy was born to grant terror to the mortals. She was good at it. Her dam was still the best, her sire remained a horror of horrors in the depths of the Abyss. Her breeding was mixed, demonic and planar both, and that lent her a certain panache in her work.
The dual nature of both cute and hideous had become a boon. To be able to appear as Mattel toys version of a Barbie Nightmare only to shred into some ghoulish vision of deepest Hell was a wonderful visual. Most people didn't survive it with their sanity intact. She didn't have to lift a hoof.
Daisy's ear swiveled. Most of Jack's neighbors were elderly, running the gamut of sweet to garrulous. She could hear the piping voice of one of the old ladies telling someone all about the Von Tombs family.
That did seem to be where the apprehension was focused. Snorting to herself, Daisy took a step foreword into the shadows of the bushes only to become part of them.
A matronly woman of late middle age was scouting for cemeteries for her and her cherished husband. It was, she told the old lady, important to her that they be laid to their eternal rest somewhere pleasant, run by decent and caring people.
"Well, I know the Von Tombs family has been here longer than I have, and that's saying quite a bit," the old woman twittered softly, "The young one, Junior, he keeps up the cemetery just as well as his father, and his father's father. I think he's the fourth generation."
"These days, people will sell their family name to corporations, that's why I ask," the younger woman sighed ruefully.
"I doubt very much they would ever sell."
"That's comforting. The family does live there, though?" the matron mused, glancing back at the gorgeous Victorian home overseeing the cemetery.
"Yes, they do. I don't see them often, but I never did. They keep to themselves. One expects that," the old lady chuckled, a tad morbidly.
"I suppose it's difficult to imagine that, anyhow. A family, wife, children, dogs," the matron agreed, amused.
"Well, the current Mr. Tombs does have a wife, and she does seem to be expecting," the old lady confided, her voice hushing as she imparted that gossip, "Mrs. Tombs has her dogs, of course; but I'm really not sure whom the pony belongs to."
"Dogs? Pony?" the matron repeated, quite honestly surprised. The old woman laughed.
"Yes. Two dogs, quite beautifully mannered. One rather looks like a German shepherd, the other is black and white. The pony is terribly sweet and friendly. Black, a little Welsh pony, I think."
Daisy eased in closer. So this nice matron wanted to know about the family? Interesting.
"Gracious. Where would they keep her? Surely you're not zoned for horses?" the matron wondered, scanning the property once more.
"I suppose in the old carriage house. These old houses, you understand, were built before cars were popular. Most do still have a little stable and shed for a horse or two and a carriage of some sort," the old lady explained.
"Oh, yes, of course," the matron smiled, "Then you are allowed to keep horses in this area?"
"Why shouldn't we? These homes are a good deal older than the zoning laws."
That was, the matron noted, quite a bit different from 'we are zoned for horses'.
"You know, it's strange, because when I met with Mr. Tombs about a year ago regarding the internment of my dear aunt May, rest her soul; not here, of course; but when I met with him, he seemed quite alarmed at the sight of a stray cat," the matron mused, eyeing the old lady covertly.
The old woman laughed.
"Mr. Tombs doesn't like animals, but obviously, his wife does. One does make concessions for ones husband or wife."
"True, indeed," the matron smiled, "I suppose one may even learn to enjoy those things in time."
A leading question. The matron watched the old woman keenly all the while smiling her slightly superior gossip's smile.
"I wouldn't go that far, the Tombs men have always been notoriously set in their ways," the old woman chuckled, "I've seen Mr. Tombs pat the pony now and again, but most times he is yelling at her."
Daisy snickered to herself as she blended herself into the shadows of the hedges that the old woman trimmed. One fine day, someone was going to call the Humane Society on Jack. That'd teach him to yell at her for snitching roses.
"I see. Well, I suppose I should be on my way. You wouldn't happen to know when the Tombs would be back, would you?" the matron finally decided.
"I didn't know they had left. They do rather keep to themselves. I'm sure Mr. Tomb's employees would know, however. Good day," the old woman murmured.
Daisy trailed after the matron as she walked back towards the mortuary and house. This was interesting. She had noticed, off and on, strangers asking the neighbors about Jack, but from what Jacks 'employees' told her, this wasn't unusual at all.
The neighbors rarely had anything to tell anyone, in any case. Why the interest in the animals around the house, though, that was what concerned Daisy. Jack had only become somewhat inured to animals, he hadn't lost his terror of them.
In any case, Jack never feared dead animals, and Daisy, while not dead, certainly wasn't alive. She was a night gaunt, a ghoulish creature of a whole other reality. Molly and Jazzy, the dogs; and the cat Dolly, knew far better than to alarm or startle Jack.
The matron didn't go to the mortuary. Daisy followed with the ease of a shadow, curiously pacing the woman. Oddly, the woman shoved herself into the concealment of a large stand of lilac trees at the end of a block.
It only got stranger when the older woman began to unclothe. Daisy could only stare. The woman was even a neat nudist, she folded her things carefully, then shoved them into her large hand bag.
Without warning, the woman melted from a rather stout human matron into a rather stout old wolf. Daisy blinked several times, finally copping on.
Neat trick, but what had a Garou trying to dig up dirt on Jack? He generally rubbed vampires the wrong way, not Garou. Daisy followed silently as the wolf sniffed her way around the house.
The house, mortuary, and grounds all were heavily under scented in the sweet sick smell of death. Daisy's scent would no more stand out over that than would one of the zombies running the mortuary in Jack's absence.
The eyes of a wolf or any canine was easily fooled; their noses were harder to dismay. Daisy watched as the wolf moseyed over to the carriage house. There would be a horse like scent there, but if the wolf knew what real horses smelled like, then there could be trouble.
Dream images were easily lifted into reality. Daisy rose up in the small stable a doppleganger of herself. A cute little black pony. While the wolf was focused on the seeming, Daisy lay the shadow that she had become over the wolf's back.
Contact. Once Daisy laid herself over the animal, she easily triggered the freshest memory the wolf had of a horse. Even though it was purely bucolic, the wolf still, inevitably, was slightly uneasy.
Nightmares were unsettling, and that was that. Daisy couldn't help but to be what she was. However, the illusion became complete. Sight of a pony, smell of a pony, sound of a pony, feel of a pony.
Whuffling, the wolf's ears laid back, and she backed out of the carriage house. A bomb proof Welsh mare of Arabian blood lived there more like a house pet than a riding animal. It just had a slightly surreal feel to it.
It was peculiar to see a horse in an inner city house overlooking a cemetery, that was all.
Daisy abruptly decided that the wolf was more interesting than eating the roses. The shadow baffling over the old wolf's grizzled coat slowly evaporated into the animal's head.
The wolf paused and shuddered. It felt like someone walked over her grave. This place of death was getting to her. She returned to the lilac grove and grabbed the handle of her purse in her jaws.
It was an amusing sight, a solid and elderly big dog carrying her mistresses purse down the road. People were always so impressed with how well mannered and trained that wolf like mutt was.
Jack spared a moment to wonder why so many of his contacts were so big on dramatics. He'd discovered over time that the easiest and best place to meet for shady dealings was in public. People rarely noticed things when there was a lot going on around them.
These lonely, eerie places that could double as horror movie sets had the disadvantage of being quiet. Any movement would be grossly apparent to the poor fool who just happened to wander by at the wrong moment.
It did appeal to Jack's own nature, however. The burned and bombed out remains of a small hospital turned abortion clinic had its charm. The charring, the stench of burnt blood and death, the remaining equipment in filthy and sinister array was artistic in its decay.
Deedra picked her way carefully into the old operating theater, glancing back to Jack as she went. He glided after her easily, never so much as crunching brittle and bubbled linoleum under foot.
"Okay. Just wait here. He knows we're here," Deedra assured Jack in a low voice. Jack smirked faintly. As if a limousine pulling through a dying industrial section to park near a bombed out clinic wasn't obvious as hell.
"Mr. Von Tombs. It has been a while."
The voice came from everywhere. It impressed Deedra no ends, but Jack happened to know that the old operating theaters were built to project the voices of the surgeons to the observers. He declined to be overawed by acoustics.
"You have the advantage on me," Jack admitted laconically, folding his arms over his chest.
"That is the idea."
Jack's brow arched. This hoarse voiced man was beginning to sound like an old timer. One of the better con artists or assassins from decades before.
"Get to the point. My wife's waiting in the car," Jack ordered curtly. He could all but sense the surprise at his announcement. Then this man wasn't all knowing.
"You have been gone for a long while. Many people took advantage of that," the man told Jack evenly, "I am glad to see you finally realized that."
Jack shrugged faintly. His gaze scanned the shadows restlessly, then he lifted his brows.
"I like to see who I'm dealing with."
"We all have our preferences. Deedra has apprised you of the situation with your land here."
"I'm wondering why Astilbe would be so stupid, if that's what you're asking," Jack replied, "What he's doing is sure to attract attention."
"That is the point."
Jack paused and considered that.
"What's your angle with this? Good natured altruism?" Jack queried after a moment. The point, indeed, and he'd missed it for it staring into his face. Astilbe was subtle.
Gross mismanagement of Jacks' interests would have earned Astilbe an anonymous bullet to the back of the head. This strange game of good guys and bad guys and land use had good odds for bringing Jack out of seclusion.
"At the moment, it benefits to have Astilbe's intended developments ceased," the man replied repressively.
"At the moment, I've got no reason not to believe you're playing both sides of the deck. If it's been a long time, then how do I know you weren't the one who fingered me for Astilbe?" Jack asked with a cold grin. He could hear Deedra yip in horror. Heroes died hard.
"You don't. I'm not in the habit of proving myself, anymore than you are."
Paranoia wasn't just a character flaw, it was a way of life for Jack. It led him to attach a pair of ghosts to his pistols, one each. They didn't just keep the .45s safe and reload them for him, but they also served for reconnaissance.
One of the ghosts, Mindy, stood quietly near a deep shadow. She shrugged, pointing with a dramatic swing of both hands towards his mysterious friend. Jack gave an imperceptible nod to her.
"You'll have to excuse me if I don't find you as awe inspiring and trustworthy as these eco-nut kids. Why don't you come on out from behind those old oxygen tanks, and we'll talk like civilized beings?" Jack purred, directing his gaze squarely to the point Mindy indicated.
"Can't really see his face," Clarke, the other ghost noted quietly as he manifested beside Jack, "Covered up. Hat, scarf."
"Remarkable night vision," the man murmured, moving from the deep shadow to stand silhouetted against a wall.
"It's a hobby," Jack preened slightly. There were benefits from being able to see ghosts as easily as the living.
Deedra shivered abruptly, beginning to look around in the manner Jack knew all too well. She was beginning to realize that there was something there beside three meatbags. Jack jerked his chin at Clarke, then smiled as both he and Mindy faded from his sight.
"What we have are three game pieces," the man noted, calm as he folded his arms over his chest, "A previously undeveloped lot, a chemical plant, and a derelict pre-war building."
"The target must be the last," Jack responded, narrowing his eyes as he studied the other man. There was not much to see, as Clarke had said.
"Why do you assume this?"
"I don't assume it. It's the last piece. The first was to get attention. Your attention, these kids attention, every tree hugger in Europe's attention. The second was to bring me out into the open. The last, well, that's what we have to find out. What do you know about it?"
A silence hung in the air for several moments. Finally the other man spoke.
"It is one of many buildings partially destroyed during the second world war that people feel is better left as a monument to madness."
Jack hesitated.
"What are your intentions, Mr. Von Tombs?" the man inquired formally.
"I'll deal with Astilbe. Bit of a bitch, now I've got to find another firm to manage things here," Jack shrugged impassively.
"I'm sure you'll make do," the man responded easily, turning as if to leave. Then he paused, glancing back at Jack. "I would send my wife back home, were I you."
"You aren't me."
It would be better insurance to wax both Deedra and her friend, but Jack opted to see what else they could give him. There was something that bothered him about the man. Jack was good with faces and voices. He had to be. Yet he couldn't quite place where this man might know him from.
"True. I'll be watching. Good luck."
Jack frowned slightly at that, watching as the man soundlessly melted back into the darkness.
Deedra, though a card carrying bubble head, did have the advantage of being able to do precisely what she was told without a lot of arguing. The game was on, and Jack was going to be damned before he ended up the sucker.
Pharlen dealt with the little navigational computer in the limousine. Quietly giving it a whole other set of directions to record. Jack cleared the vehicle out, removing even minute fibers and hairs indicating Deedra's presence. That left the booze in the cushions, but what limo wasn't eventually saturated in spilled alcohol?
The whiskey glasses removed, then Jack hosed the interior of the vehicle in Ozium, a remarkably powerful and complete air deodorizer. Properly used, it would obliterate most scents, then dissipate. Pharlen retreated from the car, making a face.
"I like this stuff," Jack pouted to her sweetly.
"You also like sucking the filling out of Twinkies with a straw," she retorted.
Jack cackled. He couldn't argue with that. He checked the interior out once more, then backed out of the limo. The keys left in the ignition, the car left parked on the undeveloped lot in question.
That would certainly put the brakes on Astilbe's intention to have the partially wooded lot bull dozed. Jack scanned the area, frowning. He wasn't a big nature lover, but this was a scenic piece of land.
Definitely, it would draw the wrong sort of attention if someone tried to develop it in any manner. It would be worth more to sell the property back to the government and forget about it. That was an attractive option. Jack could probably inflate the hell out of the price, considering the scare Astilbe initiated.
That wasn't Astilbe's bottom line intention, to make a big deal out of the land in order to reluctantly abandon the ecology threatening plans and sell the land back to the people.
No. It was in the very fact that it was a chemical plant that was intended for the lot. People, even when they were being very careful, had a tendency to unconsciously mirror what they were trying to hide.
Jack draped his arm over Pharlen's shoulders, squeezing her to him as he walked her back to the road. She glanced up at him.
"If I asked you to get back home, would you?" Jack asked softly, scanning the darkness. Pharlens head tilted faintly.
"Start talking. You've never tried to call me off before."
"You've never been pregnant before," he reminded her, amusement touching to the concern in his eyes. He felt her huff and tried not to grin.
"Still. What did it mean to you when Deedra said that Selks said she was worth more dead?" she demanded. She was slower, now. She knew it. She didn't have her speed, her agility, her reflexes. But her mind remained the same.
Perhaps more paranoid.
"Deedra wasn't badly torn up. You saw it. And you've seen what a Garou usually leaves after a kill," Jack murmured, "Clean kill means nothing to them."
"Unless they lick up the blood and dispose of the bones," Pharlen snorted. Jack made a face at her.
"Thanks for the visual. Deedra wasn't torn up, and she was worth more dead than alive. So what can you do with a dead body?"
Pharlen nodded slowly.
"The dead body who was the leader of a small but vocal protest group, who may or may not have a real leader hidden behind her? Oh, yeah. Lots."
Jack smiled tightly.
"Precisely."
"So who was this guy? This leader?" Pharlen prompted. Jack frowned, pulling the cheap temporary gate marking the property aside.
"That's bugging me. Talked like he knew me. I didn't recognize him. Could be playing both sides of this fence, could just be a crack pot. Made out that he'd known what was going on all along, and wasn't it nice that I finally tumbled to it," Jack responded with a wry snort.
"Then our friend only knows that you've been out of circulation for the past four-five years," Pharlen agreed.
"Right. Maybe he's been waiting. Watching. Either way, I don't like it."
Pharlen was quiet for a long while as she watched the oncoming headlights of a car easing down the quiet road. She finally glanced up at Jack.
"It's like a lot of people were waiting for you to resurface. Since you announced that sabbatical of yours."
Jack just nodded slowly.
That sabbatical of his. He wanted to get his hands on Trioxin 2-4-5. He had. Then he'd been thrown out of reality all together. A botched spell cast by a meat head sorcerer, and Jack and his cherished Chevy panel van were flung into the snow bound scenery of some medieval war complete with dragons, centaurs, and wyvverns.
But he had the Trioxin 2-4-5.
"No one could know where I ended up after I crashed the research lab," Jack murmured quietly to Pharlen, "But it is possible that they knew I got the Trioxin gas."
Pharlen was quiet for a long while. The car slowed, then pulled in quietly. Deedra was behind the wheel. She stared at them like a spooked bunny.
"Also possible that they know what it can do," Pharlen finally murmured. Jack smiled tightly as he opened the door for her, helping her to sit.
"Since you're supposed to be dead, Deedra, you're just going to have to lay low," Jack told her briskly. Deedra nodded, swallowing once.
Jack looked so bloody American as he quietly related his story to the police in easy German. Insouciant and unconcerned. It meant nothing to him that a man was missing and presumed dead. Astilbe gazed at Jack and couldn't loathe him enough.
Mr. Selks picked Jack and Pharlen up from the night club at eleven. He dropped them off at the hotel at eleven twenty. The hotel log reflected that. The night clerk verified it. Astilbe had beaten the police to those facts, but chose not to reveal that.
After that, Jack and Pharlen had gone to bed. They had no idea where Mr. Selks might have been going or doing after seeing them to the hotel.
Jack had to be lying, but there wasn't any way that he could be lying. The night clerk wouldn't cover for the couple.
"But you've no idea why there would be a dead wolf in the trunk of the limo?" a detective asked Jack, still puzzled over that. Jacks brows arched.
"I have no idea. Maybe he hit it on the road and tossed it into the trunk to dispose of later."
"It appeared to have been attacked by another animal," the detective noted, and Jack shook his head rather primly.
"Dog fighting is illegal in America, you know. Barbaric."
Pharlen exhaled faintly, shifting her feet, and Jack glanced to her, then the detective.
"Is that all? We do have business, and my wife really shouldn't be on her feet this long," he noted. The detective nodded and exhaled.
"Yes. Thank you, you'll be at this address for a few more days?"
"Yes. We'll let you know before we return home," Jack nodded, turning that damnable unconcerned gaze to Astilbe.
It was as if Jack knew how much Astilbe longed to wipe that smug look off of his face.
"Terrible thing, when someone vanishes," Jack murmured almost sweetly to Astilbe. He enjoyed this part of the game. Everyone knew what happened, no one had any facts, and in public like this, the masks had to be firmly held in place.
"Hopefully, it is a carjacking, and Mr. Selks has not made it to a telephone yet," Astilbe responded tightly, "But we should not exclude your wife from conversation."
Jack glanced at Pharlen, then shrugged.
"Business matters don't concern her," he told Astilbe, continuing to speak German, "This unpleasantness with Selks concerns her even less," Jack went on, stroking Pharlen's hair as they stepped onto the elevator. The discourtesy was breathtaking, particularly to ones own wife.
Astilbe could scarcely disguise his contempt for Jack.
On the other hand, Pharlen was having a difficult time disguising her amusement. She spoke and understood German just fine. There wasn't any reason to admit to that, however.
"My secretary, Matilde," Astilbe announced as they stepped into his spacious office. The woman nodded politely, busied with her computer.
Jack blew past the introduction, intent on stepping past the secretary to get to business. Pharlen paused and frowned at the woman, however. She studied the solid older woman for several heartbeats before she trailed after Jack.
"Very like your father, Mr. Tombs. You get down to business," Astilbe told Jack, sneering as Jack cruised past Astilbe's desk to sit behind it. The height of arrogance. A not so subtle reminder of the fact that Astilbe was in Jack's employ.
"No sense wasting time," Jack purred, leaning back in the ultra modern leather and chrome chair, "I want to know why you've taken undeveloped property and earmarked it to lease to a chemical plant when I've got no less than five lots all zoned for that already."
"Those are currently occupied," Astilbe responded evenly, watching as Pharlen simply seated herself on a sofa.
"They are. They don't have the profit margin that makes a sixth chemical plant built from the ground up worth risking public outcry at a scenic lot being clear cut," Jack pointed out, eyeing Astilbe impassively, "Or does this particular deal have such a profit margin?"
"The numbers were attractive, of course, but there is no sense pursuing this with such outcry," Astilbe murmured, stepping to the window and pulling the drapes.
And since Jack had so thoughtfully made the piece of disputed property part of a crime scene, national attention would be drawn to the damn lot. Brilliant. It was worth a grudging admiration. Astilbe would have to remember that particular little trick.
"No, no sense. Before this little unpleasantness with Selks and that animal, I'm sure that city officials could have been persuaded to back off and allow business to be business," Jack purred. He adored rubbing it in. He gave an artful sigh, all concern.
"I suppose now, this becomes a more widespread event. Worse, if the animal happens to be an endangered species of some sort," Jack went on, watching Astilbe sidelong. He grinned at the faint flinch.
"I daresay this deal couldn't have been far along enough for there to be any sort of a penalty from the proposed lessees," Jack mused, rocking the chair thoughtfully before reaching down to readjust it, "Couldn't have been that far along, I was never contacted over it."
"In the past, you have been content to trust to my judgment," Astilbe reminded Jack tersely. Jack grinned like a scarecrow, holding up a forefinger.
"Dad was. I'm not."
Astilbe was forced to choke that down, though his utter hate for the man burned clearly in gray eyes. It was returned with a meltingly sweet good hearted kids regard. Jack C. Tombs. What a nice boy.
"I will keep that in mind," Astilbe replied with a gracious nod, "No. The deal was not firm enough to warrant any appreciable penalties for withdrawing the offer. I am certain that the owners of the plant will fully understand, given the circumstances."
"I'm sure. Who are they? What do they make? Why the panties in a bunch need for that particular lot?" Jack asked swiftly, adjusting the seat just a little more.
It was childish, but Jack couldn't resist. Astilbe was about his own height, there was nothing wrong with the chair. So Jack thoughtfully set the seat for a much shorter man, adjusting his own balance to conceal that fact.
"Hauser Chemicals. They manufacture the chemistry for various other plants use," Astilbe shrugged, "It was simply a convenient lot for them to consider."
"Ah. Now what's the deal with the redeveloped lot? There shouldn't be a problem with that," Jack murmured, watching Astilbe closely.
"The site has a bad reputation," Astilbe finally allowed a cold grin to touch his lips.
"So?"
"So, there are people who feel your father purchased the lot and facilities simply to keep it closed in deference to alleged wartime atrocities committed there," Astilbe murmured, gazing out of the window.
Now Astilbe had the satisfaction of watching Jack pause and almost flinch.
"Better to have it razed, then. Out of sight and mind," Jack shrugged. A good cover, and a harsh Americanism, but he knew he'd snapped, however briefly.
"That is the trouble. It seems to be historic, in some bizarre manner. However, once properly upgraded and prepared, it should serve quite well for the chemical company," Astilbe murmured, "We do try to keep our history out from under the wreckers ball."
"Okay, and?"
"And," Astilbe continued, "I intended to have the building renovated, but realized there would be an outcry if I did so. So I allowed it to lay, and turned to the wooded lot instead."
Ding. The penny dropped. Jack's lips pressed together slightly.
"Neither of those properties is worth this much trouble. Sell them," Jack decided. Astilbe gave a thin smile.
"You haven't even seen the prospective redevelopment project."
Jack's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with fury. It was all fun and masks until it was him who was forced to play nice and keep up the innocent facade.
"Do I need to? It's a property, it's causing a problem, dump it."
"You do pay for the renovation. You were sent the forms for authorization two years ago, and those were returned. They're on file," Astilbe remarked, all concern for his client's affairs.
And they both knew damn good and well Jack hadn't signed them. One of his zombies had, in Jack's absence. Jack accepted that graciously. Hoist on his own petard with that. He couldn't expect an animate dead man to know any better.
"I'd rather not get dragged into some bloody re-hash of ancient history," Jack snorted, amused, "Fine, why don't we see if one of those nice historical societies wants to lease the building? I'm sure they'll be willing to put their money where their mouths are, if they're going to obstruct capitalism."
"Certainly," Astilbe murmured.
"Now, why don't we just do a cursory look-see of the books on my properties here, shall we?" Jack beamed, stepping to help Pharlen to her feet. Astilbe smirked faintly.
"Right this way. My accounting staff will be happy to help you, and I, of course, will be available to answer any questions."
