All the characters appearing in Gargoyles and Gargoyles: The Goliath Chronicles are copyright Buena Vista Television/The Walt Disney Company. No infringement of these copyrights is intended, and is not authorized by the copyright holder. All characters, concepts, and events referenced from The Gargoyles Saga is the property of the TGS staff.

The characters of Raymond Gamin, Anyx Moxnyx, Anders Larson, Colin Mercer, Dr. Mitch Jaxon, Louis Devereaux, Cliff "Big Boss" Lee, Malcolm Malakai, Enoch "the Nordic" Anderson, and Bruce are my own creations. Concepts are borrowed from Royal Crown Revue and Diana Gabaldon's book "Dragonfly in Amber." There is a brief reference to events in the recent remake of "The Thomas Crown Affair."

Teaser: A drunkard turns out to have a much more mysterious past than anybody originally thought.

Timeline: This fic is set one week after "Seeds of Change."
 

Jared gnawed on a roll of bread as he watched the old gargoyle Hudson read to the small homeless children that lived in the underground chamber. He felt sorry for the little tykes. That they had to live here. The semi-appalling conditions, the extreme cold of this 'Fimbulwinter' phenomenon that he'd heard Talon talking about, the Unseelie attacks, the monsters. He didn't mind the gargoyles, the Mutates, or any of the many weird things he'd seen in his time. It was just he felt sorry for the children.

But Jared's attention was drawn away from Hudson's reading group by a limping man. A faded fisherman's cap sat on his shaggy head, and a tattered duster trailed slightly on the ground. His arm was in a sling, and he leaned heavily on a crutch. Jared grinned his gap-toothed smile as he saw him.  "Ray! Man! You okay?"

"None th' worse for th' wear, I s'pose," Ray said with his curious British-Scottish accent.  "Doc Gol'blum says I should be back to normal in a day or two."

"That's good to hear!" Jared said. Then he frowned. "Why is it you healed up so fast?"

Ray shrugged. "Jus' lucky, I guess." He limped over and sat down beside him, tapping the crutch against the floor. "Some people're jus' blessed with better bodies than mos'."

"Yah, I guess you're right, Ray," Jared said. "What're you up to, 'sides gimpin' about?"

Ray squinted at him, then shrugged. "I'll probably stay `ere until my legs `eal up, then go ou' 'n' try to get a job. No offense, Jared, but I don' wanna stay `ere any longer than I `ave to."

Jared nodded. "I'm still trying to get a steady job, auditioning for plays and stuff, but at least you have a place to come back to."

Ray smiled. "Aye. And at least tha' blasted Fimbulwinter's over."

Now Jared frowned again. "You know about that?"

Ray squinted at him again. "I been travelin' a whiles, Jared. That blasted 'little ice age' hit everywhere."

Jared nodded. "Right, sorry. Momentary lapse of memory. Where you thinkin' of getting a job?"

"I dunno," Ray shrugged. "I saw a small nightclub when I was walkin' around 'fore I came `ere. Maybe I can ge' a job there."

"Really?" Jared said. "What's the name of the club?"

"Club Redrum."
 

Lee poured another round of whiskey into Dev's glass as the rest of the club's patrons gyrated wildly on the small dance floor. "So, Dev, how's things?" the big bartender asked.

Dev squinted sourly as he swallowed the shot of whiskey. "Terrible," he said, slurred somewhat. "Anderson got away. The little bastard slipped right under our noses." He pounded his fist on the bartop. "I was the one following him, too, when he got away."

"Tough break," Lee said. He looked up briefly. "Hey! Watch it! That jukebox costs more than you do!" He looked back at Dev. "Cheer up, Dev. You'll find the son of a bitch. Hell, chances are he came to New York to hunt somebody, right?"

"Yah," Dev said. "But, dammit, Big Boss, how could I have let him get away?"

"You're only human, Dev," Lee said. "You can't catch them all."

"But this bastard's been my case for the last ten years," Dev protested. "For Christ's sake, he killed my partner! I had to pull major strings to keep this assignment! If I don't catch him, they'll put someone else on the case, and he'll vanish into the shadows again!"

Lee shook his head. "Naw, they won't do that. `Sides, where else are they gonna find an agent as good as you?"

"Interpol," Dev cursed. If Lee had been the type to keep flowers on the bar, they would have withered from the amount of venom Dev put in the word.

Lee laughed. "Interpol? You crazy? They just botched a raid on one of his employers' gun cartels over in Europe!"

Dev chuckled drunkenly. "Yah, maybe you're right. Still, I can't believe I let him get away!"

Lee rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up about it already! Drown your sorrows in booze, already." He poured another round. "I'm serious, Dev. You whine about this one more time, I cut you off and send you home."

Dev nodded blearily. "Right, right. I'll do my sulking to the local SAC. The guy's name's Hacker or something." He swallowed his drink, then slapped the bartop for another round. Dev considered things, then said, "Actually, I'll hold off on that. If I complain to Hacker too much, he'll just have me reassigned and no more Anderson case."

Lee swept Dev's glass up in one of his massive hands. "That qualifies as complaining in my book. Go home, Dev. You're drunk."

Dev frowned and staggered up. "I'm not drunk!" he said with obvious slurring in his voice.

Lee waved his hand in front of his face. "Right. You smell like Boris Yeltsin. How do you know you're not drunk?"

Dev waved a finger at him. "If you can stand up, you're not drunk!" With that, Dev turned away from the bar and collapsed in a heap on the floor. "Oh, dammit," the man muttered before he passed out.

Lee sighed and went around the bar to pick Dev up. Slinging him over one of his broad shoulders, the club owner put the slumbering drunk on a cot in his back room. Lee shook his head. "You're drunk, boyo. Sleep it off. You'll catch the bastard."
 

Anders rubbed his shoulder a bit. His arm was the only part of him hurting after the car accident a few days earlier, but that was fine, considering he'd escaped unscathed by some miracle. Colin seemed very upset that they hadn't been able to finish the deal with Xanatos Enterprises, but only the doctor's orders to stay home from work for a few days had kept him from coming in. Regardless, Colin was demanding updates from Anders constantly. ~~Ah, the wonders of telecommuting,~~ Anders thought to himself.

The fate of Dr. Jaxon was worse, however. The accident had left his right leg utterly mangled from the thigh down. The doctors had had to amputate. As it was, Dr. Jaxon was going to be in rehab for weeks before he'd be able to conduct business in Starlyte R&D; finishing negotiations with Anders and Colin was out of the question.

Anders was partly relieved when the phone rang and he heard the drone of Xanatos' aide, Owen Burnett. "Mr. Larson? Owen Burnett here, calling on behalf of Mr. Xanatos."

~~Ah, yes, the walking statue,~~ Anders thought. "Yes, Mr. Burnett, how can I help you?"

"My employer has reconsidered your deal. Although it is more than he is willing to pay, he has agreed to accept your terms," Burnett said.

Anders blinked. What's this? Ruthless tycoon David Xanatos was agreeing to pay something? ~~Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,~~ Anders thought, ~~I do think I might have overestimated the man.~~ "Th-thank you, Mr. Burnett. Mr. Mercer will be quite pleased."

"Indeed," Burnett said. "I shall have the paperwork faxed to your office immediately."

"Thank you again, Mr. Burnett. Mr. Xanatos will not regret this!" Anders walked over to the door to his office and opened it. "Grace," he said to the secretary, "something will be coming over the fax in a few moments. Will you bring it in when it's finished, please? Thank you." He ducked back into his office. "I shall inform Mr. Mercer of this turnabout without delay."

"Of course," the Xanacorp majordomo said. "Good day." Burnett hung up and Anders silently cheered. Starlyte's stock would soar after this!

Anders hung up the phone, then immediately picked it up again. He punched the speed dial for Colin's home. After a momentary ring, a dull voice answered. "Hello, Jeeves? Yes, put Colin on. It's Anders. I've got good news." The butler on the other end agreed and there was a moment of silence before Colin's no-nonsense voice came on.

"Yes, Anders, what is it?" Colin demanded.

"Colin? Owen Burnett just called from Xanacorp," Anders said. "Somehow, he convinced Xanatos to accept the deal without changes! Your terms were accepted!"

There was several moments of silence before Colin said slowly, "I'm sorry, Anders, could you repeat that?"

"I said the deal went through! We're going to be rich!"

"That's what I thought you said," Colin said slowly. There was a pause, then a whoop of joy before Colin composed himself. "Pardon me. Do you have the paperwork?"

Timing was on Anders' side as Grace brought in the stack of paper, fresh off the fax machine. "Have it right in my hands," the Starlyte v.p. said. "I'll have Legal look it over briefly for any loopholes, then--"

"Loopholes?" Colin echoed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that this is David Xanatos we're talking about, Colin," Anders reminded him. "He wouldn't pay that much money unless there was something in it for him. The last thing we want is to find ourselves becoming a Xanacorp subsidiary."

"Yes, I see your point," Colin said. "Xanatos is rather like my old classmate Thomas Crown in that regard."

"Right, so it looks like the accident didn’t set us back too much, eh, Colin?" Anders joked. Then he paused. "What happened to Thomas, by the way?"

"Last I’d heard," Colin replied, "he was in the Caribbean, hitting it off with some woman he met during that art theft scandal. But that’s not important. You just get that paperwork taken care of. I’ll get to the office as soon as I can convince the doctors to let me to."

Anders nodded, then bid his friend and employer good-bye before hanging up. He thought for a moment, then dialed up another number. There was a pause before a Cajun-accented voice answered, "Yeah, start talking. It’s your thirty-five cents."

"Louis?" Anders asked. "It’s Anders. Listen, our deal just went through and I feel like celebrating. Meet me at the pub?"

"They call ‘em bars here, Ands, not pubs. But I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’ll get you a bitters, right?"

"Right, thanks, Lou," Anders said before hanging up. He pulled off his tie and shrugged out of his jacket, putting a lightweight windbreaker on over his shirt. As he walked out of the office, he said, "Grace, I’m stepping out for a bit. Hold my calls. I’ll be back in an hour."
 

"Sure, no problem, Lou," Lee said. He looked up and out the window. "Ah, geeze, those gangbangers are back. Just a sec, Lou. Hand me Excalibat, would you?" Louis wordlessly passed the big bartender the big thick Louisville Slugger as Lee stepped out from the bar and stepped outside. Louis calmly watched as Lee strode out to the gang members. "Get the hell outta here! This is my neighborhood, ya goddamn scum!" There were a few dull whacking sounds before the gang ran in fear. Lee stepped back in and put the baseball bat away. "Problem solved."

"They’ll be back, Big Boss," Louis said.

"Right, and when they come back," Lee said, "I’ll pull out my little boomstick." He tapped the SPAS-12 shotgun above the bar with a knuckle. He broke off as the door opened to admit Anders. "Hey, Ands. What can I get ya?"

"Bitters, please, Cliff," Anders said. He and Louis sat down at the bar. Anders was still grinning.

Louis grinned back. "What’s this I hear about your deal going through?"

"Somehow, Xanatos changed his mind and agreed to our terms for the deal. Xanacorp will be making use of some of our new technology. Colin put quite a price on it, but Xanatos agreed to it." Anders shook his head, still grinning. "I still don’t believe it. I’m waiting for Legal to find a loophole."

Lee set down Anders’ drink in front of him and handed Louis a Heineken. The big barkeep smiled. "This one’s on the house, Ands."

"Thanks, Cliff," Anders said, sipping on his drink. "Maybe now Colin will become a little less ruthless."

Louis laughed. "Don’t hold your breath, Ands."

The door swung open to admit a lean form. He leaned on a crutch and wore a faded green duster and fisherman’s cap. He looked up. "I `eard you’re `iring. I’d like t’ apply for th’ job," the stranger said with a strange British-Scottish accent.

Anders looked up sharply and turned to the stranger. "Only one person I know has an accent like that." He stood up and faced the newcomer. "Raymond?"

The stranger looked at him, then swept the cap off his head and stared. "Andy? Ha! Imagine tha’! Andy Larson `ere in New York!" He limped over to Anders and grabbed him in a bear hug. "Good t’ see ye, lad!"

"Kindly put me down, Raymond," Anders laughed. He looked him over, then frowned. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, nothin’ much. `It a bad patch is all," Raymond answered.

Louis raised an eyebrow. "Bad patch? Man, it looks like you hit a frickin’ chasm."

Anders turned. "Raymond, this is Louis Devereaux, a friend of mine here in New York, and Cliff Lee, the man who runs this pub."

"Bar," Louis and Lee corrected. Lee held out his hand. "Pleased to meet ya, Ray. You say you were lookin’ for a job?"

"Aye," Raymond coughed. "I’m sort of…uh, ‘unprivileged’ now. I’m livin’ down a’ th’ Xanatos-Renard Foundation."

"Homeless shelter?" Anders said. "Dear Lord, you don’t do anything small do you?"

Raymond smiled sheepishly. "No’ really." He looked at Lee. "What’s the job require?"

"An ability to stay sober on duty, man the bar, and beat heads when necessary," Lee said.

Raymond seemed to deflate a bit. "Ah. Tha’ first bit’s goin’ t’ be a bit o’ trouble." He grinned. "I’ve been hittin’ th’ bottle a lot lately."

Louis raised an eyebrow again. "Really? Why’s that?"

Raymond shrugged. "Lots o’ reasons. Trouble with me kinsmen, me lack o’ solvency, t’ keep warm during tha’ blasted cold spell… Th’ list goes on. Take yuir pick."

Lee laughed. "That’s all right, boyo. That’ll do. You’ve got the job…but you’re on probation. Get an address, then I’ll start paying you something decent." He tapped the baseball bat behind the bar and the shotgun. "These are the bouncers. In extreme circumstances, they double as the complaint department, understand-ez-vou?"

Raymond nodded. "What d’ye mean by ‘extreme circumstances’?"

Lee shrugged massively. "If someone accuses me of waterin’ down my drinks, for one. I hate bastards like that. Or if some guy who’s drunk out of his mind starts screaming at you, just point the gun at him. That usually shuts ‘em up." He grabbed a towel and started cleaning one of the glasses on the bar. "Also, you’ll need to have a bit of a tongue. How good can you swear?" Raymond grinned and proceeded to let loose a string of curses so profound and blasphemous that the three men in the bar looked at him with surprise and shock. Lee picked wax out of his ear with his pinky. "Okay, that’ll do. Sit down and have a drink. Some of that I’ll have to learn myself."

Raymond nodded with a grin, then seated himself at the bar, leaning the crutch against the stool. Anders seemed to notice it for the first time. "What happened to you?"

The man in the tattered duster shrugged. "Slight accident is all. Th’ doctor a’ th’ Foundation said I should be okay in a day or two."

After this, the conversation got a bit lighter as Raymond and Anders exchanged tales about their lives since their friendship in England. Louis and Lee laughed along with them, downing some relatively mild booze.

"So Andy here was standin’ there, so drunk `e could `ardly stan’ up straight," Raymond chuckled, "pointin’ one o’ `is fingers in this copper’s face." He broke down in laughter, sipping on his drink.

"Oh, come on! I wasn’t that drunk!" Anders protested, but laughing himself.

Raymond laughed even more at that. "‘Was no’ tha’ drunk?’ Lad, ye were so full o’ alco’ol I ‘us `alf afraid ye were gointer set yerself on fire wi’ tha’ cigarette in yuir `and!"

"Go on, go on," Louis urged. "So the cop asked if you two had been drinking. Then what happened?"

Raymond wheezed with laughter. "Andy’s right up in th’ copper’s face, finger raised, lookin’ like `e was about t’ address Parliament or some such nonsense, aye? And then, (chuckle) `is eyes roll back in `is head, `e sways abou’ for a full minute, and then, he up an’ vomits right on the copper’s shoes!"

Lee howled with laughter, loud enough to disturb some of the bottles on the wall. Louis was on the verge of tears, pounding his fist on the bartop. Even Anders was laughing by this point. Anders laughed into his drink, then he set it down and held up a finger, about to start his own story. But then Raymond laughed again. "Right there! Tha’s what `e looked like!" The four of them broke down again. Anders turned red.

"All right, all right, you think that was bad? Let me tell you about what Raymond would do when he got drunk up his arse!" Anders crowed. "Raymond here was the king of drunken tricks! Hardly a binge went by without some oddball stunt. This one time, Raymond claimed he could fly, right?" Anders got up from his stool and stood up, facing them. "So he starts going like this—" Anders stood straight, arms at his sides. "—Looking like one of the Royal guards, right? And he shuts his eyes, scrunches up his face, right? And he turns so red I half expected him to explode from the effort!" The laughter was dying down, and they were looking at him expectantly, waiting for the punchline.

Anders didn’t disappoint them. He chuckled and said, "When it didn’t work, Raymond looks all puzzled, falls down from the effort and wonders what he did wrong. Then he looks up at me, and goes—" He attempted to imitate Raymond’s accent. "—‘I do no’ unnerstan’ it! It worked all th’ time in the sixties!’" They all roared with laughter.

Raymond laughed. "I’d forgotten abou’ tha’ night. I was drunk, was I no’?"

Anders clapped him on the back. "Raymond, you put the best Irish drinker to shame."

Raymond looked at the clock on the wall. "Oh, look a’ th’ time. I tol’ th’ others I’d be back by four. It’s five-thirty."

Anders blinked. "Dear Lord. I told the office I’d be out for an hour." He stood up, finishing his drink. He breathed into his palm, then sniffed. "I hope I’m not too plastered."

Raymond laughed. "Lad, I do no’ think ye `ave t’ worry abou’ tha’ t’night." He looked up at Lee. "I can star’ tomorrow, aye?"

"Right, no problem," Lee said. "So long, Ray." He looked up. "Lou, what about you? Don’t you got work to get to?"

Louis shrugged. "Night off." He sucked on his bottle as Anders grabbed his coat off the wall and swung into it. In his haste, he smacked his hand into the peg for the coats.

Raymond gave a yelp of pain and grabbed his hand. Anders looked over. "You okay, old friend?"

"Oh, aye," Raymond said, rubbing his hand with his thumb. "I go’ a little blister on me `and. The blasted wool irritated it. I’ll be fine. They’ve go’ some salve back a’ th’ Foundation."

Anders nodded. "Righto, then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Raymond."

"Aye, see ye then," Raymond said as he straightened out his tattered duster and plopped his cap back on. "So long, lads. Nice meetin’ ye, Lou, Cliff."

"Hey, just call me ‘Big Boss,’" Lee said. "Everybody else does." He grinned.

Raymond nodded and stepped out of the bar, ambling down the street, a bit wobbly from the alcohol he’d downed while inside. He didn’t notice the shadowy form watching him from across the street. The shadowy form raised its head and tilted the large hat on his head up, carefully observing the man in the tattered duster. He shifted something under his cloak, then pivoted to follow Raymond back to where he’d come.

There was a faint crackling in his ear. "Report," came the clipped voice of Malakai.

"Ja, I’ve got him," the shadow said with a German accent. "He’ll be dead in a matter of minutes."

"Excellent," Malakai said. "Make sure to make it clean, and remember what to do if you happen to get caught."

"Jawohl. I never met you."

"Good. I’ll be in touch." The earplug crackled again as the connection broke off. The German continued to stalk his quarry.
 

Raymond whistled a little tune to himself as he neared his new home. He frowned to himself. He’d need money to get an apartment, but he needed an apartment to get enough money to get an apartment. He sighed. He hated situations like this. He scratched an itch behind his ear, then paused and turned to look back behind him. There was an odd tickling at the back of his mind, as though something bad was about to happen.

He looked across the street and saw the large shadow duck into the alley. Raymond tensed and crept back into his own alley, carefully watching the shadows across from him. There was a faint movement, then a dull flash. Raymond instinctively hit the dirt and gulped as he saw the wall where his head had been explode. He flipped over onto his stomach and crept back, just in time to see the ground in front of him explode.

"Go’dammit," Raymond muttered. He sidled back more, then hesitantly got to his feet, plastering himself to the wall. The shadow across the street was squinting into the darkness, trying to see him. Raymond crouched and moved forward a bit, looking for a way out. The Foundation was still a couple of blocks away, and he doubted he’d be able to make it there in time to avoid getting shot. He was several blocks away from Club Redrum, so that was out of the question.

Then he espied something in the middle of the street. A manhole cover. Raymond scratched his chin, then glanced around. Traffic was slowing a bit. That was good. ~~Ye can do this,~~ he told himself. ~~Easy as drinkin’ an ale.~~ He clenched and unclenched his hands, then moved.

Raymond dashed out of the alley and leapt over the hood of the first car in his way. The gunman fired several times, hitting buildings and cars, but missing Raymond as he ducked and weaved, heading for the manhole cover. The gunman fired ahead of Raymond, who skidded to a halt as the shot blasted the cover out of the hole.

Raymond hazarded a glance up at the gunman, who looked surprised. Raymond, feeling bold, gave a salute of thanks, then dove into the manhole. The gunman dashed forward and looked down into the sewers, then swore in German before dashing back into the alley and away into the darkening day.
 

Claw looked up with alarm as Ray came dashing into the Labyrinth, his cap drenched with sweat and sewer muck. Ray paused to catch his breath, then hazarded a glance back into the dark sewers. The mute mutant came over with a question on his face. Ray looked up and gestured back down the sewer tunnel. "Somebody was after me!" He sat down against the wall. "Some maniac wi’ a gun. An’ a big’un at tha’."

Claw blinked with alarm, then waved at Sharon. The Japanese Mutate came over. "What is wrong, Claw-san?"

Claw gestured at Ray, who explained the situation. Sharon was surprised. "Why would someone wish to hurt you, Ray-san?"

"I do no’ know. But th’ man was determined, I tell ye tha’!" Ray said. "I no’ sure if `e followed me `ere."

"I will go make sure," Sharon promised. "Where did you come in?"

"Abou’ a block from th’ Foundation building," Ray replied. "I ‘us comin’ from th’ west."

Sharon nodded and disappeared into the tunnel. Claw helped Ray up. Ray nodded his thanks before going to get a cup of coffee. Jared was there, his beat-up fedora tilted back. "Hey, Ray," the homeless actor said. "What’s the problem? I saw you talking to Claw and Sharon."

"Some nutcase wi’ a big gun took a couple potshots a’ me on me way `ere," Ray said. "I think `e was Nordic or something. I know I `eard `im mutter somethin’ in German or somethin’."

"Hmm, that’s alarming," Jared said. "Maybe somebody you owe money to or something?" But Ray shook his head. "What? You’ve never owed somebody money?"

"Na," Ray said. "Me ‘unprivileged’ state is somethin’ more recent. I have no’ `ad time t’ owe anyone money."

Jared thought about this for a minute, then shrugged. "Then I don’t know what to say, buddy. Oh, say, did you go to that bar you were talking about?"

Ray nodded. "Club Redrum? Aye. An’ the man who runs it, this big bloke named Lee, was kind enough to gi’ me a job there. He’ll pay me more once I get a place t’ live."

"That’s great!" Jared said. "Maybe I can crash there with you once you do."

"I’ll keep it in mind, lad," Ray promised. Jared ambled off, and Ray was left alone for a moment. He puzzled over the Nordic gunman, wondering. "Could tha’ assassin’ve been `ired by `im? No…could no’ be. I’m sure I killed tha’ go’damn bastard back in ‘Nam." He clutched a mug of coffee in his gloved hands and considered. "Still, I’m no’ sure." He glanced upward, past the ceiling and past the city above, as though questing. "Are ye out there, ye evil arse-wipe?"
 

Lexington hopped off his perch and quickly ducked into the castle, Graeme and Arianna close behind, clamoring over their latest quibble. Lex ignored them. He wanted to see Alex before going on his patrol.

As he passed the hall, he overheard David talking with Owen. "What do you mean the deal may not be legitimate? Didn’t our legal department go over this?"

"Indeed, sir," Owen replied, "but an independent law firm got wind of the contract, sir, and is putting a stop to it."

David made a disgusted sound. "And it would have to be Malcolm Malakai, wouldn’t it? The toughest lawyer in D.C., just happens to hear of it while he’s in New York." He sighed. "Have you contacted Starlyte?"

"Yes, sir," Owen replied. "Mr. Larson expressed similar dismay. I can only guess at Mr. Mercer’s reaction."

David nodded. "Well, this certainly puts a damp on things. Keep coordinating with Starlyte and try to get Malakai off our backs." Owen nodded before leaving. David spotted Lex and the twins, then put on a grin. "Hi. What’s up?"

"I was going to say ‘hi’ to Alex before starting my patrol," Lex said. "What’s going on?"

David turned to look after Owen and waved it off. "Oh, that? Nothing. Just a snag on the company’s latest contract. Turns out somebody missed part of the fine print, and a hotshot lawyer spotted it." He sighed again, but continued to grin. "It’ll be in red tape for weeks."

Owen chose that moment to enter the room with a phone. "Call for you, Mr. Xanatos. It’s Malakai."

David’s grin instantly evaporated. "Ah, not again. Goddammit." But then he picked up the phone and started walking out of the room. "Malakai!" he said cheerfully. "How are you, you son of a bitch?" That was all Lex and the twins heard before he was gone.

"I gather you wish to see young Master Alex before your patrol, Lexington?" Owen asked.

"Yes," Lex said, plodding into the next room to see the toddler playing with his blocks. "Hi, Alex!" the little bald gargoyle said. "How are you?" He sat himself down in front of the toddler, who was frowning at a teetering tower that would, at any moment, topple over.

"Hi, Unca Wex," Alex said. He held up a block in one pudgy hand, then set it carefully atop the tower. It leaned dangerously, but Alex frowned at it, mumbled something, and the tower stayed up. Alex smiled. "Look, Unca Owen! It stay up!"

"Yes, very impressive, Alex," Owen said in his emotionless voice, though inwardly he was proud to see the little would-be sorcerer’s powers were improving.

"Daddy’s working onna big con-twact," Alex said, balancing the tower with his little hands.

"That’s right," Lex said, hardly aware that Graeme and Arianna were sidling out of the room, a hint that they were impatient to get on their patrol. "With Starlyte Incorporated."

"Mista Lawson’s got a fwend," Alex said, placing another block.

"I’m sure he does," Graeme offered from the archway. "Mr. Larson’s probably got lots of friends."

But Alex shook his head. "Mista Lawson’s got a fey fwend," he said.

Owen raised an eyebrow as Lex blinked in response. "What?" the little gargoyle asked.

Alex nodded. "Put a wittle spell on him."

"What do you mean, Alex?" Owen asked, curious. But the little tyke was already deep in his next objective—namely, knocking down the tower he’d just so meticulously put up. With a childish giggle and a sweep of a pudgy arm, the tower collapsed, and Alex went right back to work putting it up again.

"What do you suppose he meant by that?" Arianna asked. "Did he ever meet Mr. Larson?"

"No," Owen said with a frown. "Although he might have seen him briefly when he, Mr. Mercer, and Dr. Jaxon came for a meeting a few days ago. I’ll have to look into this."

As Lex and the twins left, David returned, his normally calm demeanor replaced by a scowl. "Damn that Malakai," the multibillionaire said. "He’s sworn to sink the contract. Without Starlyte’s new cybertechnology, the Steel Clan Mark IV won’t be able to go into production for the military."

"I’m sure you’ll find a way out of this delay, sir," the majordomo said simply. "Mr. Malakai can’t be all bad."
 

The lawyer turned his good eye to face the large blond man behind him. "All I asked was for a simple task," Malakai said. "And somehow, you manage to screw it up."

"Mein profound apologies, Herr Malakai," Enoch Anderson replied. "But the prey was a lot quicker than I anticipated. I assumed he would still be healing from his injuries."

Malakai quirked an eyebrow, then turned completely to face him. "Injuries? What injuries?"

"I picked up from someone at the Foundation that Herr Gamin suffered broken legs and a broken arm from an unknown accident," Enoch said.

Malakai hummed for a moment, considering. He looked to the silent Asiatic. "Bruce, do have an explanation for this?" The baldheaded bodyguard went to Malakai’s desk and held up a photo. The lawyer nodded. "Ah, yes. Anders Larson. I did have you try and remove him with that hit-and-run. According to the doctors at the hospital, he should have suffered broken legs from the accident, but he escaped miraculously." Malakai’s milky-white eye gleamed in the light from his desk. "Isn’t that interesting?"

"What?" Enoch asked.

"Have you received the ‘gift’ from my resources?" Malakai asked.

"Ja, but I don’t see—"

"Never mind," the lawyer said. "Just utilize it next time you go up against Mr. Gamin. It should hide you more from his keen eyes." He paused. "Oh, and if you happen to run into a certain agent who is trying to apprehend you, don’t hesitate to remove him as well."
 

Ray looked around the interior of the nightclub as Lee produced a pair of pants. Ray looked at them, then up at the bartender. "Can’t have my new man standin’ around in messed-up pants, can I?" Lee asked.

"Thanks, Big Boss," Ray said as he looked them over, frowning. "They look a bit big, aye?"

"Yeah, well, I don’t think I have anything in your size," Lee grinned. He indicated the storeroom. "I think I have a few club shirts in the back in your size. Get yourself a nametag while you’re back there." Lee went over to the jukebox and examined his prized CDs while the homeless man went to the back room to change.

Lee put on "Zip Gun Bop (Reloaded)" by his all-time favorite band—Royal Crown Revue—when there was a knock at the door. The large club owner turned to regard a smaller, bulkier man in a trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat outside. Lee blinked and went over. "Yeah, what can I do for you?" he asked, after opening the door a crack.

"When does the club open?" the visitor asked. Lee thought he detected a hidden accent under his voice, but he couldn’t place it.

"In a bit," Lee grunted. "You can wait outside." He moved to close the door. The visitor, however, thrust his wrist in the doorway, blocking it. The door struck something hard under the sleeve of his coat. Lee sneered. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

"Breaking and entering," the visitor said. He stuck his other hand on his belt and shifted something. There was a slight noise from underneath the coat, and the visitor shoved the door open fiercely. So fiercely, in fact, that Lee was pushed back a couple of feet with surprise. "I am not a patient man. It isn’t one of my virtues."

Lee’s eyes went wide as he placed the accent. It was German. "You’re the Nordic! Anderson! The guy Dev was looking for!!" He dashed for the bar, but Enoch Anderson was faster. The hit-man withdrew a compact particle gun from his trench coat and pumped a stun pulse into him. Lee, for all his trained stamina and endurance, went out like a match light.

"`Ey, Big Boss," Ray said, exiting from the storeroom, "where d’ye keep yuir nametags…?" He trailed off as Enoch swept off his hat to look at him. Ray tensed. "Oh, Lordie…"

"Herr Gamin," Enoch said. "Pleased to meet you. I have a job to do." With that, he raised the gun and aimed. He squeezed the trigger.

His quarry was no longer standing there. Ray leapt over the bartop and landed painfully on his not-yet fully healed legs. He got up and grabbed for Lee’s Louisville Slugger "Excalibat." As Enoch came closer to the bar to get a better shot, Ray stood up and brought the baseball bat down viciously. It collided with Enoch’s gun and knocked it out of his hand. Ray then smacked it with a hand and sent it skittering away.

"Aye, ye may `ave a job t’ do, but so do I, an’ I’m no’ gonna let ye hurt Lee!" Ray swung the baseball bat at the Nordic’s head.

Enoch, however, had anticipated this. He blocked the swing with an arm. Excalibat struck something beneath the trench coat, bouncing off. With a snarl, the German hit-man reached out and grabbed Ray by the shirt front, pulled him out from behind the bar and tossed him across the nightclub.

Ray groaned as he got to his feet. "Ah, I think ye gave me another floatin’ rib, there," he said. He squinted at Enoch. "`Ow’d ye stand that swing? I should’ve broken yuir arm."

With a smirk, Enoch shrugged off his trench coat. Underneath, he was wearing some sort of dark armor, encasing his torso, legs, arms, and hands. Enoch reached behind him and pulled a larger particle gun from its place. He grinned. "My father always said, if at first you don’t succeed, get a bigger gun."

Enoch flicked the gun on, set it to its highest setting, then fired.
 

Afterword:
Thus ends Part Two. I know I promised some bigger battles and more secrets revealed, but that will have to wait for Part Three. In Part Three, as it stands now, there will be a much more major battle, more revealed about Malcolm Malakai, Enoch Anderson, and Louis Devereaux, plus just how important Anders Larson really is. –Anyx "Jay" Winger