first."
"There's a second, possibly related, case," Benicio said. "Dennis?"
Dennis explained. Eight days ago another Cabal employee's runaway teen had been attacked. Holden Wyngaard was the fourteen-year-old son of a shaman. Someone had followed him for several blocks at night, then jumped him in an alley. Before anything could happen, a young couple had wandered into the alley and Holden's attacker had slipped away. The Cabal was not investigating.
"Let me guess," I said. "Mr. Wyngaard is a level C employee."
"Level E," Reuben said. "Substance-abuse problems have caused his status to drop. He is currently on suspension, and therefore entitled only to the most basic health-care benefits."
"But you think the cases are connected?"
"We don't know," Benicio said. "If we had clear proof of a pattern, we'd conduct our own investigation. As it stands, it's a troubling coincidence: While the expense of a full-scale investigation isn't warranted, we'd like to be proactive and hire Lucas to look into the matter."
"Not me," Lucas said, his voice soft, but firm enough to carry through the room. "Paige."
"Of course, if Paige was interested in helping you—"
"I'm currently in the midst of defending a client, and couldn't possibly pursue this in the timely manner you'd require."
Benicio hesitated, then nodded. "Understandable. You have other obligations. I can't argue with that. If you'd like to set Paige on the case then, and supervise—"
"Paige doesn't require my supervision. You approached her with this case, hoping it might interest her because it concerns a witch. Whether she decides to take it is her choice."
Every pair of eyes turned to me. I felt the eager words of agreement leap to my throat. No one in this room gave a damn about Dana MacArthur. She needed someone on her side, and I longed to be that someone. Yet I locked my mouth shut and gave my brain time to override my heart.
One tragedy, and one near-tragedy, both involving the runaway kids of Cortez Cabal employees. Did I think they were related? No. The streets were a harsh and violent place for teens. That's a cold fact. I had to make an equally cold decision. I had to let someone else find justice for Dana. If I took this case, it would involve Lucas, if only by forcing him to act as middleman between the Cabal and me. I wouldn't do that to him. So I thanked everyone for coming out . . . and turned them down.
Time to Empty the Minibar
After the meeting, Benicio walked with us back to his office to get our overnight bags.
"I'd like you to take Troy tonight," Benicio said. "I'm concerned. If someone's targeting Cabal children—"
"I believe I'm a decade or so above fulfilling that requirement," Lucas said.
"But you're still my child. You know Troy; he'll be as unobtrusive as possible. I just . . . I want you to be safe."
Lucas lifted his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, then glanced over at me.
I nodded.
"Let me take a guard from the security pool, then," Lucas said. "You should keep yours—"
"I'll still have Griffin," Benicio said, nodding at Troy's partner. "That will be enough tonight."
When Lucas finally agreed, Benicio slid in a few more "requests." He wanted to pick up the tab for our hotel, to compensate for bringing us here. Lucas refused. Benicio backed off, but followed with another demand. With the combination of this new threat and 9/11, he didn't want Lucas flying on a commercial airline. He'd make sure the corporate jet was fueled up to take us home. Again Lucas refused. Now Benicio dug in his heels, and kept them dug in until Lucas finally agreed to accept the hotel room, just to get us out of there.
By the time we escaped to the street, Lucas's forehead had gained ten years of stress-furrows. He stood beside the garden, closed his eyes, and inhaled.
"The sweet smell of freedom," I said.
He tried to smile, but his lips faltered and fell into a tired line. He squinted up and down the street, then headed east.
"There's a second, possibly related, case," Benicio said. "Dennis?"
Dennis explained. Eight days ago another Cabal employee's runaway teen had been attacked. Holden Wyngaard was the fourteen-year-old son of a shaman. Someone had followed him for several blocks at night, then jumped him in an alley. Before anything could happen, a young couple had wandered into the alley and Holden's attacker had slipped away. The Cabal was not investigating.
"Let me guess," I said. "Mr. Wyngaard is a level C employee."
"Level E," Reuben said. "Substance-abuse problems have caused his status to drop. He is currently on suspension, and therefore entitled only to the most basic health-care benefits."
"But you think the cases are connected?"
"We don't know," Benicio said. "If we had clear proof of a pattern, we'd conduct our own investigation. As it stands, it's a troubling coincidence: While the expense of a full-scale investigation isn't warranted, we'd like to be proactive and hire Lucas to look into the matter."
"Not me," Lucas said, his voice soft, but firm enough to carry through the room. "Paige."
"Of course, if Paige was interested in helping you—"
"I'm currently in the midst of defending a client, and couldn't possibly pursue this in the timely manner you'd require."
Benicio hesitated, then nodded. "Understandable. You have other obligations. I can't argue with that. If you'd like to set Paige on the case then, and supervise—"
"Paige doesn't require my supervision. You approached her with this case, hoping it might interest her because it concerns a witch. Whether she decides to take it is her choice."
Every pair of eyes turned to me. I felt the eager words of agreement leap to my throat. No one in this room gave a damn about Dana MacArthur. She needed someone on her side, and I longed to be that someone. Yet I locked my mouth shut and gave my brain time to override my heart.
One tragedy, and one near-tragedy, both involving the runaway kids of Cortez Cabal employees. Did I think they were related? No. The streets were a harsh and violent place for teens. That's a cold fact. I had to make an equally cold decision. I had to let someone else find justice for Dana. If I took this case, it would involve Lucas, if only by forcing him to act as middleman between the Cabal and me. I wouldn't do that to him. So I thanked everyone for coming out . . . and turned them down.
Time to Empty the Minibar
After the meeting, Benicio walked with us back to his office to get our overnight bags.
"I'd like you to take Troy tonight," Benicio said. "I'm concerned. If someone's targeting Cabal children—"
"I believe I'm a decade or so above fulfilling that requirement," Lucas said.
"But you're still my child. You know Troy; he'll be as unobtrusive as possible. I just . . . I want you to be safe."
Lucas lifted his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, then glanced over at me.
I nodded.
"Let me take a guard from the security pool, then," Lucas said. "You should keep yours—"
"I'll still have Griffin," Benicio said, nodding at Troy's partner. "That will be enough tonight."
When Lucas finally agreed, Benicio slid in a few more "requests." He wanted to pick up the tab for our hotel, to compensate for bringing us here. Lucas refused. Benicio backed off, but followed with another demand. With the combination of this new threat and 9/11, he didn't want Lucas flying on a commercial airline. He'd make sure the corporate jet was fueled up to take us home. Again Lucas refused. Now Benicio dug in his heels, and kept them dug in until Lucas finally agreed to accept the hotel room, just to get us out of there.
By the time we escaped to the street, Lucas's forehead had gained ten years of stress-furrows. He stood beside the garden, closed his eyes, and inhaled.
"The sweet smell of freedom," I said.
He tried to smile, but his lips faltered and fell into a tired line. He squinted up and down the street, then headed east.
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