Chapter Fifteen
Astrid
“North side, clear.”
“South, same,” Owen adds.
Smoke billows from the warehouse and Astrid waits for Quinn to give the clear on the east side of the building. On first sight the building looks in trouble, but the closer she gets the more it seems like a lot of smoke and little fire. Has anyone called 911?
She hears the undeniable pop of streetlamps.
“Charger?” she says into her com. “Casper, I need visuals on Charger.”
“I’m trying,” he says. “Shit. You’ve got visitors. Both of you, and they’ve got their hands on Charger.”
“Where? How?” she asks, darting to the front of the building. The street is empty. Glass cracks under her feet and she looks up. Shattered light bulbs. Footsteps move behind her, one set light and quick on the ground, another dragged. Two heartbeats, one rapid. The smoke messes with her sense of smell and her eyes water. She spins, hand on her cuff, and finds Quinn captured by a man in a mask—a gun pressed to his skull.
“Try anything, my shooter on the roof will take you out and both of your friends,” the man in the mask says.
She slowly holds her hands up. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“My boss wants to speak to you.” He jerks his head at the building. “Inside.”
“He’s not lying about the shooters,” Casper says in her ear. “Run at your own risk.”
Astrid has no plans on running.
“Sure,” she says, “I’m eager to meet your boss.”
With the guns trained on her back and Quinn still held by the masked man, she enters the building. The inside isn’t damaged by fire. It’s clear this was some kind of trick to get them to show up. Owen is already standing in the middle of the room, his green and black hood tugged off, although his mask is still on. Do these people know their identities? Who they are beyond their masks?
The thought is chilling.
Three lights hang over the middle of the room and a long table sits in the center. Three chairs are on one side. One on the other. The single chair is occupied by a man Astrid has never seen before. He’s middle-aged and balding at the hairline. A thin scar slashes across his eyebrow. He has an associate standing next to him. Dark hair and stocky. His skin is pale. He stares at her with interest, but when the man in the chair speaks, his eyes move to him.
“Look at that, it’s the Super Friends.” He smiles as they get closer. Quinn is pushed toward the chairs, his hands still tied behind his back. Do they know what he can do? What she can do?
If he knows, the man in the chair doesn’t seem to care.
“Sit, let’s talk. I’ve been eager to meet you.”
Astrid takes the middle seat.
“I can’t say the same, considering I don’t know who the hell you are.” She counts six more heartbeats in the dark part of the warehouse and she’s fully aware of the weapons still trained on her and her teammates.
“My name is Brutus Kincade. I own Metamorphosis.”
“You’re the one trying to buy up all the Harbor Line property,” Quinn says. “Including the ones damaged by fire.”
Kincade smiles. “You’ve heard of me, then.”
“Only because you’re dismantling the Swamp to turn it into a hipster’s paradise,” Owen adds.
“What can I say? I like money. I like clean, beautiful properties. I like my city productive and rising economically.” He seems absolutely sincere in his words.
“So you think the Swamp needs to be demolished?”
“’Rejuvenated’ is the word I like to use.”
This guy is a pig. Astrid leans back in her seat and casually crosses her legs. “What do you want us for?”
“I try to keep abreast of the happenings in Crescent City. Crime, beautification, business opportunities. The Pixie Dust trade was on my radar. I had plans on eradicating it by working with Mayor Steed. But suddenly it’s off the streets and no longer an issue.”
“The police took down the ringleader,” Owen says.
Kincade looks him up and down. “True. That was a disturbing event over at the university, but it’s odd that there’s not a drop left on the streets.”
“And this is a bad thing?” Quinn asks.
“No, no, it’s a good thing, very good, but I was curious as to how it happened.” He rests his arms casually on the table. It’s an attempt to appear non-threatening. Atticus taught her the tactic. The sheer number of guns backing him up takes away any comfort. “So I asked around and I kept hearing the same thing. Two or three people running around town, in colorful, creative outfits doing what the police can’t.” He shrugs. “Or won’t. See, I like this kind of initiative. Not waiting around for the government to do it for you. I’m about progress. Building toward the future, and I get the feeling you are too.”
“I don’t think you understand anything about us,” Astrid replies, holding her temper in check.
Kincade smiles. “No? You and I have more in common than you realize.”
Owen snorts. Quinn looks like he may electrocute everyone in the room, but Astrid holds his gaze. “How so?”
The chair legs scrape against the cement floor. He stands and walks around the table, revealing his height. He’s intimidatingly tall. His associate stays put. Leaning against the table he says, “We both want this community to be a better, safer place. We want the streets quiet, no drugs and no crime. You’ve already made my job easier by eliminating the Pixie Dust trade, but we both know that’s just the tip of the iceberg, and if some people in this city have their way, the less toxic element will continue to grow.”
Astrid narrows her eyes. “We do want this community to be safe—for everyone. Not just the rich and wealthy.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Echo.” He tilts his head, amused that he surprises her by using her name. “You can’t have it both ways. Did you know the WIND-E Corporation owns all of the buildings that burned down? Did you know they own this warehouse?”
None of them answer although, yes, they are aware.
“WIND-E won’t sell me the properties, even though they’re useless to them now. They’re under investigation for code violations. If they find them liable, then the city will take over ownership of the property and sell them off. This building? They want to turn it into a homeless shelter.” He looks around. “I want to turn it into mixed-use real estate. I’m thinking a coffee shop would be great on the corner.” He points across the building. “Right over there.”
Astrid can’t follow Kincade’s train of thought other than the fact he’s a greedy bastard. “What’s the end game, Kincade? What do you want us for?”
“I need you to clean up the streets for me. Get the homeless and criminals out of the neighborhood. I need the mayor to sign off on me buying those burned-out properties so I can develop them, and I need WIND-E to understand that Harbor Line is no longer the place she grew up. It’s changed, and will to continue to change.”
“And if we don’t help you?”
He shrugs. “They’ve already lost three buildings. I’d hate to see what happens next.”
Quinn barely contains his rage when he replies. “We don’t fight on the side of corporate stooges. Either side.”
Kincade pulls a sheet of paper out of his pocket and holds it out. Astrid takes it from him. Dread pools in her stomach. It’s a photograph of the Elite Gym. “What is this?”
“This property is terribly close to where the other fires happened. Prime location actually, right on the edge between the Harbor Line and the university.”
“What are you implying?” The photo shakes in her hand no matter how much she tries to control her anger.
“It just seems to me we may be in a spot to scratch one another’s backs. We’ll keep an eye on the Elite building if you keep the riff-raff to a manageable level on the Harbor Line.”
Astrid holds the man’s eyes. They’re dark and filled with arrogance and deceit. He knows who she is. Who they all are and he’s going to use that as leverage against them. “And if we don’t do what you want?”
Kincade snaps his fingers and a wicked smile lingers on his lips. “Then I think an organic market would be a fantastic addition in that spot, don’t you?”