InsaneJournal

Current mood:	busy
Entry tags:	father white, here we go again, in my time of dying, lynn, max, nano, risko, stewart

Section 3 (Instalment 2)
Word count: 1 024


They were three blocks away and five sentences into the usual 'is everybody on the same page' briefing type of conversation before Lynn looked around at 'Stephen' and frowned. Max didn't show any reaction, but grinned a bit, internally. Smart girl, there. The debriefing in the afternoon would be longer than usual, and if she pulled out of it good, she might even get special praise. Quick, capable, smart. Well, that's how all those that Max got in his department to work for Stephen were, but those who excelled from that lot, well, they got their share of praise. And she showed promise. That was good.

I've been doing this work for over a century now, flashed in his mind. I'd damn better well have learned how to do it well. Superbly, even. And he'd always had a gift with people. Used, and used, and used again over the years, that. And he was glad about it. The reward for a job well done is another job. It had seemed kind of unfair to him when he first heard it, back as a child. (He couldn't even remember quite when. Or where. Or from whom. But he recalled what he'd thought about it then. Unfair.) He'd grown to like the concept, in fact.

But he also couldn't let his mind wander from the current job. Or any of theirs. He steered the conversation into an area that Stewart could pass for Stephen well enough, and while Lynn turned back ahead, checking her weaponry once again, and even lending a hand with Risko's. It made him grumble a little, about her messing with his gun, she bantered back. It almost seemed light, but it wasn't. They were tense, alert, but not panicking or too stressed. Good. He liked to make sure his people were always ready, always prepared. In case they ended up alone, in case something happened to him.

What? It was a risk of the job. They were all running it. That was the deal. None of them wanted to end up lying in the dirt. Each of them knew they or one of the others might. No matter how safe one of the runs was, they'd all, each of them already, had enough brush-ups to know that if they were they, they always had to be prepared.

And they were.

He'd been through it the most times. No, he'd never been the one left dead on the ground, obviously. But he'd left enough. Friends, fellow mercenaries, to begin with. Co-workers, then. And then people who were looking up at him as a leader. That was still hard. The only one harder was when Stephen had been late. Or when Dia had been kidnapped. Perhaps however, this would prove to be an overkill indeed. They still had to be perfect and up to par for it anyway.

Briefly before they all went in the car, they'd outlined how the meeting should go, Stewart and himself. It should be good.

Denarians. All said and done, Max hoped not.

There were just a little early when Risko pulled up at the meeting location, parking neatly. (Max grinned to himself, recalling the younger man's initial reaction to the car's age and make. 'Ancient piece of iron', that's what he'd said, if Max's memory served him right - which was usually the case. The security employee was now growing to be satisfactorily smooth with handling the car as precisely and easily as his own shiny, elctonified Japanese lightweight vehicle. Let nobody said that Fast Max Parker didn't let his subordinates learn good things. Not that anybody was actually likely to say it, either.) They stood still, for a breath's space, then Max grinned. "Ready?"

"Whenever you are." Stu's voice and smile were off enough to make his boss acutely aware again that Stephen wasn't there, and he had to remind himself that that had been the idea. His idea, at that. No package, no coins. No Stephen Lamarck. No prize to make anybody really attack them.

Stephen stays safe. There's no bait, no meat to dig teeth into. They stay safe too. He grinned slightly, enough to reassure the three pairs of eyes on him, and started out of the car, everyone following. They'd barely shut all the doors when the other dark car pulled up. He caught Stewart... Stephen's eyes for a moment, and the other man nodded.

The priest was short and stocky, and had a friendly, warm smile and pink cheeks. Bright eyes under bushy eyebrows. Two women from the passenger's side. Another man driving. Max knew him. Not by name, but they'd brushed up in situations like this. Mercenary, as he'd been himself. Since Stephen made sure his business partners were not befallen by something in direct relation to his dealings with them, the man had not double-crossed anybody. Safe, was Max's conclusion on him. The taller woman taught self-defense classes at one of the martial arts schools downtown. And volunteered at the church, after Sunday school, Max seemed to recall. Trustworthy. He didn't know the shorter, slight brunette, but there was nothing in the body language of either of the other two to betray any sort of suspicion or uncertainty. And father White had made good choices about the other two.

The strange woman swept a gaze in return over his group. Carefully avoiding meeting anybody's eyes. Ah. Magic user. Random soulgazes with strangers tended to be something most people avoided. Most wizards. With good reason. Max nodded to himself. A practitioner was a sensible choice in this case too.

The two meeting principals stepped aside, just as Max and Stewart had detailed. Quietly, the explanation took place, and though they were careful enough about lips reading, Max could read Father White's reactions. Surprise. Puzzlement. Confusion. Comprehension. The small wooden box exchanged hands. The arrangement for the service payment was otherwise arranged.

Almost done now. Possibly Stephen was right, after all. We could have done with the original plan.

Done was done. And the service was, he knew, executed too. Otherwise, and elsewhere. Plans within plans.

As long as it worked out.

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