CHAPTER 24: GAMEPLAN

  CYPRUS ALLEY—NOVEMBER 19th, 1992 | LATE EVENING

  ?

  Mr. Huang wasn’t pleased to see them.

  He stood with his arms crossed behind his desk. Anger animated his wrinkles and added color to his otherwise thin and graying hair. A patterned dress shirt just barely peeked out from beneath the puffer jacket he wore.

  Cameron sat on top of one of the few functional laundry machines not far from where Leroy was, and surprisingly, there were still two or three customers that lingered around with baskets for their laundry.

  “Look,” Leroy began. “I’m sorry about the shop, I am, but—”

  “Shǎ bī! Money, you stupid man! You know how much money it will cost to fix that window? Or that?” Mr. Huang uncrossed his arms and pointed an angry finger beyond the window.

  Outside, under the light of a half-functional streetlamp, a single dryer sat surrounded by broken glass and the bloodstains of a body that had long since been removed—a vague impression of what had happened with Donovan Mayfield only hours ago. Seemed Mr. Huang followed his advice and called the Civic and Occult Authority; something Leroy had already gathered given the excessive amount of caution tape surrounding Mr. Huang’s laundromat.

  Mr. Huang snapped his fingers. “Pay attention, stupid man. Who is going to cover the costs of the repairs?”

  Leroy inhaled and exhaled. “The city should. Pretty sure there is a law, or a clause or something that has to do with collateral damage.”

  “Pretty sure? Hah! No, no. No. Won’t cut it, I have a business to run,” Mr. Huang retorted.

  “You don’t even know why I’m here yet, Mr. Huang. If you’d let me—”

  “Don’t care, don’t care, don’t. Care.”

  From behind them, Cameron’s voice crackled through the whirring of the laundromat machines. “Gideon Draves! Ask him where we can find him!”

  Leroy snapped back and raised a hand, as if to quell his underarbiter. “Got it handled, Kessler. Just sit tight and be quiet, alright?”

  “Draves?” Mr. Huang’s voice lowered into a whisper.

  Leroy turned back to face him. “Gideon Draves. Yeah. Need to find him, and I’ve got it on good authority that he and his cronies are staking claim to Cyprus Alley—the northern portion of it, at least. Your shop is a... what, some sort of halfway point, yeah?”

  Mr. Huang squinted. “You play a dangerous game, bèn dàn.”

  “And why’s that?” Leroy asked.

  “The man you ask about, he is dangerous. Brutal,” Mr. Huang stated.

  “Uh-huh. I gathered that. Go on.”

  Footsteps from behind made Leroy’s ears quirk. Cameron approached and leaned up against the counter, listening into their conversation in a way that felt more obnoxious than observant. It prompted a sour expression from Mr. Huang, who swatted at Cameron for getting too close. He’d nearly crushed a set of small potted plants next to the cash register.

  “Away! Get your thug away from my desk, he is too close to my potted peace lilies," Mr. Huang shouted.

  Leroy grabbed Cameron by the back of the neck and pulled him up and to the side.

  Cameron tried to shove him, and a radiant red pulse of energy emanated from the ring on his pinky finger before his hand could fully connect with Leroy’s body. Leroy knowingly raised up his own pinky finger.

  “Dick,” Cameron muttered.

  Mr. Huang cleared his throat. “I first saw that man three days ago. He approached the shop and asked a simple question, and left.”

  Leroy raised a brow. “The question. What was it?”

  “He asked me if I worked for Marcus Velvet, if I was one of his gào mì zhě—”

  “What the hell is a gou-me-zee?” Cameron asked.

  Mr. Huang threw a hand up in annoyance. “Gào mì zhě! A secret revealer!”

  “An informant,” Leroy clarified, and proceeded to nod in Mr. Huang’s direction. “So? Are you?”

  “No,” Mr. Huang said, shaking his head. “Was never approached by him or his crafty spiders.”

  “And you said the same to Gideon when he approached?” Leroy asked.

  Mr. Huang nodded. “And after that he left.”

  Cameron raised a brow. “Anyone else with 'em?”

  “Two accursed and a bearded man," Mr. Huang said, holding up three fingers.

  “So he’s got a crew,” Cameron noted. “Great.”

  Leroy made for the door. “Thanks.”

  “No, no! You wait, bèn dàn! Money! I am owed!” Mr. Huang yelled.

  Leroy propped a hand up against the door frame and leaned on it. Cameron brushed past Leroy and exited onto the street, only for Leroy to turn to face the laundromat owner once more. “The Civic and Occult Authority were already here, yes?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Huang answered.

  “Right. So, tomorrow morning, they’ll be sending someone from the city administration. They’ll have a lanyard, and they’ll introduce themselves as whoever-the-fuck from the Department of Risk Assessment and Restoration. They’ll try to lowball you and give you a ‘fair price’ for the damages. My advice? Don’t take the first offer they give you. See if you can haggle with them.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Mr. Huang slowly nodded. “Thank you.”

  Leroy tipped his checkered flat cap and exited.

  ?

  Not far from Huang’s was a neon sign that read BEA’S DINER.

  The restaurant took up an entire corner lot and had a real, red-blooded Americana look to it that Leroy appreciated. Reminded him of earlier days. Better days.

  When they stepped inside, Leroy found a booth nearest to the window and Cameron sat on the opposite side of him. It was the only place still open at this hour where you could get food, and there were only a handful of patrons enjoying their meals in the far corners of the diner: a group of men in cheap suits with tired eyes, a woman with curly hair in nurse scrubs, another woman next to her in an oversized sweater and jeans. Stragglers, all of which were sipping at their coffee and picking at their food.

  An older woman approached them with two mugs in one hand and a coffee pot in the other. Bea was well into her seventies, but had a smile that shaved off at least twenty years.

  She had a neck tattoo with a heart and an anchor, and the faded ink read the name Robert. The apron she wore over her pink tee shirt and jeans was well-loved, grease-stained, and worn with pride. She didn’t even question the blood on their clothes or the injuries that plagued their skin, still very much in the process of healing.

  “I was wondering when you’d pay me a visit again, Leroy,” Bea said, placing the mugs down and pouring some coffee into them. No steam. Leroy knew it had to be at least 4 hours old and lukewarm.

  “Been busy, Bea,” Leroy said with a half-smile.

  “Ah, well, that’s fair,” Bea said, pulling out a pair of menus from her apron.

  There were only five orders, but only two of them were worthwhile: Robert’s Classic, a hamburger with fried pickles and french fries, and The Sludgepile, mashed up ground beef with grilled peppers and cheese. Everything else was decent, but hardly worth the price—which said something, given how cheap the entire menu was.

  Bea turned to Cameron, planting a hand on her hip, face alight with whimsical interest. “And who’s this you dragged in?”

  Cameron raised two fingers off the table in greeting. “Cameron.”

  “Well, Cameron, you ought to count yourself lucky. The last time Leroy was in here with someone had to be.. well, shoot, years ago? How many, I don’t know, but ever since Melinda—”

  Leroy pointed a finger into the menu and increased the volume of his voice. “Two Robert’s Classics, Bea, and two chocolate milkshakes.”

  Bea’s gaze softened in embarrassment. She scrambled for both of the menus and placed them haphazardly into her apron, and leaned over to press a hand onto Leroy’s shoulder, issuing him an expression halfway between pity and empathy. He could’ve gone without seeing it. “Coming right up, love.”

  As soon as Bea departed, Cameron looked at the coffee mug. “This looks cold.”

  “Drink it anyways. And drink another after that. We’re not sleeping until I have this favor sorted out,” Leroy said, searching the table for condiments.

  Next to the ketchup and mustard were sugar packets and cups of creamer. Leroy pulled the condiments towards him and ripped open two sugar packets and one cup of creamer, and stirred it into his coffee with a finger. Cameron grabbed five packets and three creamers, prompting Leroy to stare at him in disgust.

  “Christ. You need some coffee with that pile of sugar?” Leroy asked.

  Cameron gulped the coffee until it was halfway gone. “I say we sit in the car along the side of the street, keep an eye out for those two accursed and that bearded guy that Mr. Huang mentioned. If we find them, we find Gideon. Simple as that.”

  Leroy smirked. “Not a bad idea.”

  “And we need to visit an alchemist, stock up on some p-blood,” Cameron said.

  “Don’t imagine any are open at this hour, Kessler.”

  “Spectre is open, Mr. Huang’s is open, this place is open,” Cameron said, taking another sip, face contorting to the sweetness of the coffee. “Why wouldn’t there be a 24-hour alchemist somewhere?”

  “If there are, they'd be on a growing list of people I don't know about in Cyprus Alley.” Leroy leaned back in his seat. “We’ll have to go without. I need to nip this in the ass before it gets out of control, which means we need to act quickly.”

  “Right. ‘Cause that worked out for us last time. You don’t even have any waterskins left, and I’m out of bullets for my Reign 18. I get that you want this shit handled sooner rather than later, but—”

  “But, supposing we find them, we’ll be entering another firefight short a few bullets with wounds that are still pink and pulpy. I know, Kessler. I know,” Leroy said.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be some sort of fucking expert, Leroy? ‘Cause you sure aren’t acting like one,” Cameron stated.

  He was tired.

  Owing Marcus Velvet not just one, but two favors, scrambled his brain in a way that made it hurt more than when Yaerzul decided to whisper his sweet nothings. The worst part about this whole thing is that Cameron had a point, and Leroy didn’t want to grant him that. So he reached inward, combing over memories that might serve him. Nothing came up, and he raised a hand to his face, rubbed his beard, and stared into the cup of coffee that he had yet to even take a sip of.

  “If Gideon has a crew, I doubt they’ll be split up,” Leroy began. “They’ll be moving as a unit. But you’re right. We tried to bite on more than we could chew against Marcus’s security, and we got out of that by the skin of our teeth. Planning has never been my strong suit, Kessler. So.”

  Cameron furrowed his brows. “So? So what?”

  “So. We stake out Cyprus Alley, and we look for our in. When that happens, we split them up. I’m better outside than I am inside. Stronger. I won’t need any waterskins.”

  “You needed them when you did my preliminary test or whatever the hell it was called,” Cameron pointed out.

  “No. I choose to use them, 'cause the fact of the matter is I could’ve used the fog and made a fool out of you,” Leroy said matter-of-factly.

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “Wanted to see how well you’d do the second time around. For what it’s worth, you did do better, but you never stood a chance,” Leroy said, taking a sip of his drink. “Anyways. If I can draw them towards an area where the fog is heavy, I won’t need bullets. So have this.”

  Leroy reached into his brown leather jacket and slid his handgun onto the table. “It's a Ruger P89. It’s got a heavy kickback, so when you fire it, fire it with two hands.”

  Cameron grabbed it and awkwardly put it into the front of his belt. “Bullets?”

  “Probably a few left. Take this too,” Leroy reached along his belt and grabbed a bullet magazine, sliding it over the table.

  Bea returned just in time to witness the exchange with eyes that were only slightly widened. She placed two plates down in front of them, ripe with the scent of the juicy hamburgers and the greasy scent of french fries. On her serving platter were two large milkshakes in glass cups, topped with whipped cream and cherries. “Two Robert’s Classics and chocolate shakes. Any uh.. refills on the coffee there?”

  “No, thanks,” Leroy said.

  Cameron shook his head.

  “Alrighty then. When you’re done, you can pay up at the front,” Bea said, her eyes lingering on the bullet magazine. “Enjoy, loves.”

  As soon as Bea finalized her departure, Cameron grabbed the magazine and held it in one hand.

  “I’ll draw them out," Leroy continued, "and I’ll section us all off. Gideon is the one we have to worry about, so I’ll handle him. All you need to do? Keep those two accursed and the third guy on your tail, and guide them back towards Spectre. Those two bouncers will still be at the door, and they’ll have no choice but to help you if you bring a bunch of aggressors to Spectre. Three on three, and they’ll have home base advantage.”

  Cameron reached for the burger and took a bite out of it, leaning back in the old leather of the booth they’d taken. “Guess that's a better game plan than last time. And then what?”

  “You handle it," Leroy said.

  “.. and Gideon?” Cameron asked.

  Leroy took a sip from his milkshake. “You let me worry about that.”

  LEROY WATERS

  CAMERON KESSLER

  MR. HUANG

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