Enterprise - Act 4
“Hold on,” Niki said with a laugh, “don’t shoot.”
The leader of the Goths, the snake opening its mouth wider as he raised his eyebrow, held his revolver perfectly level with the Slayer’s throat, targeting her from across the room. “No, I really think we will.” He drew the hammer back.
“I’m not here to kill you,” Niki said disarmingly, “or even to stop your business.” There was a pause. The vamp slowly tilted his head.
“Not reasons why we shouldn’t kill you.”
“My wizard friend knows how to tell your bracelets from his,” she said simply, holding her hands clasped behind her back.
“Your wizard friend has been killed,” the Goth argued, his gun lowering slightly.
Niki frowned. “By whom,” she lifted the head from behind her back, “this dude?” The terrible expression of the massive severed head, gripped firmly in the Slayer’s hand, made several vamps gasp. “Yeah...” she shrugged, “you pissed off the wrong daddy.”
“Again, not a reason not to kill you and him.” The guns lifted again and several more hammers were drawn back.
Niki flashed a smile. “Then here’s one: I’m still honoring the original bracelets. And while I’m tickled pink that you’ve brought destitution to the scum you’ve done business with, the owners of the originals are still high standing vampires. They would be very annoyed if you killed the only Slayer in the line of Slayers who honored their immunity.”
Several of the guns were lowered tentatively. Niki could see the Goth’s jaw working back and forth, gritting his teeth. She could see that he very much wanted to riddle her with bullets.
“The next Slayer, I can promise you, will be happy to slaughter everything inhuman in this city. I’m your greatest ally right now. I’m also making you an offer.”
The Goth sneered, his gun dropping even more. “An offer? What could you offer us?”
Niki dropped the demon head on the floor where it rolled a few feet. “Well, since word has leaked out that your products are forgeries, I expect your sales will plummet. Your influences will dry up and your friends will desert you.” She pointed to the rows of silver bars and the pile of bracelets. “That must have cost you an arm and a leg, and now it’s worthless.” She took a step forward into the room, the guns lifting to follow her. “I’m offering to buy it all off of you.”
The lead Goth’s gun was now aimed almost at the floor. He wished she would jump at him, pull a stake, give him an excuse. He rubbed his finger across the trigger, feeling the pressure it would take. Of course she had a point. It didn’t matter now if they killed the wizard. If word was out their merchandise was identifiable, it was over. They had to go into hiding very quickly to avoid disgruntled customers. Caveat emptor.
“What do you want in return,” he said grudgingly. He was a businessman after all.
Niki took another step into the room but this time to gun barrels followed her. “There’s a man in this building who followed me,” she said simply. She lifted her hand and touched a spot between her eyes while looking at the scar on the Goth’s face. “I think you owe him one.”
With an odd look, the Goth’s gaze shifted from the Slayer to the darkened doorway behind her. He squinted, then emptied six rounds into the darkness. With a thud, a body hit the floor.
Niki bowed slightly. "Pleasure doing business with you. This time tomorrow night you'll find a bag with enough money to cover," she indicated the silver in various forms, "all of this."
The Goth's smoking gun lowered, as did the other seventeen guns in the room. They said nothing as Niki turned and left.
The Slayer stepped back into her apartment fifteen minutes later, to find Logan sitting at the kitchen table. He had obviously had time to calm down and think about the situation. But there was no love in his eyes when he looked at her now.
"Hey," he said as she tossed her leather jacket on the table. "Is it all dealt with?"
Niki nodded soberly. "All of it."
Logan took a deep breath. "Good."
"One question," Niki said, plopping down in a chair across from him.
"Shoot," he answered.
"Did you ever get a chance to look at that bracelet I gave you?"
Logan frowned and reached into his pocket. He unwrapped the napkin and drew out the silver bracelet. Examining it thoroughly, turning it over in his hands, he finally dropped it on the table with a clatter. "It's just like mine," he said with a frown. "Is there supposed to be a difference?"
Niki shook her head with exhaustion. "No. I guess not."
Logan slowly stood. "I called Addison," he said matter of factly. Their gazes met for a long moment. There was something absent in Logan's eyes. Finally he turned away. "See you around, Knicks." And he was gone.
Logan sat in the driver seat of his car. Hanna sat in the passenger seat, staring down at her hands in her lap. She swallowed and didn’t meet his eyes when she spoke, afraid to see disappointment.
But Logan didn’t feel disappointment. Only regret. And fear. Every last trace of blame was squarely on his shoulders. No thirteen year old should have to face demons and vampires. Niki had even told him that Slayers weren’t called until they were at least sixteen. No, none of this was Hanna’s fault. But she may have complicated things slightly. “How many people did you tell,” he said quietly.
Hanna blinked. “Kirsty, Allison... Janice, Susan, their boyfriends and Matt.”
Logan swallowed. He knew some of these ‘friends.’ Chances are they didn’t believe any of what she had told them of him. Then he frowned. “Wait, which one’s Matt?”
At last she looked up at him. “Just a friend.” She slowly dropped her gaze again. “He doesn’t believe me either.”
Logan finally sighed. “Well, it’s for the best.” He leaned over and took her in an embrace. “I’m so sorry you were involved. I had thought I left all of that behind... but it looks like that’s impossible. But you can see how dangerous it is. We can’t get anyone else involved. Understand?”
She nodded into his shoulder. “Not even mom?”
Logan pulled away to look her in the eye with a focused intensity. “Especially not your mother.” He hugged her again. “You and she are the only things I care about in this world.” The guilt clutched at his heart like a vise. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”
“Love you, dad,” she closed her eyes and squeezed him tight. He squeezed back.
Niki stood in the voluminous elevator, a large bunch of cheap and fragrant flowers wrapped in clear plastic. With a chime, the door opened and she and several doctors stepped out. She approached the desk and smiled.
“Hi, I’m here to see Mr. Harrison...”
“Oh, he’s just around the corner,” a nurse replied, picking up a chart and rounding the counter to lead her. “I’ll take you there.” Niki nodded her gratitude. “Are you family?”
“No, just a friend,” Niki smiled charmingly. They rounded the corner and continued on towards the correct room. “What can you tell me about his injuries?”
The nurse opened the chart and shook her head. “We get a few cops in here with gunshot wounds, but this... He took six bullets, three in the stomach, one in the thigh, one in the arm and one in the face. We managed to remove them all but one of them shattered his lower spine: he’ll never walk again.” She opened the door and swept aside the curtain to reveal the man on the respirator. “We had to induce a coma in order to remove the one in his brain. So far, he hasn’t woken up yet.”
Niki stared down at the prone figure, dressed in peaceful blue medical gown, IV in his arm and plastic tube down his throat. Click, hissss, went the respirator. “Will he ever wake up?” she asked, her voice laden more with curiosity than concern. If the nurse noticed, she didn’t let on.
“There’s no way to tell. The brain damage was severe.” She took the flowers from Niki’s hand. “Let me find something to put these in,” with as much awkwardness as was required to enter the room with the large array of flowers, the nurse exited into the hallway.
Niki slowly leaned down over Harrison’s sleeping face. His head was shaved and bandaged, covering what must have been the scars of a very difficult surgery. She peered down into his closed eyelids, trying to find any indication of his will to wake up. Click, hissss.
The barest hint of a smile gleamed in the Slayer’s eyes.
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