Red Handed

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. For one thing, their migratory patterns are unpredictable. Some years, they were known to bypass the Western Peninsula entirely. For another, dragons are notoriously reclusive and tend to steer clear of densely populated areas. Asking the boys in acquisitions to find her one had just been a bit of fun, she never expected them to actually find one.
A slight woman in a beige cloche sat at a bar and nursed her beer, wondering if this time, she might have let things get away from her. After all, she only needed to test the kid, not kill him.
From the stool next to her a large man in a red tie asked, “So, do you think he can handle it?”
“I think he’ll do fine.” The woman replied, careful to let nothing show on her face. Inwardly, she was trying to figure out how the hell they’d managed to get the damn thing down into those tunnels. It’s a dragon for god’s sake. A young one sure, but a dragon just the same. Maybe if the kid doesn’t survive, she can just plead ignorance. She could blame the whole thing on mishandled paperwork or something. Yeah, that could work.
“Well, I’ll let you handle it then.” The man in the red tie said and got up to leave. He paused, then added “There is one other thing.”
She turned to him, her eyebrow raised, “What’s that?”
“What the hell do you need a dragon for?”
…
Meanwhile, not far away, Russell DeWitt crouched in the curator’s office of the Gran Galeria; his ear pressed to the cool steel door of the wall safe behind the desk. He had spent the last half hour working through and dispelling the wards one by one. Then turning the tumbler, slowly teasing the pin through each notch. He was finally on the last one, but over the last few minutes his colleagues had begun arguing over the group channel and he could feel a migraine starting to form behind his eyes.
“I’m just tellin’ you what I heard,” Mumbles barked over the comm. His voice was deep and each word thrummed through the earpiece.
“It’s an urban legend.” Tonks challenged, his irritation peaking.
“I heard what I heard, and what I heard was there’s a giant lizard runnin’ around in those tun-“ Mumbles started to say, but Rusty cut him off.
“Guys, I could really use a little quiet here.” Rusty said sotto voce.
“You moron, I’m sitting right next to you, turn off your microphone.” Tonks chided, and Rusty thought he heard a thump and Mumbles grunt. Then Tonks added, “Sorry Rusty.”
Rusty gripped the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, slowly massaging out the tension and feeling the dull throb ease up, then added, “All good. Just stay off the comms unless it’s important.”
He checked his watch, he was doing well on time, and his concentration was broken anyway, so he took a breather. Rusty sat back and ran a hand through his copper-red hair, sweeping rogue strands and sweat off his freckled brow. He blinked hard and stretched out using the moment of peace and quiet to regard the room and appreciate his situation.
In just a few more minutes, all his hard work would finally pay off. Two weeks as a mild-mannered janitor, emptying trash cans, and mopping floors. All the while, memorizing floor layouts, camera locations, ward placements, guard’s routes, and identifying the most probable ingress and egress points.
Mumbles had it easy, taking a job on the night watch to get Tonks the access he was currently using to keep the cameras off Rusty.
The Gran Galeria was an ostentatious shrine to a world that no longer existed. It spread out along a hilltop like a rash overlooking Puerta Mundo Valley. The interior was a sprawling construction of labyrinthine corridors lined with showrooms and exhibits displaying everything from sculptures to paintings, anything they could find from the time before the Shattering. Pieces by Picasso, Pollock, and Matisse hung behind bullet-proof casings and high-level protective hoodoo, keeping them safely out of the hands of the riffraff and hoi-polloi.
None of that mattered to Rusty though, he didn’t know the first thing about feathered brushstrokes of blended hues on canvas or chiseled marble. He had no interest in art, nor did he care about old-world artifacts.
But someone cared a lot about what was behind this door, someone who cared enough to pay someone like Rusty a whole lot of money to liberate it. That was the word his employer used: Liberate. Rusty had liked that, better than steal anyway. It added a bit of righteousness to it. Theft, for Rusty, started out as a way of survival. Then, after realizing he was good at it, it became a way of life. Rusty was very good at stealing. It had always been self-serving though, never for a purpose or cause greater than a full stomach and a little comfort. It was something to think about late, maybe.
“The guards will be heading your way soon Rusty, time to wrap it up and get out of there,” Tonks said through his earpiece, derailing his train of thought.
Rusty drew in a breath, blew it out, and shook out his hands. Time to earn my paycheck, Rusty thought and got back to work.
It only took another quarter turn, and in no more than a minute the safe was unlocked. A rush of satisfaction and anticipation washed over him as the door swung free. To his surprise though, the safe was empty save for a small, folded manilla envelope. He picked it up and examined it, looking for anything that might explain why something so small would be so valuable. Classified military secrets? Blackmail? Some scandalous photos of one of the Barons? In the end Rusty decided it really didn’t matter, he would get paid either way. He stuffed it into his pack, then resealed the door.
With a wide grin on his face, Rusty said “I’m done here, time to leave.” then asked, “Tonks, how do our exits look?”
There was a brief pause and then Tonks was in his ear, “Hmm, well that’s odd.”
“What’s odd?” Rusty asked, the hair standing up on the back of his neck.
Tonks continued, “There are more guards than we accounted for. Two extra bodies are at the front and rear exits, looks like Mumbles grabbed the wrong roster.”
“What? I’m sure I got the right one. You must have read it wrong.” Mumbles said defensively.
Tonks didn’t rise to the bait, instead, he said, “Regardless, it’s not really a problem, just keep your head down and try not to draw any attention to yourself.”
Rusty let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Brandish Tonks was a Rakshasa. A rare breed with prominent feline features, tusks, backward hands, and an innate talent for illusion magic, meaning he was a natural cloak. A cloak can mess with a person’s perception, altering what they see and hear. They couldn’t do anything about cameras and pressure sensors, but they were handy with guards. Brandish not being in the room with Rusty had been a deviation from their standard practice, but the Galeria had expansive countermeasures in place to guard against cloaks. Luckily, Tonks had other talents. For one, he was savvy with computers. That is to say that the only thing preventing every guard in this building from swarming toward Rusty’s location at this very moment was because Tonks was in their security system feeding them a video loop of an empty room that they prepared the night before.
Rusty peaked through the window and down into the courtyard. Just like Tonks said, two uniforms were standing on either side of the entranceway. With a cloak, this wouldn’t be a problem. Unfortunately, Tonks was sitting in the back of a van parked about two hundred yards down the west bank of the hill. He sighed and reached into his pack for the spare guard uniform that Mumbles had taken and prepared for his escape, but it wasn’t there. He reached deeper, scraping his fingers along the bottom. Nothing.
“Mumbles.” Rusty said, keeping his voice calm and pleasant despite feeling the migraine reassert itself and latching this time to the base of his skull.
Rusty’s earpiece vibrated as Mumbles responded “Yeah, Rusty?”.
“Who was in charge of packing the gear, again?” Rusty asked, still the picture of patience.
Mumbles replied, “That would be me.”
“Did you remember to pack the guard uniform before we left?”
There was a long silence over the comm, then a thunk and Mumbles grunted.
When Rusty’s earpiece came on again it was Tonks. “Well, that changes things a bit. Walking out the door is no longer an option.”
Mumbles muttered, “Sorry Rusty, that one’s on me.”
Rusty exhaled hard, massaging the bridge of his nose again, then said, “It’s alright Mumbles.”
Tonks pressed forward, “That just leaves door number three.”
“Door number three wouldn’t have been my first choice.” Rusty replied.
“That’s why it’s door number three.” Tonks quipped, Rusty rolled his eyes reflexively, then remembered Tonks couldn’t see his face.
He said, “Alright, I’m heading to the bottom floor.” Then stepped away from the window, sliding the painting back in its place over the safe. Rusty gave his workspace a quick once over, checking that everything was exactly as he had found it before. He lit a stick of sage, whispered a quick incant over it, and wafted the smoke around the area. To the uninitiated, this is the magical criminal’s equivalent of wiping your fingerprints off of anything you’ve touched, except this would prevent scryers and augurs from coming in here later on and trying to pick up a psychic replay. It was a simple bit of hoodoo but extremely effective.
By the time a pair of footsteps sounded outside the office door, Rusty was already heading down the hall and rounding the corner.
Four minutes later, Rusty was at the bottom of a stairwell on the lowest floor of the Gran Galeria. Avoiding any security along the way was a sinch thanks to Tonks having full control over the camera feeds.
Just below the staircase was a hollowed-out nook where the cleaning staff stored the mops and buckets. And hiding beneath the cleaning equipment was a small drain leading to the sewer system with a grate covering about two feet by two feet. Rusty had seen it his first day on the job and tagged it as a possible exit but dismissed it when Tonks came up with the idea to steal a guard’s uniform and have him simply slip out the front door, right under everyone’s nose. Oh well, Rusty thought.
The grate was heavy, but Rusty managed to lift it free after a few good tugs and set it gently off to the side. He peered down into the empty space below as he lowered one leg after the other into the hole and sat at the edge. It was pitch black and he tried very hard to ignore the smell drifting out and filling his nostrils.
Rusty was six feet and thin but wide in the shoulders and with the added padding of his carbon-fiber suit and pack he wasn’t entirely confident he would be able to fit through.
He shifted his weight and took off his pack, then tossed it in. After a brief moment, he heard a splash. The drop wasn’t more than eight feet. Not a problem for him, but he wasn’t looking forward to slogging his way through half a mile of muck to the exit.
He was just about to follow his pack down into the darkness when Tonks called out over the comm, “Hold on, something’s wrong.” He sounded confused.
Rusty stopped, “What’s going on now?”, he asked impatiently. This job had taken too long already, and he was starting to get antsy.
When Tonks spoke again, there was real panic in his voice. He said, “Rusty, get out of there. I’ve been booted from the system.”
A pit formed in Rusty’s stomach, and he asked. “What do you mean you were booted?
“They can see you! Run! Now!” Tonk shouted and the communication device buzzed in Rusty’s ear.
Reflexively, Rusty shot a glance up to the camera fixed to the ceiling and looked away quickly. He covered his head with his hand, and silently berated himself for not hiding his face.
Down the corridor, Rusty heard footsteps and raised voices coming toward him. Everything was coming apart. He forced himself to stay calm, he needed to focus on escaping. Without another thought, Rusty sucked in a deep breath of air and squeezed himself through the hole.
Rusty dashed through the sludge and grime underfoot. He’d stopped hearing the voices for some time. Apparently, the minimum wage security guard wasn’t keen on following the waste-filled tunnels. One more right turn and he was home free. Scott free. And very, very wealthy. They would likely have to go in later and make sure the footage of his face was destroyed. Either through bribes or an invasive piece of malware introduced into the drive. Either way, it would all work out. Rusty was smiling despite the foul odor, at another successful job. So, they had a minor setback, so what? As long as they got paid at the end of the day, everything would work out fine.
Rusty made his next turn but pulled up short, slipping in the muck and nearly ruining his pants. Something was blocking the entrance. He pulled his flashlight off of his vest and pointed it at the large obstacle. An enormous lump of sleek green scales lay curled up on the floor of the shaft about ten feet from where he stood. Leathery wings furled back along the length of its body, which rose and fell like a bellows as it breathed. A rectangle-shaped head rested lazily on one forearm. One eye the size of an orange stared directly at Rusty, the slitted pupil narrowing to a sharp line in the light.
“I-I don’t believe it.” Rusty blurted. His mouth was very dry all of a sudden, and his voice was a few octaves higher than normal.
“What? Have you made it out of there?” Tonks demanded.
“There’s a dragon,” Rusty said in answer, not really hearing Tonks’ question.
“There’s a what?” Tonks and Mumbles asked together.
“A dragon,” Rusty confirmed.
“I told you!” Mumbles boomed smugly, clearly feeling vindicated.
“Now is not the time.” Rusty growled under his breath, then added, “Tonks, I need another exit, quickly!”
“Alright, just give me a second” Tonks said and then went quiet for a long moment.
Rusty stood still as stone as the large lizard sized him up. It seemed to be trying to decide what he was. It chuffed, and Rusty got a face full breath that impressively managed to smell even worse than the sewer. Then, apparently deciding that he was in fact edible, as most things were to dragons; it let out an ear-splitting roar. A stream of fire formed in the back of its throat, left its mouth, and came hurling directly towards Rusty. He lunged to the side, away from the opening, narrowly escaping the fire. Tongues of heat licked at his legs, singeing his pants. He took off at a sprint, not bothering to look back.
He yelled into the comm, “Tonks! Any time now!”
Tonks shot back, “Okay, I got it, keep moving and take the next right. It’s farther, another half mile, we’ve got no choice, we will meet you where it lets out.
The narrow space worked to his advantage, he realized when he finally did turn around. He was outpacing the creature and had managed to put a healthy distance between them. Apparently, the dragon realized this as well because it sent another stream of fire at him. Luckily, at just that moment, Rusty came to his turn and threw himself into it. He landed hard in the grime, but panic kept him from paying any attention to his now ruined clothes. Though, in the back of his mind he made a mental note to incinerate what was left of these clothes when this job was over.
Rusty spared another glance over his shoulder, wondering if the dragon had given up the chase but his hope died quickly when he saw it round the corner. The light from his flashlight no longer reached the dragon but he could see its form slithering through the shadows of the tunnel.
Rusty called to Tonks, “How much further?” His breath was labored now, from a mixture of exhaustion and fear.
“You’re almost there, keep going!” Tonks said encouragingly and just as he did, Rusty spotted the opening off in the distance.
After one more hard push, he was at the exit, but his relief only lasted a moment. The way was barred shut. He could see freedom although it was just out of reach. His heart sank, they were running out of options. Rusty tried squeezing through, but the spaces between the bars were too narrow. Behind him, he could hear the foreboding footfalls of the monster.
“It’s blocked, I can’t get through!” and he couldn’t hide the panic in his voice now.
“What? Damnit. Hold on, I can find another way.”
Desperate, Rusty yelled into the comm again, “Forget it, Mumbles, I need a door!”
Mumbles responded, “Hold on Rusty, I’m on my way”
“Mumbles what are you-” Tonks started to say but was cut off as the comm went dead.
Rusty put a finger to the piece in his ear and pleaded, “Tonks? Are you there?” There was no answer.
He tried again, “Mumbles, can you hear me?” Still nothing.
He pulled the malfunctioning earpiece out in frustration and tossed it on the ground
Rusty studied the tunnel, looking for another way out, but it was a dead end.
The dragon’s muzzle materialized from out of the shadows, followed by its eyes, bright and yellow and focused directly on Rusty. He racked his brain trying to come up with his next move, but nothing came to him. He was going to die here. The dragon crept toward him, slowly now, knowing his prey had nowhere left to go, and stopped a body’s length away, never blinking.
Its jaw opened and a large, pronged tongue flicked out and licked the side of Rusty’s face. He turned away trying not to breathe in the rot. The jaws opened wider until Rusty could see directly down the dragon’s gullet and then the wall exploded.
Mumbles erupted through the wall only inches to the left of where Rusty was standing, which sent pulverized brick and rebar into the air and barreled into the dragon’s chest. Its head slammed into the ceiling as it tried to move out of the way, then it crumpled to the floor, out cold.
Mumbles is a minotaur.
Standing a full two feet over Rusty’s six, and weighing as much as three of him. He provides the muscle for Rusty’s little crew whenever necessary. Rusty thought after this, he might need to raise the beastman’s cut, but he dismissed the idea almost as soon as it came to him.
After the initial shock of still being alive wore off, he said, “You were cutting it a little close there, weren’t you?”
“What? No, thank you? There’s just no pleasing you Rusty.” Mumbles quipped. He had to hunch in the tunnel and even then, his horns scraped against the ceiling.
“Thanks later, escape now!” Rusty said and turned to the impromptu exit. At last, this long night was finally over.
They emerged to floodlights in a semi-circle around them. Rusty put a hand up in front of his face, squinting through his fingers to see. A dozen men and women in gray uniforms had them surrounded, Tinmen, Rusty realized. Members of the Puerta Mondo Valley SCIU (Supernatural Criminal Investigation Unit).
“It’s over,” called one of the uniforms through a loudspeaker. “Russell DeWitt, you are under arrest. Put your hands above your head.”
How the hell do they know my name? Rusty thought and, “Do I know you?” was all he could think to say.
…
Rusty, Mumbles, and Tonks sat in the back of a transport, cuffed, and prepped for relocation. They had taken Tonks almost immediately after Mumbles left the van. If they had shown up any sooner, Rusty would likely be dead by now. The Tinmen had taken his pack and found the envelope inside. He never did find out what was in it. For a response like this, it must have been incredibly valuable.
The driver turned over the engine and pulled off. Rusty peered out the rear window just in time to see one of the Tinmen handing his pack over to a slight woman in a beige cloche.