A Gathering of Widowmakers (The Widowmaker #4) Page 14

  "Maybe he'll just walk in and see what you're after," said Kinoshita hopefully.

  "Not a chance," replied Jeff. "He knows I want to meet him, but he doesn't know why, so he's going to be damned sure we meet on his turf, where he's got all the advantages."

  "I wonder where that is?"

  "We'll find out soon enough," said Jeff. "I just hope he makes contact before the old gentleman gets back from Goldenhue." He took one last look out the window. "I guess we might as well be going."

  "Where?"

  "A couple of more bars, I suppose," said Jeff without much enthusiasm. "Then, if I still haven't heard from him, we might as well rent a couple of rooms for the night."

  Kinoshita took a last sip of his drink, picked up a napkin, and wiped his mouth off.

  "Well, I'll be damned!" said Jeff, looking at him and smiling.

  "What is it?"

  "This guy's as tricky as he's supposed to be."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Go to the men's room. You will."

  Still puzzled, Kinoshita got up and went to the rest room. The moment he entered it he walked up to the mirror to see what had so amused Jeff. There, on his upper lip and cheek, where he'd applied the napkin, were the words:

  MARIEMONT THEATRE, 9:00 TONIGHT.

  Kinoshita washed his face off, dried it, and returned to the table.

  "You saw it?" asked Jeff.

  "Yes. Are you sure it's from the Wizard?"

  "Who do you think it's from?"

  "I don't know. Maybe it's an ad for a play."

  "Look around the restaurant," said Jeff. "Do you see anyone else wearing ads on their faces?"

  "No," admitted Kinoshita.

  "I'll bet that if you check you'll find that if the Mariemont Theatre isn't totally shuttered, it's at least dark tonight." Jeff stood up. "Now we can go."

  "What are you going to do until 9:00?"

  "There's not much to do in a place like this," replied Jeff. "I think maybe I'll rent that room after all. You can wake me at 8:30."

  "Don't you want to make any preparations at all?" asked Kinoshita.

  "I'm the Widowmaker. Let him make the preparations."

  20.

  True to his word Jeff fell into an untroubled sleep, and Kinoshita woke him at the time he'd requested. Like all the other Nighthawks, he came to his senses instantly. There was no grogginess, no taking a moment to focus his eyes or remember where he was and what he had to do next. He stood up, walked to a sink, muttered "Cold!", held his hands under the faucet as the cold water flowed out, and splashed some on his face.

  "I checked a map while you were asleep," said Kinoshita. "The Mariemont's about three blocks from here."

  "Shuttered?"

  Kinoshita nodded. "It hasn't been used for the last five years."

  "Figures."

  "Maybe we should call this off," said Kinoshita. "He's had months, maybe years, to rig the theatre to his needs. There could be a death trap every step."

  "There could be," said Jeff, showing no concern. "But if he wanted to kill me, he'd have tried when I was sitting next to the window in that restaurant, or when we were standing out in the street. He wants to know why I'm interested in him."

  "Why is anyone interested in a man with a four million credit price on his head?"

  "You know it and I know it—but he could probably give you a hundred reasons why someone he's never met before should want to see him. They'd all be wrong, but if he wasn't an egomaniac he wouldn't be seeing me."

  "I tried to gather some data about him from the computer," said Kinoshita, gesturing to the desk computer that the hotel supplied with every room. "I even paid the fee to tie in to the Master Computer on Deluros VIII. All of his crimes have been codified, but there's almost nothing about him personally."

  "That's probably why he's still free," said Jeff.

  "Still, there should be something about him. All I have are a couple of twenty-year-old holos."

  "The ones where he looks like Merlin, with that silly cap and all the zodiac signs on his robe?" said Jeff.

  "Yes."

  "It just means he's been careful of late," said Jeff. He sat down on the edge of the bed and began pulling on his boots. "What's the time?"

  "8:45. It's about a five-minute walk to the theatre."

  "Let's go down to what passes for the hotel's restaurant and grab some coffee."

  "It's 8:45!" repeated Kinoshita urgently.

  Jeff smiled. "You prefer tea?"

  "You'll be late!"

  "I plan to be."

  "Why?"

  "Because he wants me there at nine. Let's make him sweat for a few minutes."

  "Maybe he'll think you're not coming."

  "He'll know better," Jeff assured him. "He's got spies all the hell over."

  "What makes you think so?" asked Kinoshita.

  Jeff smiled again. "How do you think that napkin got to the right person?" he replied. "Someone's been watching us every step of the way." He opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. "Let's give them something to look at."

  Kinoshita followed him to the airlift, and a moment later they were sitting in the lobby restaurant. Neither really wanted their coffee, and they nursed it slowly until Kinoshita announced that it was five after nine.

  "Okay," said Jeff. "I suppose we might as well get going. You're sure you know where it is?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay, lead the way."

  They walked out into the street, turned right, and right again at the next cross street. They then proceeded for two more blocks, and finally came to a stop in front of a darkened building with a marquee that had once told passersby that this was the famed Mariemont Theatre, Home to the Greatest Entertainment on the Planet.

  Jeff turned to Kinoshita. "Are you sure you want to come in with me?"

  "I serve the—"

  "Yeah, I know, I know," interrupted the young man. "Okay, keep behind me, and don't try to be a hero. That's my job."

  Kinoshita nodded his agreement, and Jeff tested the door to the theatre. It was locked. Then he placed a hand against it and pushed—and the door irised around his hand. He stepped slowly toward the door, and passed right through it.

  "The man's showing off," was his only comment as Kinoshita followed him into the darkened lobby. Jeff walked to a door leading to one of the aisles and opened it.

  The stage was empty, as were the six hundred seats. Jeff walked down the aisle, looking neither right nor left, and came to a stop when he was about fifty feet from the stage.

  "Any time," he said in a loud voice.

  Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light, a huge puff of smoke, and a clap of thunder in quick succession—and then, standing on the stage facing them, was the Wizard. He was a man of medium height and weight, with a white beard and white shoulder-length hair. He wore a glistening blue robe made of some metallic fibre, and covered with the signs of the zodiac. His tall conical hat was made of the same material and bore the same signs. He carried a strange-looking black wand in his right hand.

  "No dancing girls?" asked Jeff.

  "They're in the second act," said the Wizard with a smile. Suddenly he produced a bouquet of flowers and tossed them to Jeff. "You're late, young man."

  "I'm in no hurry," answered Jeff. "I've got my whole life ahead of me."

  "A fine answer," said the Wizard. "Now let us consider just how long or short its duration might be. You have told everyone you've met that you owe me money. Before we go any farther, I want it."

  Jeff reached into a pocket, pulled out a coin, and tossed it to the Wizard.

  "Keep the change," he said.

  "I shall," said the Wizard. "Now suppose you tell me the real reason you wish to see me, and why you are accompanied by the Widowmaker's lackey."

  "I'm nobody's lackey!" snapped Kinoshita.

  The Wizard ignored him and continued looking at Jeff. "My question stands. Why are you here?"

&nbs
p; "I'm four million credits behind on my rent," said Jeff.

  The Wizard laughed. "You should have quit while you still had your one-credit piece, young man. You could have gone home a winner. Now, alas, you will go home a corpse."

  "Anything's possible," said Jeff. "But I doubt it."

  Suddenly his burner was in his hand, and he fired a lethal blast between the Wizard's eyes.

  "Warm," said the Wizard, showing no effect, not even a scorch mark. "Not hot, but definitely warm."

  Jeff drew his pistol and fired five quick shots into the Wizard's chest.

  "If you've damaged my tattoo, I'm going to be very cross with you," said the Wizard, his voice heavy with mock anger, his eyes filled with amusement.

  "It's an illusion!" said Kinoshita. "It's some kind of projection! He's not there at all."

  "Very good, little lackey!" said the Wizard. He pointed a finger at Kinoshita. "Now ask yourself if an illusion can do this!"

  A bolt of force shot out of his finger—not electric, not laser, not nuclear, but sheer, almost solid, almost primal force —and knocked Kinoshita a good twenty feet through the air. He landed heavily on his back. The air gushed out of him, leaving him gasping for breath.

  Jeff had pulled his screecher out from the back of his belt where he kept it hidden, but before he could fire it the Wizard turned to him. "Oh ye of little faith!" he said. "Abra kadabra!"

  And suddenly the screecher vanished from Jeff's hand. It didn't melt, it didn't turn to powder, it didn't drop to the floor —it simply vanished. One instant he was holding it and the next it was gone, never to return.

  "I wouldn't spend that four million credits just yet if I were you, young man," said the Wizard. "In fact, I'll bet you'd be happy to pay five million to get out of here in one piece, a consummation devoutly to be wished."

  Jeff pulled a dagger out of a boot and hurled it all in one fluid motion. As it approached the Wizard it lost all its momentum and seemed to freeze in space, inches from the magician's chest. He reached out, grabbed it by its hilt, and threw it back. Jeff ducked, and it buried itself in the back of a padded seat.

  "I'm feeling mighty spry for an illusion," said the Wizard with a chuckle. "Or does your friend think I did that with mirrors?"

  Jeff didn't waste any words. He aimed his burner at the Wizard and fired again. The Wizard seemed to flinch and turn a shoulder toward him, but once again the weapon had no discernable effect. Jeff followed up with more bullets, firing until his gun was empty.

  "All right, you've had your fun," said the Wizard. "Now it's my turn."

  He grinned, and suddenly the young clone was frozen into immobility. He couldn't move a finger, couldn't even blink an eye.

  The Wizard walked to the edge of the stage and leaned over Jeff. "I like you, young man," he said. "You're absolutely fearless, and you have a fine sense of humor. I'm going to ask you a question. I want you to consider your answer very carefully, because it may be the last thing you ever do. Are you ready?"

  Jeff remained totally motionless.

  "Well, at least you didn't say you weren't ready," continued the Wizard easily. "Here is my question: if I allow you to live, will you swear your fealty to me and promise to do my bidding, even to the point of sacrificing your life to save mine?"

  Jeff suddenly found that he could speak, though the rest of his body was still immobilized.

  "Well, young man? The galaxy is waiting."

  "You go to hell," said Jeff.

  "Foolish," said the Wizard, shaking his head sadly. "Not unexpected, but foolish."

  "I take it you've made this offer before?"

  "Every single time."

  "Did anyone ever take you up on it?" asked Jeff.

  "Far more than you'd suspect."

  "And they're working for you now?"

  The Wizard shook his head again. "They're all dead. may they rest in peace."

  "You killed them." It was not a question.

  "Of course," said the Wizard. "How can I trust a man who will swear fealty to me just to stay alive? Do you appreciate the paradox, young man? The handful of you who really belong in my service, who would add immeasurably to my wealth and reputation, are precisely those who answer as you did, so of course I must kill them. And those who give me the answer they think I want to hear are untrustworthy, so I must kill them as well."

  "The end result is that you kill everyone."

  "Wouldn't you?" replied the Wizard. "When everyone is either an enemy or a fool, what alternative is there?"

  "You could let him live," said a voice at the back of the theater. "It might even start a trend."

  The Wizard squinted into the darkness, curious but unperturbed. "Another party heard from," he said. "Would you care to show yourself, sir?"

  Jefferson Nighthawk walked up the aisle toward the stage.

  "The Widowmaker himself!" said the Wizard. "Do you know this young man that I am about to dispatch?"

  "You're not killing anyone," said Nighthawk. "But I may send him to bed without his supper for letting you live this long. I thought I trained him better than that."

  "You're being too harsh on the young man, sir," said the Wizard. "He has already tried a variety of weapons. Nothing can kill me."

  "One thing can."

  "Oh?" said the Wizard sarcastically. "And what is that?"

  "Me," said Nighthawk.

  21.

  The Wizard threw back his head and laughed.

  "Didn't you see what happened to this young man?"

  "Of course I saw," said Nighthawk. "I was watching from the back of the theater."

  "Let me guess," said the Wizard. "You were hoping he would kill me, and then you would step in and claim the credit and the reward."

  "I don't give a damn about either," replied Nighthawk truthfully.

  "Then why did you hang back?"

  "I was pretty sure he couldn't kill you, but I was willing to give him the chance."

  "And you think you can?"

  "No," said Nighthawk. "I know I can."

  "You're an old man, Widowmaker," said the Wizard. "Your reactions are slow, your joints are stiff, your vision is fading, your stamina is gone. Do you really think you can succeed when this young man failed?"

  "If I didn't, I wouldn't be facing you."

  "He faced me," said the Wizard, nodding toward Jeff. "Look at the good it did him."

  "He's the most efficient killer on the Inner Frontier," said Nighthawk. "Gun or knife, hands or feet, you couldn't find a better one." He paused at looked at Jeff. "But he doesn't always use his brain."

  "One of the symptoms of youth," agreed the Wizard. "But meaningless in this particular case. As I keep explaining to you, I cannot be killed."

  "Everyone can be killed," replied Nighthawk calmly. "Even you."

  "I don't believe I'm going to bother making you the same offer I made your friend. I already know what your answer will be. Prepare to die, Widowmaker."

  "You talk too much," said Nighthawk, drawing his burner and firing it not at the Wizard, but at the thick black wand he held in his left hand.

  Suddenly an inhuman squeal of pain rang out through the empty theatre.

  "No!" screamed the Wizard.

  Nighthawk walked the rest of the way up the aisle while the Wizard watched him, transfixed. He climbed the stairs onto the stage, took the charred wand away from the magician, and broke it in half. There was one final agonized scream, and then all was silent.

  "What the hell did you do?" asked Jeff, suddenly able to move again.

  "What you should have done," said Nighthawk. "You fired your burner at him, and it didn't do any good. Then you fired bullets. Then a knife. Were you going to throw one of the seats at him next?"

  "But why fire at the weapon, rather than the man who was wielding it?" asked Kinoshita.

  "It wasn't a weapon at all," said Nighthawk. "Tell them, Wizard."

  The Wizard, who had seemed almost paralyzed with shock, suddenly came to life and hu
rled himself at Nighthawk with an incoherent guttural growl. The older man sidestepped gracefully and brought his hand down sharply on the back of the magician's neck. There was a cracking sound, and the Wizard fell motionless to the stage.

  "It wasn't a wand," continued Nighthawk as if nothing had happened. "It was a symbiote, an alien being that protected him and attacked his enemies in exchange for whatever service the Wizard provided it."

  "Are you saying that the damned wand was alive?" demanded Jeff, clambering up onto the stage.

  "It could throw a protective shield around the Wizard, and could freeze you where you stood," said Nighthawk. "You should have figured it out yourself."

  "How?"

  "He gave you the only hint you needed," said Nighthawk. "He never aimed it at you, never treated it like a weapon. No projectiles or rays came out of it. But he never once put it down, and when you fired your weapons at him, he turned a shoulder toward you. It may have looked like he was protecting his face, but you already knew your weapons couldn't hurt him, so it stood to reason that he was protecting something you could hurt—and what else was there besides the wand?"

  Jeff considered what he'd heard and slowly nodded his head. "Yes, I see it now."

  "Now's a little late," said Nighthawk.

  "You're the only man in the galaxy who would have figured it out before he could kill you," said Jeff with open admiration.

  "There's one other," replied Nighthawk.

  "Who is he?" asked Jeff curiously.

  "You almost killed him."

  "Jason Newman?"

  "That's right."

  "But I didn't kill him," said Jeff. "I could have, but I didn't."

  "That's what we have to talk about," said Nighthawk. "That's why I sent for you."

  "If you wanted to talk to me, why didn't you just contact me by subspace radio?"

  "Kinoshita didn't know where you were," answered Nighthawk. "No one did. So I decided to draw you to New Barcelona rather than waste my time tracking you all over the Inner Frontier."

  "That was a hell of a way to attract my attention," said Jeff.

  "Would any other way have worked?"

  Jeff considered the question. "No," he admitted. "Probably not." He paused. "By the way, thanks for saving my life."