It Begins

IT BEGINS

Author's note: This was the beginning of a pbem game. Gantroc was GMing and I was a player. I liked the character so much that I've simply left the beginning of the (now dead) game for you to read. Gantroc's stuff is in black, mine is in blue.

Sticks walked into Lisama's Ice Cream and moved to the counter.  "Hello, Senor Cabrales, how are things this fine day?"
He nodded, pumping the man's offered hand.  "I've seen better days where the sun shines down, but I'm getting by.  And you, Senor Lisama?" The older man waved his weathered hands in front of him.  "Just Gerry, call me Gerry you stubborn young man," he laughed.  Sticks took a seat at the counter and ordered a soda, careful to check the parlor with a quick sweep of his eyes.
Good, nothing out of the ordinary...except for an older gentlemen in the back booth.  The older man seemed to be a little too nervous, and his suit (though rumpled) marked him as someone who did not frequent the Barrens.  The Escrimador furrowed his brow momentarily, wondering if the little man with a double chin and balding gray hair had been rolled by the local toughs yet.
Sticks faced the counter once again as Gerry delivered his soda.  The counter man was giving him a knowing look, his eyes traveled to the pudgy human in the back, then back to Sticks.   "He is here to speak to you, Senor.  He asked for you by reputation,"  the Lisama whispered, handing Sticks his money back.
Slowly reaching his hand into his jacket pocket, Stick grasped the asp collapsing baton he had hidden there.  Secure with his ability to defend himself, he leaned over to the counterman and quietly asked, "Please, Gerry, when did he get here, what did he say to you, and was he alone?" When the store owners reaction betrayed surprise, the young Filipino said "Better to be prepared than to walk into trouble unsuspecting, neh?"
Gerry wiped the look of surprise from his face quickly and leaned towards Sticks with a smile, "I think that if you walked up to him too quickly, he'd die straight away."  Gerry looked about to make sure no one else was listening before he continued.  "He asked for someone who could be trusted with an important job opportunity."
Sticks frowned again, "Has he been asking all over?"
"Not according to him," giving Sticks a wink, "and I made sure for you, Senor. I think he just didn't know where to look.  When he came in, I told him to hush up and to sit and wait."
With a nod, the young Filipino thought over what the old man has said.
With one hand on the baton in his pocket, Sticks slowly walked up to the booth. Observing the balding man in the rumpled suit for a moment, he said "I understand you are looking for someone for a piece of work.  If you'd step into my office, I will talk to you."
Cautiously, the older man nodded and rose, following Sticks around a table and back to the same booth, the last in the shop.  He raised an eyebrow when the young man indicated he should sit back down on the other side of the table.  With a last look around the store, Sticks slid into the seat facing the front door.
"So your office is where you have a wall behind you and a view of what's coming at you, eh?" the man asked with a flemmy chuckle.  The weak laugh died on his lips as he saw the deadly seriousness with which the young man regarded him.
"You have biz to discuss?" Sticks asked without a smile.
"Well, uh, yes....but..er... you seem sort of young....."
The brown eyes continued studying the sweating older man without changing. Seeing that the scar faced youth was not going to be baited into discussing his age, the man gave a slight shrug and launched into his proposal.
The older man coughed a bit, trying to bite back a bit of his discomfort.  "I'm sorry for sounding the skeptic.  It's just this whole business, I've never really done this before."
Sticks looked the man up and down for a moment.  "I'm here, so far so good."  It was the best attempt the Filipino would offer in the way of putting the old man at ease.
The guy took a deep breath and began.  "I've been quite a busy man.  With my work, and other responsibilities, I've been very negligent at home,"  he paused and reached into his wrinkled coat pocket fishing out a 2D picture.  There was a noticeable flinch when he saw Sticks reaction to the sudden movement.  "Just a picture of my son, honest."
With caution as an ever present guide, Sticks took the proffered picture.  It is of a child, no older than 7, sitting on the man's knee with a smile from ear to ear.  The mussed blonde hair and dirty clothes on both people indicated a long day at the park.  A distant thought, as fleeting as passing butterfly, made Sticks think of his father.  Giving it a miss, he looked expectantly at the pudgy man.
During the moment Sticks had been glancing at the picture the older man had begun to cry.  "He's gone.  I don't know why, but he's gone."  Using a handkerchief in his pocket, he blew his nose as quietly as possible.
Sticks tried to remain unemotional, "How did it happen, and when?"
"It was about a week ago.  I tried going to Lone Star, but they just said they'd start the investigation."  The man clenched his fists in frustration.  "But it seems that everytime I call them, they just give me the run around.  I just want to find my son."  He takes a sip of water that Gerry drops by the table.  After the store owner moves off, the man continued.
"I came home one evening, very late.  My wife, she was upstairs in Darren's room crying.   When I asked what was wrong, all she could do was say 'They took him, you bastard.  They took him!'  I didn't know what she meant by they."
The man paused and looked deeply at Sticks.  "I'll pay whatever it costs.  I've even made contact with a couple other people to help.  I just didn't know where to turn.  If you'll help, I'll provide you with as much info as you need.  I can set up a meet with the others I've contacted.  I think they can be trusted," With a sigh he stopped and looked down at his hands.  "I just don't know anything anymore.  Will you help me?"
"How much is your son worth to you?" Sticks asked. As the older man's face began to collapse, the young man immediately regretted the abruptness of his question. "I mean that this is very open, uh.... unclear. There is no border.... In the whole world you ask me to find one seven year old boy, you see. I could spend years and hire thousands of other people.  You have others already you say.  Are they detectives? The matrix wizards who plug their heads into machines? Real wizards who can track your son with magic? Many questions."
"Who are you? What do you do? What does your wife mean when she says "they took him"? Do you have enemies? Rivals? Does your wife? Is this related to your work? Why do you come here and ask a stranger to do this?" Seeing that the older man seemed to be crushed further by each succeeding question, Sticks stopped and folded his hands in front of him.  He nodded for the man to take a drink and compose himself and after a brief pause said, "I am sorry to make you sad or hurt, but a man I have never met says to me, 'My son is missing, will you help me, I'll pay whatever it takes'.  I have to know much, much more. I need to know details before I can jump into any job.  This is not 'guard my store' or 'chase away these punks', you see? If I take a job I do what must be done, but how can I know what must be done unless I have much more information."
"Because my words have stung you, I will tell you for free, you are in a bad place.  This is not your part of town. You are safe here because Senor Lisama's business is protected, but when you leave here, you are a fat, slow fish in shark waters.  Here they would take your life for the money the organleggers would pay for your parts.  For 100 nuyen, I will make sure that you get home safe. You will think about what I need to know to take the job. You will decide on a figure that you will pay me for this work and you will provide me with 25% up front. If the information and payment are enough, I will look at the child's room and his things, I will decide to take the job or not and then I can meet the others. Or you can hire another stranger.  Is this acceptable?"
The pudgy gave Sticks a nervous grin and began to wring his hands.  "I'm sorry, I just don't know the etiquette for this sort of thing."  He quickly looked at his hands, then drying them on the napkin in front of him, offered it to Sticks.  "My name is Thomas Gillian."  Sticks looks at the offered hand, "Meaning no disrespect but..."
Gillian withdrew his hand with a nervous smile, "I understand.  No offense taken.  And you are?"
"You can call me Sticks,"  the young Filipino answered simply.  He was very satisfied to notice that the man made no mention of the name as being out of the ordinary.
"Well, let's see, where to begin.  Uhhh, well I work for Lankersham & Donovan. We're a small accounting firm that handles foreign holdings here in the UCAS. Nothing fancy, but we do well."   He drank the rest of his water before continuing.  "I've worked there for aboooouuuttt....Christ!  I've been there for twelve years.  Well, as for enemies, I don't know.  I try and be the best person I can, even though I learned early on that when you leave yourself out there too far, you're bound to get stepped on."
Sticks began to take mental notes on Gillian, watching his mannerisms, speech patterns.  Anything that would tip off a lie.  Confident, for the time being, that there was none, he asked "What about your wife?"
"Well, she socializes a lot.  Likes to shop, but she's a very good mother.  I can't imagine what this must be doing to her...well I guess I can.  I think I've lost three inches on my hair line this week alone.  No...Noone I can think of. I think when she was mentioning 'they,' she was just talking about whoever was responsible.  If you need to come to my house...I guess that's okay, as long as she's not home.  I don't know what her reaction would be if she knew what I was doing."
The Escrimador gave him a hard look,  "Your doing the best you can under the circumstances Senor Gillian.  But I do have to know who else you've talked to and why you've come here."
"At first, I tried going to downtown Seattle.  Checking bars, clubs.  I figured that's where people who do what you do waited around for people like me."  He shook his head and ran his hand through what's left of his hair.  "I don't mean to make it seem so bad.  In any case, I spoke with a large man with a lot of...enhancements?  He seemed to be honest and told me that it wasn't his game, but he new an off duty paramedic who could help.  I spoke with her, a pleasant individual by the name of Jess.  The other person, an elf, I met in a bar named Cross Foxes.  A British bar of all things.  But he was very affable and seemed eager to help.  I think he is a magic user of some sort.  But he's very patient and thorough."
"I've gone to different places because I've heard through different sources that it's more dangerous to hire a team.  They may double cross you a lot quicker.  I thought maybe I could get one together on my own.  I see that look in your eye, you are honorable, I can tell.  A lot like the other two.  In fact the woman has a parental feel about her that makes me feel at ease when I talk with her. Jess, I think her name is."
Gillian closed his eyes for a moment, trying to maintain the professional level he was at...Sticks could tell it's a hard fight for the man.  His emotions seem to be filled to bursting on the dam of his will.  "The man over there, Mr Lisama, he speaks highly of you.  That is why I stayed and waited.  As far as getting out of the area, I can call another cab...although the last one left in a big hurry.  But I would appreciate your help.  Your terms are more than fair, 25% up front.  I could even take you to my place right now."  He checked his watch.
"It's only 2:30, my wife will probably still be at her sister's house.  Would coming to my house be too much at this point.  You can decide on how to get there, and can decide against at any time.  I'll respect your decision.   I just need someone I can trust."  Thomas gives a rueful laugh.  "No offense, but I guess that comes as pretty ironic from a guy doing what I'm doing."
"I do not know this word ironic" Sticks said simply, "But I listen carefully to everything you say. I also listen to what you do not say.  You do not say how much you will pay for this job.  I have responsibilities, Senor.  I cannot take a job like this for your good will even if you give me 25% of it up front.  That is the first point."
Continuing to look very directly at the sweating older man, he then said. "The second is you will find I do not have a..... generosity of words.  If I say it, I mean it. Since you work with accounting perhaps you can tell me which a poor man who drives a cab all day would most like to have, your 5 nuyen tip or the 80 to 85 nuyen he can get in kickback from the 'leggers  if you have a good liver or kidney? This is, of course, if you can get past the Halloweeners who wait for you outside."
As the impact of the young man's words hit home, Gillian sputtered, "But...but it's the middle of the afternoon....."
"A time when sharks do not swim? No, Senor. Sharks must swim to breathe. They are always moving. Always looking for slow fat fish."
As the older man turned to look out the front of the store he saw a pair of gangers loitering across the street. "My God! It's....it's like a battle zone! How do I.....what do we do?"
"We finish our conversation, Senor. You offer me a sum for returning your son. You slot your cred stick to Senor Lisama for 110 nuyen.  He keeps 10 nuyen and holds the rest until I pick it up. Then I call a man I know who drives a cab. He will take us to your home. There you will produce a certified stick for 25% of the reward you offer for your son's safe return."
"One final thing, Senor.  You mention seeing I have honor.  This is true. It is called shadowrunning, but I do not hide in shadows or run from the light.  If you fear your wife knowing what I am doing, perhaps you should find another to work for you.  I am not ashamed of what I am or what I do. If I need information from your wife about your son, she must understand that I am working to reunite  your family. And" he said getting very, very quiet, "If the story you have told me is not true, if there is more here than you have said.....my sense of honor will see justice for that too."
"So," he said in a more conversational tone, "How much is your son worth to you?"
Gillian looked at Sticks for a long time, trying to evaluate what he'd just heard.  "I can't put a price on my son.  Like I said, I'd pay anything.  I'd walk out there right now stark naked for those...Halloweeners if it meant he would be safe again with his mother."  He tried to get a hold of himself before he got too worked up.
"I do apologize if I made it sound like I was ashamed.  It's just that my wife is very sensitive right now.  I guess I should keep her in the know.  I'm just running on empty right now."  He took a deep then continued.  "I hope I won't insult you with an offer of 8,000 nuyen, plus any extra expenses.  I'll pay you half now if you want.   And I'd be more than happy to compensate you for getting out of the area.  I hope it won't be too much trouble for you. As soon as we get to my home, if my wife's not there.  I'll call her to come home to meet you.  I'm sure that it would only be logical for you to want to talk to you."
Sticks watched his hands for a moment, thinking...
"Very well", the young man said after reaching a decision. "I am sorry if I have added to your pain, but it would have been wrong to take your money and not have taken the tools to do the job. Here those tools are the data that will let me find your son. Until we are safely at your home, I ask that you do what I say when I say it, without question. It is the only safe way for us to move through the shark waters, yes?"
When Gillian nodded, Sticks signaled the shop owner over. "Senor......Gerry. May I use your cell phone?"
As the shop keeper produced his flip phone, Sticks said.  "My client would like to leave 100 nuyen for me. I told him you would hold that amount for 10 percent. Is that all right?" At Gerry's smiling nod Sticks dialed the cell phone as Gillian handed his credstick over.
"Thomas?...Sticks..... I'm at L's..... Need transport.................yeah and you could use a brain implant too..............You wish............So you start the day a little early. Hey, look.  Bring my black bag too, would ya?......... Ask my father, he'll give it to you....yeah, biz, so don't take all day.......Pumpkins......Yeah?.... He did? Sounds like a case of  Itachi no saigobe.....that's right, 'a weasel's final fart'......You ought to read more, but I'll explain it later. Hurry up."
As he was about to hand back the phone, the young man asked, "Could I use this for a few days, S....Gerry? I can pay...."
"Well...yes, I suppose so, just be sure to bring it back." the shop owner said.
Ten minutes later an ancient Checker Limo pulled up outside of the front door. As the young man and his charge stepped out onto the sidewalk a nasal voice sang out, "Well, well. What have we here?"
As Gillian turned towards the sound of the voice he saw from the corner of his eye, Sticks turning the other way. The pair of teenagers in the black and orange leathers, with the wicked looking knives in their hands hesitated at the double <snick> of Stick's asp batons telescoping to their full size. Thinking "I can't believe this is happening in broad daylight" Gillian turned to see another pair of blademen had also stopped their approach from the other direction."Get in the cab, right now!" Sticks said as the passenger door swung open. Gillian jumped in and then looked up with alarm as the door shut behind him.  Keeping down while sneaking a peek, the frightened accountant observed the tableau of the young man he had just hired waiting calmly for an attack from four larger men with knives.  As the seconds dragged on he realized that it was the attackers who were afraid to initiate the violence.  He watched, amazed, as Sticks slowly collapsed his baton and returned them to his pockets.  When the gangers still did not attack, Gillian began to understand where the young man's reputation had come from. Without saying a word or  seeming to hurry, Sticks opened the door and climbed in after Gillian.
"That was.........amazing.  They didn't even say anything!" The balding man said as the cab pulled away.
"After what he did ta Mick the mouth, I ain't surprised they kept quiet. Why that ork had ta have more operations......." The cab driver began, but Sticks quickly interrupted saying:
"Thomas, this gentlemen will give you an address. He has had some difficulty and would appreciate a nice QUIET ride home, Wakaru mas?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sharrupa u face. I get it. Drag me outta bed..."
"Nani sono Kagimata. Oe suru hodo busu da yo" Sticks observed in Japanese.
"I look like shit BECAUSE you woke me up you inconsiderate son of a slitch. 'Get my bag, I got pumpkin trouble' I didn't have time to set up my do or nothing.... Man, look at my fraggin hair! I gotta spend the whole fragging day lookin like I just got hit with 10,000 volts all because........"
"What was that address?" Sticks asked loudly
After Gillian gave the address the ride to the suburbs proceeded in silence.
They arrived at Gillian's high-rise building in Tacoma.  Moving on some level of professional instinct, the pudgy man slotted 75 nuyen for Thomas and looked to Sticks to see if that was enough.  The Escrimador just nodded and waited for him to vacate the cab.
After a quick bit of banter that Gillian seemed to pick up on about half, Sticks followed the man through the lobby of the Williamson Estates.  The front doorman seemed to give Gillian a worried look which the former dismissed with a swift motion.  "No cause for alarm, Dan.  The man is with me, he is here to help with the investigation of my son.  If Sticks should need anything from now on, give it to him no questions asked."  The older man leaned in close, obviously more confident in his own element.  "No questions."
The doorman, a rather tall ork dressed in a fine suit and sunglasses, nodded curtly.  "Yes sir, Mr Gillian.  I hope he is more useful than the bloody rent-a-Star."  The ork had a thick Welsh accent, betraying his heritage.  With a fluid motion he held the door open, nodding respectfully to Mr Gillian and to Sticks.
Once in the elevator, Gillian pressed the button for the top floor.  "Dan's a very good man.  Helped me out of a spot of trouble one night downtown.   Quite resourceful.  If you do end up needing anything, don't hesitate to ask.  He's the head of security for the building."
"And he is the doorman too?"  Sticks asked skeptically.
The elevator announced floor 122.  "It is the strangest thing, but he says he can get a better feel of the building from there."  He shrugged and moved through the doors to his penthouse.  "I don't understand it, but I do respect the man."
Sticks followed Gillian warily, taking in everything with each step he took. Smells, lighting, positions of all objects.   He allowed Gillian to carry on the small talk for a few moments more.   Then the older man asked,  "Well, my wife isn't home so I'll call her if you'd like.  Otherwise, where would you like to start?
"If you could show me where your son sleeps..." Sticks asked.
"His room is right here" the accountant said as he hastily opened the door to a child's room. 
Before entering Sticks stood in the door way for a moment.  He was fighting a losing battle with his sense of wonder over the quantity and quality of the child's toys. Because he did not want to appear unprofessional, he turned to the corper and said "May I have some time to look around? I wish to think and see what I can see."
"Yes, yes, of course. I'll call my wife and...."
"Please, Senor. Before disturbing your wife, could you take a paper and pen and write down as much as you can remember of what you told the Lone Star. I know this is hard, but you may have thought of some little thing that they did not ask about or some small clue that can be of help. If I have any questions I will ask you."
"Oh, ok. I'll....I'll try to put everything down. Do you....do you think you can...." As the emotions of the moment threatened to overwhelm the father, Sticks departed from the professional reserve he had been maintaining.
"If I did not think I could, I would not be here," he said laying a hand on the man's shoulder. "But I cannot do this without your help.  You must be strong for your family.  For your wife and for your son. You must keep doing your best. Save your tears for another time." Nodding as he straightened up, the older man  took a deep breath and went off into the dining room. Sticks watched the man depart and sadly shook his head
You cannot fail here, pendejho.The young man thought to himself. He has the look of papa. The look of loss. Of a drowning man. He is not strong enough for bad news, so you must make it good. Breathing anorasyon for inspiration, the young man dropped to his knees and studied the room,Look with the eyes of a child he thought, See the room as he does. If there is a clue, this is the way you will find it.
As he crawled around the room on his knees, Sticks found the smaller perspective helping.  The ceiling and the upper half of the room receded into inaccessibility, while the floor and areas under the furniture of the room came into sharper focus.I must see if the one with the medical skills can work with the computer, Sticks thought as he recognized the prominent position of the desktop unit. I think the magic man must forswear the matrix, but perhaps the other can ferret secrets out of the box. Sadly, a skill I do not have, but it may be needed. If I am to succeed here I will need more skills than I have. I will need many sources of data....hmmmm....perhaps I should have one of the others that the corper has hired talk to the security man. He may have wisdom to keep in touch with his building by acting as doorman, but his job is to guard against people like me.  He might be more open with another..... I wonder if the star tried to trace the boy magically. If not, perhaps the magic man from the british bar could find something. Another possibility I should discuss with Senor Gillian.... KINTAMA! I wish I knew more....After a half hour of peering under furniture and going through drawers, Sticks placed a dozen crayon covered sheets in his black gym bag and went out to check on Gillian.
When Sticks made his way to the dining room, he found Gillian hard at work transcribing what he remembered of his conversations with Lone Star.  He looked up from his work when he heard Sticks' approach.
"I think I've got everything.  From the time when I called them to my conversation last night with a Lt...uhh,"  He quickly checked his notes.  "A Lt Backwaller.   That was when I ran into the problems with them.  He seemed to be just trying to get me off of the phone."  The man looked tired.  He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, sagging a bit in his chair.   The exhaustion was apparent on the man's face.
Without any further words, he took the page he'd been writing on and handed it to Sticks.  "I hope it helps."  He rose from his seat and moved into the kitchen, Sticks following behind while reading through the man's chicken scrawl:
Called Lone Star right after coming home "the" night of Darren's disappearance. The were more than helpful, taking down all information then sending out a squad car and a detective.  The detective was an elf by the name of Danrik.  He promised prompt response in this matter and that magical assistance was en route. The magical investigator that was promised never showed.  The duty sergeant I spoke with said that the investigators on the scene had gathered everything that they needed.  It sounded like he was reading a script.  (I made a mental note of this at the time.)  I've called everyday for the past week, receiving the same answer-----"When further developments arise, you will be notified." I noticed that the investigators didn't take that much time checking the house when they came by a week ago.
Sticks put the paper in his pocket, as he watched Gillian wash his face in the kitchen sink.  "Just to let you know, I think that the female I hired will be available to meet tonight.  I received a message that she would like to meet you and the other man I hired...the magic user."  He finished drying off his face with a paper towel.  "I left a message for him, but he didn't get back to me."
Sticks contemplated for a moment.  There were still quite a bit of things that he wanted to do before he met up with anybody else.  But if this female had computer knowledge...  "What time?"  he asked quite simply.
"I believe 9:30 at the Bass Line Club.  It's a jazz club downtown.  Do you want to let her know we'll be there?"
"Yes." Sticks replied, "The sooner we get moving on this the faster we will be done. Now, you say these lone-stars took down information. Did they ask where your son played, who is friends were, who he sat next to in school?"
When he saw that the accountant was staring blankly at his hands, the young man gave a small sigh and asked "Senor Gillian, have you eaten anything today?"
Without looking up, the older man shook his head.
"How would you like a nice omelet? You can talk to me while we prepare it." the Escrimador said as he helped his client over to the telecomm. "First you should call your wife and ask her to come home. You can explain that you have hired someone to get your son back and that he has some questions he would like to ask. All right?"
"Uh, yes. Yes. I'll call her now." The older man said as he faced the screen. After several minutes of searching, he remembered his sister-in-law's number and punched it in without activating the screen. When he got his wife on the line he picked up the hand set for privacy.
"Hello. Yes, it's me. I'm at home. I've..uh...hired some people to try to find Tommy........I've tried that. They keep giving me the run around. I........I know, but I've got to do something more..................................................yes. Yes. You're right, it is my fault. If I had........" as the older man began softly sobbing, Sticks took the handset from him and guided him to a chair. "Mrs Gillian? Please come home immediately. I have some questions about your son and your husband needs you.........Does it really matter who I am?" the young man said as he replaced the handset in the cradle.
Leaving the older man for a few moments, Sticks went through the cabinets in the kitchen. Finding a large frying pan, sharp knife and cutting board he began his prep work for cooking. When everything had been washed and was ready to go, he turned back to the accountant. He is so much like papa, the younger man thought with a sigh. I must keep him active or his own thoughts will tear him to pieces. I wonder if his wife is doing any better.
"Senior. I will need some help here. Please get me some egg sub and any flavored soya you would like in your omelet."
After a few seconds the corper blew his nose and went to the refrigerator. "I don't have egg sub, but will these do?" Gillian asked as he brought out some genuine Grade AAA eggs. Momentarily stunned at actual hen fruit, Sticks deadpanned "Welllllll if that's all you've got, I suppose we can make do...." causing the older man to smile for the first time since coming home. The game then commenced in earnest as Sticks called for one or another substitute product only to be confronted with the real thing. Mushrooms, real dairy cheese, Onions, Ham. Gillian seemed distracted from his grief as he produced each item with a flourish and the young man from the barrens feigned disappointment over having to work with food products that he rarely saw and could never afford. While he sliced and diced and worked the skillet, Sticks slipped in questions about young Tommy. Without realizing he was doing it, Gillian talked of the child's love of Soccer, Tommy's ability to draw, both in video medium and with crayons and paper, and of his fascination with Dinosaurs. By listening carefully and probing carefully, the Escrimador developed a more complete picture of his target while simultaneously getting the older man to eat.
Just as with papa, the young man thought, happy memories keep the man running, guilt and helplessness cause the machine to stop. I hope I can get his wife to support him and accept his support. These people need each other in this trouble, and I need more info.
It wasn't long before She came home. The two men had actually been talking rather comfortably when Mrs Gillian screamed onto the scene. "What in the hell is going on? I will not be bossed around by some hired thug who my spineless husband can't stand up to!"The voice was shrill to put it nicely. Sticks was expecting the usual frame that would accompany such a voice, when the not portly figure of a very shapely blonde rounded the corner into the kitchen.
Thomas moved from his stool at the kitchen counter to intercept his wife's assault. "Now honey, give me a moment to explain what I..."
"I'll do no such thing!" She stopped just long enough to give Sticks an imperious look before continuing. "Just who the hell do you think you are, talking to me in such a fashion? I'll have you dragged off by security and deposited into the nearest refuse burner, then I'll call..."
"ENOUGH!!!" The voice not only shocked the woman to silence, but Sticks had been half prepared to draw his asp before he saw that it was Mr Gillian. "You will not talk to this man like that. He was willing to come all the way over here based on my good word to help us find our Darren."
He walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She stood at 5'9", nearly eye level with the her husband. "I know what you're going through, but we need to go through this together." Sticks turned from the two as they embraced. He could still hear her sobbing apologies as he left the kitchen for the living room. A few minutes later, he heard the door to the kitchen open. Quickly he stood from his seat and faced Mrs. Gillian. "I'm very sorry for my behavior, Mr Sticks. These past seven days have been some of the hardest in my life." She approached him and held out a hand. Feeling that this was the best way to accept the woman's apology, the Escrimador took it.
"Sticks." When she looked at him questioningly, "You can just call me Sticks, Senora Gillian."
"Sahara, you can call me Sahara." She looked back as Mr Gillian came through the kitchen door. "And you better call him Thomas or Tom." When it looked like Sticks was going to put up an argument she gave the Filipino a hard look. Holding up her hand she finished, "This is not open for discussion. If you're working for us, you don't want to get our egos getting bigger than they already are."
The ice broken, the three sat down in the living room. Sahara proved to be as valuable a source of support for her husband as she was a source of information for Sticks. Indeed, she had been the last to see Darren before his abduction. In fact, she had sent him upstairs to prepare for bed not more than twenty minutes before she followed him. That meant that the crime had taken place in the span of twenty minutes. The rest of the early evening was spent having the couple show Sticks the layout of the penthouse. As far as the Escrimador could tell, there were only two points of entry: Through a skylight in the hallway leading to the child's bedroom, and through crawl space in the closet of the master bedroom. Whoever came in, would have probably taken the skylight window...or the front door if possible... Sticks made a conscious effort not to discount anything.
While Sahara tried her hand at reconstructing everything she had discussed with the lone star detective, her husband watched Sticks climb up through the skylight and begin investigating the roof. With a sudden thought he excused himself and went into his bedroom. Several minutes later he returned with a preoccupied look on his face. Seeing the younger man climbing back down from the roof he asked "Did you find anything?"
"No Senor", the Escrimador replied. "I am sorry, but there were no details that seemed unreasonable to me." Noticing Gillian's look of confusion, Stick said "To find what is wrong, you look for what does not have a reason to be there. If I see 5 members of a gang and then I see a ganger from another group, there is something unreasonable. The 1 or the 5 must be out of place because they do not belong together. There is no reason to see both in the same place. So it is when searching for clues. What does not have a good reason to be in the picture is a clue. Sadly, I did not find anything that is not reasonable."
Returning to the living room, Sticks took several minutes reading Sahara's account. Not only did the woman have a vivid and detailed memory, but she recorded everything including her opinions of the investigators. Sticks was reading Mrs. Gillian's account for the third time went the intercom buzzed.
"Yes?"
"Mrs. Gillian, I have a messenger from Lankersham & Donovan down here with a package. He needs your husband's thumb print and retinal scan. Shall I send him up?"
"Tom, are you expecting something from the office?" Sahara called out.
"Hmm? Oh, yes." The accountant replied as he re-entered the room.
"All right, Dan, send him up."
As the woman closed the intercom connection, Sticks asked: "Did you have any deliveries like this just before your son disappeared?"
"You mean from Dan's work?" Sahara asked.
"Any deliveries where a stranger came to your door?"
"Wellll....... no, not that I can think of..... My GOD! That seems so long ago!....
At that point, with some gravity, Mr Gillian returned to the room and removing a certified credstick from the security envelope the messenger had delivered, inserted it into a port-a-reader. After showing the Escrimador that the mini-comps screen read 4,000, he handed the young man the credstick and said "I know we agreed on 25% but you may need some expense money. Please use the difference for that and I will reimburse you when final payment is made."
With equal gravity the young man took the credstick and said, "I have taken your pay. You now have my oath. I will find your son. May I have a moment alone?"
Struck dumb by the intensity of this declaration and request, the couple wordlessly retreated to the bedroom.
Sticks removed his jacket and began preparing himself for battle. After a moment of silence to clear his mind from all distractions he touched the antig-antig at his neck. The silver medallion was small but highly detailed. On the front it had a triangle whose sides were escrima sticks and whose base was a Bonifacio bolo knife. A closed fist was inscribed in the center of the triangle and around the perimeter of the disk were the words gilas, hangin, kidlat. As his fingers traced the Tagalog words for spirit, wind and lightning, Sticks silently recited the orayson that had been used in his family for generations. The warrior's prayer of dedication combined with the feel of the amulet of protection, gave the young Filipino a sense of concentration and inner peace which his father had taught him was called dakip-diwa. This "warrior mind" increased his power (hangin) and speed (kidlat) while reducing any hesitation (gilas). As he always did before facing danger, he turned the medallion over and felt the Spanish script of the single stanza inscribed there. It was the core of his family orayson. "With my mind and my heart, I cherish the knowledge my instructor has given to me, for it is my life in combat."
Reaching into his bag Sticks then pulled out a complicated set of leather and elastic straps attached to an empty holster. Removing his hardwood Escrima sticks from the gym bag, he placed them through two loops in the straps and setting them diagonally across his back, put his arms through the loops of the shoulder holster. When the rig was situated comfortably, he checked his two spare clips of ammo and slid them into the snap down holders under his right arm. He pulled the Ares Predator II, removed the clip, checked the action, reloaded the weapon, safed it and placed it in the holster. After inserting ballistic pads into the front and back of his jacket, he put the garment on. He made very sure that the hardwood sticks were comfortably sitting beneath the concealed Velcro flap on his left shoulder so that he could draw the sticks without removing his coat. He placed one throwing knife in the sheath sewn into his left sleeve and the other in the sheath behind his jacket's collar. He hooked the springblade's sheath on the belt on his right side and slipped a pair of power bars, his credsticks, a tube of super-glue and the monofilament reel into an inside pocket. Carefully folding Darren's drawings, he placed them, his low light glasses, stim patches and Senor Lisama's flip phone into the other inside pocket. Finally, Sticks patted the jacket's outer pockets for the reassuring shape of his asp collapsing batons.
With a last moment of reverence, Sticks took the clean red bandanna from the bag. Carefully, he folded the putong until it was a one inch strip which he tied around his temples. With the symbol of valor and mastery in place, a symbol that he had fought in seven patayan (death matches) to earn, he completed the ritual of preparation by repeating the last line of his orayson: My fighting spirit and soul arise to the heavens, for they are unconquerable. With a single deep breath the Escrimador thought, Now! Now I am ready to do some biz.