Chapter 6

I drank some coffee and looked up when Colleen stepped from the house onto the patio. She was naked, also unhappy. She glared at me and dove into the pool. I watched her swim about twenty laps and wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, but she'd requested, no, she'd demanded mental privacy.

Earlier, Maggie had called me, and we'd discussed her job and settled on a salary. Colleen, of course, wanted to know what the call was about, so I told her, and that's when she clouded up and rained all over me.

"You want her to be your get-it-done gal, and you made me your company librarian. Get real, buster. Do I look like a fucking librarian to you?"

Besides sitting on my advisory board, I'd asked Colleen if she'd be Protect & Serve's archivist, and she'd happily accepted the challenge. I considered an archivist critical to the ongoing viability of the company. Whoever replaced me at the head of the organization would need its history, the list of referral sources, operatives, contractors and vendors, employees, principals, and all the details that must otherwise remain secret. Secrecy spells loss if the only place the details reside is in the mind of the leader of an organization. I'd come up against that wall when a blow to my head made me forget the past. I wanted my successor to have the tools he needed to run the organization from the get go.

Colleen moved up and out of the pool, walked to the patio table, stood in front of me with her hands on her hips, and gave me a defiant look.

"Okay, buster. Here's how it is and how it will be. You made the right decision making Maggie your get-it-done gal. She's perfect for that job. In the end, I'd have been better, but not right off. It would've taken me a while, and you need someone completely effective right off the bat."

"God, you're beautiful when you're pissed," I said with a silly smirk.

"Pipe down. I'm not finished. You made the right decision with Maggie, but you fucked up big time handing me that archivist job. A librarian I'm not!"

"I agree."

"Pipe down." She sighed. "Would you like to know the job I want, the job you'll give me, or I'll make your life a living hell?"

"My advisor."

"Other than that. I'll be your advisor whether you name me an advisor or not, not that I'll turn down the salary you offered me. I do need a source of some money of my own."

"Tell me what job you want."

"To be your apprentice, squire, sidekick. Take your pick. Cowboy, you can't force me to stay at home filling up computer disks with all the little details your operatives and you accomplish with your daring-do. I'll be by your side, learning..."

"Being by my side could get you killed," I said, interrupting her.

She grinned. "Yep, just like you being you can get you killed. You want your woman to accept what you do, the danger you face, without question. Well, you've found her. I want my man to let me be his partner in life, let me stand by him, even when threatened, and I've found him."

"What about your cooking class? Shooting? Kung fu? Your friends?"

"Fuck the cooking class. I know enough about cooking and baking now to teach myself what I don't know. I took the cooking class more to learn manners, to learn how to be classy and sophisticated if a situation demanded class and sophistication than to learn how to cook, and I'm ninety percent there. Kung fu I won't give up, but I can miss a day if necessary, and as far as shooting goes, I'm already... adequate, and I'll practice when I can to continue to improve. Friends come and go, and having friends is important to me, but friendships take third place to love and achieving personal goals. A friend who can't understand I don't have the time for friendship once in a while isn't truly a friend." She sighed again. "Our interlude is over, cowboy. It's time for us to go to work, time for us to find your enemy and kill him, and then build a world-wide organization that will protect and serve good people from evil people."

"Okay," I said.

Sifu, I knew, would agree with my decision.

I drove the Cadillac to the parking garage, checked the Lexus for explosives and homing devices - it was clean - and drove away in the Lexus. If we needed another vehicle, we'd return and pick up the Cadillac. Colleen sat in the passenger seat wearing a business suit. She used the suit coat to cover the XD-9 in the shoulder holster under the coat.

"My enemy will have watchers around Protect & Serve's office and my condo, and shooters will be standing by to move in on me when I'm spotted," I said.

"Forewarned is forearmed, Morgan," Colleen replied with a smile.

I'd told her that I'd put on my Morgan hat and that she was to refer to me as Morgan.

"Sooner or later today, I'll be in a gun battle..."

"We'll be in a gun battle, Morgan. If you're fired upon, I'll be in the thick of it, too."

"Which could get you killed. Or me."

"Only if you worry about me instead of doing what you do best. You're beating a dead horse, Morgan."

Fuck, I thought and kept the thought to myself. Could I do my job without worrying about Colleen? Frankly, I didn't know. I also had another question only Colleen could answer, but not with words. Only her actions could tell me what I wanted to know. Could she kill?

"Use the cell phone I gave you before we left the house and dial a number for me," I said.

I gave her the number; she dialed it and handed me the phone. I listened to it ring.

"What?" a gruff voice said.

"Blount?" Tim Blount, according to Gordy, was my criminal attorney.

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"Morgan."

He groaned. "What did you do this time, Morgan?"

"Nothing yet, but someone is trying to kill me. Sometime today, probably this morning, that someone will sic some shooters on me. My crew and I will kill them. We'll try to avoid a confrontation with the police, but..."

"Got it," he said, interrupting me. "Crew, you said. Names, I need names, and do they have conceal-carry permits for their weapons?"

"Besides myself, my crew includes Colleen Melton, Mark Richardson, Heather, no last name, and Ruben, no other name. Colleen has a conceal-carry permit. I don't know about the other three, but Heather won't be in Arizona until later today."

"Find out and call me back."

Dial tone. I called my get-it-done gal, told her what I wanted, and five minutes later she called me back. "Richardson is good to go. He's licensed in Arizona. Heather and Ruben aren't."

I called Blount.

"Keep Heather and Ruben out of it, if possible, until I can arrange for their permits. Tell the two operatives without permits to call me. I'll have them legal before the day ends. Keep your head down, good buddy, watch your back, and for hell sake don't create any collateral damage."

Dial tone.

I liked my criminal attorney. He didn't fuck around.

Colleen called Maggie for me, and I had no doubts that my crew would all be legal to carry concealed weapons before the day ended. I'd also filled one of the sub-contractor roles that had been vacant yesterday.

I called Gordy. "Call Blount. I like him. Wire transfer a $10,000 retainer to his bank this morning."

"Will do."

Dial tone. My paymaster didn't fuck around either.

We met at a restaurant a few miles from the condo. I saw no point in making it easy for my enemy to find me until I was ready for him. I recognized Ruben. Richardson recognized me, and a hostess put us in a private room that my get-it-done gal had arranged. A breakfast buffet in warmers lined one wall. I didn't want a waitress constantly wandering in and out of our meeting.

Mark Richardson was a tall, gangly man with curly blond hair and fair skin. He needed a haircut. He had large hands and feet, like a puppy, and was slim otherwise. Blue eyes. Ruben looked European, a dark complexion, dark eyes, short dark hair and a square chin. He was about my height. Both men looked extremely fit.

I introduced Colleen as my sidekick and mate, which made her giggle silently, a sensation I could experience that Ruben and Richardson couldn't.

Their thoughts were complimentary regarding her face and form, but her presence worried them until I said, "Consider Colleen a principal like me."

Being a principal put Colleen in a niche they could deal with. Sidekick and mate didn't offer the same comfort. We ate and got to know each other. Richardson and Ruben had never met, but they soon recognized the professionalism each exhibited and became comfortable with each other. Colleen charmed them both.

She also served us. "I'm not a woman's libber, boys. I can shoot; I'm learning kung fu, and Morgan has been training me in the tradecraft of a protector, but I'm also the kind of woman who enjoys serving the men around her."

"Hoo boy!" Ruben said.

"Down boy," Colleen said with a dazzling grin. "Not that way, except with Morgan, of course. That way, I'm a one-man woman, and Morgan is that man. Got it?"

Ruben grinned. "Got it."

"I got it the second I saw the two of you together," Richardson said.

After we ate, I outlined what I believed we'd be up against sometime that day.

"What you're saying," Richardson said, obviously irritated, "is that you not only won't listen to your protectors and disappear to let them handle the problem but also plan to precipitate a confrontation with your enemy's shooters. To what end?"

Colleen grinned. "Good question, Mark. I've been asking myself the same question."

I looked at Ruben. "It's okay to express your opinion."

"Mark," Ruben said, "with Morgan as your principal, the normal principal/protector roles don't apply. Have you seen him in action?"

"I backed him up on two protection contracts. He anticipated every threat against our principals and neutralized each of them before they could be initiated. What do you mean by action?"

"From what you just said, I take it that you haven't seen him in hand-to-hand combat or watched him shoot that XD-9 he's wearing under his blazer."

"No."

"What about you, Colleen?" Ruben asked. "Have you seen him in action?"

"I was with him in Kingman when he was ambushed. I saw him kill three of his attackers with three shots before he escaped with me. I've watched him spar with Sifu, my kung fu teacher. They sparred with cudgels, but Sifu tells me Morgan is as proficient with a saber, broadsword or spear as he is with a cudgel, and Sifu is no match for him. Sifu has been studying and practicing kung fu for forty years. I've seen Morgan at a shooting range fire thirty rounds at a target at twenty-five meters in twelve-point-two seconds, and every round hit within the ten rings. I've patched up a bullet wound he received when three shooters and a sniper ambushed him. He killed the shooters, evaded the sniper, and took out the follow car, killing two or three more shooters and the driver."

"Fuck," Richardson breathed.

Ruben grinned. "Nonetheless, Morgan, I would like to hear the answer to Mark's question."

"Me, too," Colleen quipped.

"The end for me is to identify my enemy, determine why he wants to kill me, and kill him before he achieves his goal. He or his hired thugs beat me senseless and left me for dead in a parking lot behind Circus Circus in Las Vegas. I didn't die. I recovered, but without a past, without memories, so I know neither the who nor the why of it all. My nemesis's thugs recognized me after I was released from the hospital, so I hightailed it out of Vegas. Mark, at that time disappearing was my only option. I didn't know my name. I had no resources and couldn't call on anyone for help because I didn't know anyone, so I disappeared.

"Except for a complete blank regarding my enemy, that situation no longer applies. I have resources now. I have friends and colleagues I can call on. I've been in hiding for months, and I was willing to stay in hiding until all my memories returned, but the sonofabitch found me again and ambushed me at the Wrigley Mansion."

"That was you at the Wrigley Mansion?" Mark said, looking shocked.

"Yes," Colleen said. "That was one of the ambushes I referenced."

Sobered, Mark nodded. "Sorry, Morgan. Continue, please."

"I got lucky. I might not be that lucky the next time I'm ambushed, so it's time for me to take the battle to my nemesis. Yes, I'll precipitate a confrontation with my enemy's shooters - every time and at every opportunity. And during one of those opportunities, we'll take one of the shooters alive, if not today, the next time, or the time after that, but we won't risk our lives trying to take one of them alive. I want to make that very clear. Understood?"

Ruben nodded. Mark said, "Yes."

"When we succeed, and we will, I alone will interrogate the captive, and I'll do it my way. We'll follow the string he gives us that leads from him to his boss. Then we'll take his boss alive so I can have a little talk with him, and we'll follow the string that leads from that man to my enemy."

I leaned back and closed my eyes. "Unless I can recover the memories that would identify my nemesis, I can't think of any other way to achieve the end I mentioned when I started this speech." I opened my eyes and grinned. "That doesn't mean I'm not open to suggestions. What I won't do is hide in a hole somewhere like a frightened animal, not at this point, because if I do, the next ambush might succeed."

"That was a mighty fine answer, cowboy," Colleen said.

"Works for me," Mark said.

"I have a suggestion," Ruben said.

"I'm listening," I said.

"Put me in the point position."

I grinned. "All right. Here's my plan for this morning. Mark..." I spoke for ten minutes, listened to suggestions from everyone, revised the plan accordingly, and we left the restaurant ready to do battle.

Because I was the only telepath in my crew, we all wore communication gear, but not the obvious kind with a microphone in front or our mouths. We wore state-of-the-art, concealed, wireless gear from my armory in Carefree.

The watchers were easy to spot. Mark made the two men watching for me at the office building on his first pass. Ruben located three watchers in the vicinity of the condo.

"Watchers know names. They have bosses," Mark had suggested during our planning session, and we'd altered my plan accordingly.

"Break off, Ruben," I said. "I'll take out the two watchers at the office building, and we'll rendezvous at the address in Scottsdale I gave you earlier."

Watchers are watchers because they aren't much good for anything else in a potential shooting scenario. Wearing a disguise, I took out first one and then the other with my cudgel. The takedown was silent and quick.

Mark grabbed one of the fallen men. I grabbed the other, and we moved them to the Lexus. Neither was armed, so we took their cell phones, dumped one of the men in the trunk and the other on the floor in the back seat, and drove away.

The man in the back seat was still unconscious when I pulled the Lexus into the garage where I'd lived with Colleen as Ken LaPlant. Ruben, driving Colleen's Cadillac, was waiting at the house for us, and he helped Mark carry that watcher to the kitchen where we taped him to a chair. We also blindfolded and gagged him to increase his terror when he regained consciousness. The blindfold had a dual purpose. I didn't want him to see anyone but me.

I removed my disguise, returned alone to the garage and opened the trunk. That watcher was groggy, but he was coming around. I shoved my gun in his face.

"Do you want to live?" I asked him.

"Yes! Oh, God, yes! Don't kill me! Please, don't kill me!"

"What's your name?"

He didn't hesitate. I wouldn't need my telepathic abilities to interrogate him and get the answers I wanted.

"Karl Moore. Please don't kill me."

I smelled urine. He'd pissed his pants.

"Who do you work for?" I asked.

"Modern Security."

"What's your supervisor's name?"

"John Weber."

"The man you were with at the office building, the other watcher, what's his name?"

"Tony Ballard."

"Do the watchers at the condo also work for Modern Security?"

"Yes."

He gave me their names before I could ask for them. When asked, he gave me one cell phone number. He didn't know the other watchers' numbers.

"What were your orders?"

"Watch for you. Call a phone number if I saw you?"

"Give me the phone number."

He rattled it off.

"Who owns Modern Security?"

"Cecil Greenfield."

"After making the call what were your orders?"

"Drive away and not look back."

"What did you think would happen?"

"That someone else would try to take you." Kill you, he thought.

"Take me or kill me?"

"I don't know. Kill you, probably."

"And that was all right with you?"

"Yes. I'm a nobody, for crissake. I don't and won't do anything illegal. I don't carry a weapon. I just do what I'm told to collect a weekly paycheck, and security is a second job for me. I need it to make ends meet. I have a wife and three daughters. Today's a day off from the other job, so I took this one."

I reached and pressed my fingers to a spot on his neck and maintained the pressure until he lost consciousness again, and then I slammed the trunk lid hard.

"Waste of fucking time," I muttered.

The terrified man taped to the chair in the kitchen corroborated Karl Moore's story. I rendered him unconscious, and we left them in an alley somewhere between the house in Scottsdale and Protect & Serve's office on Camelback Road.

"Let's have lunch," Ruben said.

I laughed. "Let's."

"What about John Weber and Cecil Greenfield at Modern Security?" Walt said.

I called Maggie. "I need some facts about Modern Security. Supposedly Cecil Greenfield owns the company. John Weber is a supervisor. Do some research, please. Besides the normal stuff like their office address and phone number, I need to know the scope of their services and Greenfield's financial and political clout, if any. Details. I need details."

"You've got it, boss. When?"

"We're stopping soon for a leisurely lunch, say an hour and a half."

"That's it?"

"No. Take down this phone number." I gave her the number Karl Moore was ordered to call if he spotted me. "If it's traceable, I need the name of the person connected with the number."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Bye."

Dial tone.

"Who was that?" Ruben asked me.

"My get-it-done gal," I said. "She won't actually do the research herself. She'll hire others to get it done."

"If I remember correctly, you don't work through an agent. How do you come by new contracts?" he asked.

He's biting, I thought. Set the hook, but let him fight. Don't try to net him, not yet.

"Referrals," I said.

"Are you saying you have enough referrals from past jobs to keep you busy?" Mark said, his voice echoing with disbelief.

I chuckled. "Jeez, Mark, I haven't been in the business that long." He's nibbling at my bait, too.

"Then how... ?" Ruben said.

I interrupted him. "I interviewed some agents early on and didn't like what they told me. I'm sure there are some good agents out there, but I couldn't find one. You have a good agent, don't you, Ruben?"

"Fair. He's okay. I've been with him for years."

"Does he keep you busy?" I asked.

"Not really, not if I discount the crap assignments he gives me. He runs three operatives and has yet to figure out what each of us does best."

"What about you, Mark? Are you happy with your agent?"

"He keeps me busy, but... let me put it this way. From what I've seen so far, you have more support than my agent gives me."

I faked shock. "You've got to be kidding! Criminy, Mark, you've seen only a small portion of the support I have on call. Let's see, you've dealt with my travel agent. No. In fact, you didn't. Ruben did though. How was she, Ruben? Did she treat you right?"

He laughed. "Yep, and made me laugh doing it. The way she says 'darlin'' just cracked me up."

"Mark, you have a conceal-carry permit for Arizona. Ruben doesn't, but he'll have one by the end of the day. Heather, too."

"Heather?" Ruben said with a grin.

"Yeah, Heather is flying in this afternoon to give us a hand. Do you know Heather, Ruben?"

"Yep. She's something else, and she could find a lost ice cube in a glacier."

Don't push it, I told myself. Let them ask.

"I'm confused," Mark said. "You said you get your contracts from referrals, but the referrals don't come from past jobs."

"Well, that's not entirely true," I said. "One or two jobs each year come from happy principals from my past. Lemmee explain. Unhappy with the agents I spoke with, I decided to be my own man, so I spent a year - part time, not fulltime - setting up a nationwide referral system. Instead of paying an agent, I pay referral fees." I snorted with disdain. "The agents I talked with wanted half. I pay my referral sources ten percent. I enlisted lawyers, financial consultants, private detectives, non-competing security companies, and others, into my system. It works, too. I turn away jobs all the time."

"What a good idea!" Mark said.

"What happens if you're on a job?" Ruben asked. "Who takes the calls from your referrals?"

"My screener takes the calls whether I'm on a job or not. She's great. She's a big, fat black woman who is wheelchair bound. She says it's the best job she's ever had."

"Judas, what a setup!" Mark said.

I laughed. Mark was a better recruiter than I was.

"What other support do you have on call?" Ruben asked.

"I know all the pieces, Ruben, but I still can't remember all the names. Hopefully, by the time we take care of my nemesis, my faulty memory will connect the right synapses and give them to me. I remember about one new name a day, but not all the remembered names are associated with my support system."

"Give us the pieces," Mark said.

"Okay. You know about my travel agent, my get-it-done gal, my paymaster, my screener, and my criminal attorney - he's the man arranging for conceal-carry permits, but he's on call if the pending shootout brings the gendarmes down on us. Other support includes an armorer, a documents and identity expert - read forger - an electronic surveillance specialist, a computer whiz - read hacker - a doctor or two who won't report a gunshot wound, a skip-tracer and private investigator, and Jasper, who takes care of my rolling stock."

"Wow!" Mark exclaimed.

"Yeah, wow," Ruben grumbled. "My work would be a lot easier with that kind of support. Too bad you're not an agent, Morgan."

Game, set, match, Colleen said silently. Good job, cowboy.

After lunch, I waltzed into Modern Security's offices. The research Maggie did led me to believe I wouldn't run into any real threats there. I strode past the receptionist and an irate private secretary into Cecil Greenfield's plush, private office. He was one of those executives that put up awards, plaques, framed newspaper clippings and photos of him with important people, all of which I ignored.

Morgan! he thought.

"Give me the name of the man who hired you," I said.

A name popped into his mind.

"I've been told his name is Ralph Hansen," I said. "I'm just looking for corroboration, Cecil, so talk to me or I'll make a mess out of your pretty face. Tell me, is Hansen local or from out of town?"

Local, Scottsdale, but I'd never tell this asshole.

"Fuck you," Greenfield said. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Wrong answer, Cecil. Cecil, what a silly name. I've changed my mind. Instead of making a mess of your face, I'll let Hansen do it. His phone number is 555-2352, right. I'll call him as soon as I leave and tell him you told me all about him. Have a nice day, Cecil." The number wasn't traceable, but the odds that Hansen was using the phone with that number were good, and after all, I am a gambler.

I turned and walked out of his office, and promptly ran into three hulks who thought they were tough. My cudgel made short work of them without breaking any bones or rendering them unconscious, and what's more, I could honestly claim self-defense. Good golly, one of them pointed a gun at me.

Outside, I hopped into the Lexus waiting for me at the curb. Ruben was driving.

"Any problems?" he asked.

"No."

"Did you get a name?" Mark asked.

"Ralph Hansen. He lives or offices in Scottsdale."

Did Greenfield snitch, or did you read his mind? Colleen asked me silently.

I read his mind.

My cell phone rang. Heather had arrived. I made arrangements to meet her and called Blount. "How are you doing on the conceal-carry permits?"

"Give me two hours."

I covered the mouthpiece on the phone and informed Ruben about the timing on the permits.

"We decided to avoid the shooters until the permits were in hand," I told Blount.

"Good thinking."

"The watchers at my office and around my condo work for Cecil Greenfield at Modern Security."

"Humph, I know Greenfield. He's more to be pitied than censored."

"I just visited his private office. He likes to hang photos on the wall showing him hanging out with important people. I didn't see you in any of the pictures, Blount."

"Fuck! What did you do to him?"

"Nothing, just asked a few questions. I didn't hurt him, but three of his operatives tried to take me as I was leaving."

"Did you shoot them?"

"No, but I did use my trusty cudgel on them."

"Cudgel?"

"Yeah, a staff, Blount. It's a Shaolin wushu weapon. One of his operatives took a swing at me without provocation. Another pulled a gun. The third one scowled at me. It was a serious scowl, Blount, very intimidating."

Colleen giggled. I adored her giggle sounds.

"I bet," Blount said. "Did you break bones? Are we talking emergency-room injuries?"

"No. I didn't even render them unconscious. Since my bonk on the head, I'm more cognizant of concussions and what they can do."

"Surely you jest. Three men attacked you, and all they got for their effort were bruises and contusions?"

"Yep. I guess I'm getting soft in my middle years. Do you know a Scottsdale thug named Ralph Hansen?"

"Oh, yeah. What's he got to do with the sordid situation you're in?"

"He hired Cecil and his boys to finger me, and if I were to guess, I'd say the shooters we'll face later today answer to Hansen. Is his cell phone number 555-2352?"

"How the hell would I know that?"

"That's the number the watchers were ordered to call if they saw me."

"Watchers? You spoke with the watchers?"

"Two of them. They're fine. Headaches, for sure. Mild concussions, maybe. Back to Ralph Hansen. What do you know about him?"

"He was arrested for assault. I got him off. That was three or four years ago. I haven't seen or talked with him since."

"Do you have a file on him you can share?"

"After some judicious editing, sure."

"Fax it to me." I gave him the fax number at the executive offices. "I'll call you in two hours."

After I pushed the end button on the call, I tossed Mark a set of keys. "Those fit a Camry in the garage next to the condo building. It's parked three stalls from the elevator on the third floor on the west side. Check it for explosives and tracking devices before you drive it away. I removed both from the Lexus yesterday."

I rummaged in my equipment bag and found my handy-dandy tracking-device and bug checker. "Use this to make sure a tracking device isn't attached to the car. The Camry should be clean, but check anyway. My enemy and his watchers don't know you, so it should be easy for you to pick up the Camry and drive to my office. I'll alert the receptionist at the office. Her name is Leticia Ramos. I'll tell her that you'll be picking up Blount's fax, and then meet us at the Ritz-Carlton in the lobby lounge. We'll be enjoying afternoon tea. I do enjoy teatime at the Ritz."

You're having way too much fun, cowboy, Colleen said in her mind.

What can I say, sweet thing? I'm in my element.

I recognized Heather as she walked toward our table in the lobby lounge of the Ritz-Carlton. She was an Irish lass, dark hair, milk-white skin, a great body, about thirty years old, and when I saw her I remembered fucking her. Heather enjoyed fucking. It was her avocation.

I stood to greet her, and she moved into my arms and kissed me. It wasn't a friendly-greeting type of kiss either. My cock started to get hard.

What the hell! Colleen thought.

"Good to see you again, fuck buddy," Heather whispered in my ear and stepped back. That's when she noticed the group sitting at the table.

"Ruben!" she squealed happily and promptly kissed him as enthusiastically as she'd kissed me.

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