Nutmeg State Blues II(Continued from Nutmeg State Blues) The place does look like a normal, if upscale, DIY storage facility. Three entrances, the one that his target used, a second rear door, and one that is large enough to accommodate something like a forklift or perhaps it’s a drive-in bay for a car or truck. There is a wifi network in the area centered on the building, free access. The structural requirements of such a building, including vents, are all as Felix expects. In a bit of luck in observation, Felix even spots Mohammed emerging from an elevator onto the third floor of the facility, those glass walls not being polarized against peeking in. He can see Mohammed open a pull-up door with a remote control, the orange door revealing a dark room that he steps within. He spends a total of twenty minutes in there before he emerges, closes the door, and starts to make the journey toward his car. Finding the exact location, that’s a stroke of luck. Felix makes sure that Mohammed isn’t carrying something coming out that he didn’t have going in. If he does, the plans will change. But if he isn’t, if this was just a check on the well-being of the Venus, then the plan will be to check on the false bust being sent to Felix and a later visit to this storage place … late at night, on the roof. If Mohammed is carrying something, it’s small and concealable within a jacket pocket. Clearly, he could not be carrying the Venus. In all, a little bit later than he would have liked, the false bust is waiting in a package sent to Felix by the time he gets back to the hotel. From the pictures and information provided to him by the representative of the Gilman Gallery, the bust is about as good a likeness as one could hope to make without having the original right in front of a forger or copier. Worth the wait, in other words. And so the operation to make the switch can proceed apace at Felix’s leisure. At the moment, Felix worships the god Occam. Looks like a simple in-and-out B&E, yes, but with a dark suit and mask to hide his identity, and a kit to disable electronics as he goes. No point spending hours trying to track down the exact security when being there would work much better. He does spend some time, however, working out at least two ways to get out if things go bad. A bit of legwork on Felix’s part, mainly studying the place from a distance and doing some google-fu, gives him leads on getting out of the place on foot, as well as trying to exit via vehicle. Escape routes once he is outside of the building on foot as well as car are relatively straightforward, and Felix has a couple of choices in that regard. One of these escape routes is suboptimal, especially if there is a lot of traffic heading to Bradley International, but otherwise he has a couple of choices once he is on the ground. The security turns out to be more difficult than Felix would have reasonably expected, but at the same time he is more than up to the challenge. The security codes are tough, but Felix is on his A game that night; he gets himself to the third floor storage bin, and into it, secure in the knowledge that he is undetected. The Venus Cyrenica is in the middle of this storage locker, complete with necklace. Polished and lovingly taken care of, it looks like it is brand new rather than hundreds of years old. But around it - around it are a number of rather beautiful objects, too. Mostly things in the same line, statuary and the like, but the Visigothic filigree crown sitting on an ordinary male bust gleams in gold. As do a few necklaces in gold, silver and even a torc possibly made out of electrum, judging from the color. Felix’s eyes grow big. “Ooooo,” he says. There’s no question that the expensive jewelry is going with him. So, the plans have to change. Probably the owner (now “previous owner,” Felix reminds himself) is going to check the Venus thoroughly once he realizes the other stuff is gone. Doing something to the building to make it look like a loss, that’s not going to work since the trinkets will be missing; the best course is just to leave the scene with the loot and figure Mohammed won’t return for at least a couple more days since he just checked on his stash. By that time, Felix needs to be gone. Long gone. The car sold, the expense account drained and closed, the alternate account in use. And despite the fact that Mohammed probably won’t want to report anything to the police, Felix is going to have to disappear for a while. It’s not the first time something like this has happened, and it won’t be the last. Even if he is caught, there’s always Vincent. Right? Vincent couldn’t still be mad after that thing in Lisbon. He hopes. So, Felix goes for the statue switch, gathers up the other shiny things, and makes his way out as safely, if not as quickly, as possible. He gets away with the jewels and the statue without too much difficulty. The robbery does not appear to be reported, and lying close to ground, as it were, Felix begins his disappearing act. While he hears of Mohammed’s efforts to find him, they are far short of what is needed to even come close to prying Felix out of his hidey-hole, and as far as Felix can tell, he can proceed on his way without fear of being followed or seen. It is in the morning that Felix, perhaps considering his return to the Gilman Gallery with his prize, is addressed by an unlikely source. The Venus. “So, you would say the coast is clear, Felix Tycho?” the statue, making no movement of her lips, says. “Certainly that clever little man who owned me previously has failed to find you despite his resources.” It’s a good thing the Venus is already sitting on a table, because Felix is suddenly at the far end of the dark little apartment, eyes wide, and the statue would have dropped to the floor if he had been carrying it. Eventually, he says, “Okay, you got me. I don’t know how you hid a receiver in this thing, and believe me, I looked. But I assume you snuck a GPS in there, too, and the cops are seconds away. I can make you a deal.” “It is fortunate,” the statue replies, “that Mohammed loved to talk around me, or else I would have little idea what you were talking about. You think this is a recording or that he is speaking through me? That is nonsense. “The bargain I wish to make with you has nothing to do with the local law enforcement,” the voice says. “I wish to be returned to your mother.” “The who the what now?” Felix chances to step closer, mostly to see where the voice is coming from, and how he managed to miss the bug. But there is still no sign of a bug, unless the bug is within the statue itself. And the statue is real, not a copy. Felix is certain (his muscles, too) that it is solid stone and not hollow. The voice is coming from the statue’s lips. “Right, well, you’re out of luck. Never knew her, except technically I guess, in passing. My brother and I were raised in an orphanage.” He makes a face, then. Why volunteer so much information? He decides to forgive himself, though, given the surprising request. “I wish to be returned to the Goddess Bast,” the statue repeats. “Your mother. Although faint, her aura is clear on you.” The voice coming from the statue, or within the statue, or whatever, waits a beat and then continues. “You don’t have any idea of what I am speaking, do you? “For what other reason would you seek to steal me in addition to the jewels you took?” “I was on commission,” Felix says. “Aw, dammit, I’m doing it again! Fine. Let’s say, for the sake of argument that you’re the legendary Venus that would come alive to kill people after receiving your owner’s kiss. Or something like that. You’re magical, or something. Can you prove it?” “Certainly,” she says, a soft tone entering her voice. “You already know what you need to do for absolute proof. Kiss me. “On the lips,” she adds for emphasis. “Not that I have that part of anatomy in this form.” “What part of…” Felix rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. “I’m being punked, I know it,” he says. “Must have a camera around here, too. Fine, fine.” He moves closer, then stops. “Wait a minute. Do you have to kill someone if I do that?” The voice from the statue laughs. It’s a geeky laugh, a little too high and a little unpolished, as if the voice was unused to such expression. “I don’t have to kill anyone.” The voice pauses a beat. “It would appear that the legends and myths have distilled my abilities and powers to a very simple, bloody-minded single ability. “I am no Galatea, either, to fall irrevocably in love with you, either,” the voice adds. “I’ve heard that, too, over the years. But the allure of a femme fatale appears to have been the greatest label applied to me over the years. You strike me as a thief and a spy, Child of Bast, not as one who would want me to kill men. Or women.” “Nope,” Felix says. “Okay. Right, then. Damn it.” He leans forward and kisses the statue. On the lips, as specified. “Another sterling Kodak moment for our hero. Hope it doesn’t end up on YouTube.” Nothing happens for a few seconds. And then the stone shimmers, and as the shimmering fades, stone is replaced with skin, hair and flesh. The whole process takes a half minute. And, now, there is, improbably, a black-haired dusky-skinned woman where the statue once was. Naked as a jaybird. “Now. That wasn’t so hard, was it, son of Bast?” she says, with no sense of modesty. “Will you now listen?” Felix didn’t make it quite so far across the room this time, but he does have an ugly-looking snub-nosed pistol in his hand. After a few seconds, he lowers it. “You’re … you … yeah. Um … yeah,” he says, finally. “Okay.” He moves forward and picks up a bathrobe where he’s laid it over the back of a chair. “Here,” he says, half-averting his eyes. “You have a sense of propriety I did not expect,” she says, amused, taking the bathrobe. Even with the half averting of his eyes, Felix can see her drape herself in it, tie it off and then lean against a wall. Felix still looks away. Sort of. “Call it what you will. I can’t think properly with your boobs staring at me. And I’ll need my brain.” “Very well.” She smirks at Felix’s halfway glances. “Now, then. Felix, isn’t it? I had not expected to have to do this, but it is good to be in the company of a Scion again.” She licks her lips. “Even if it’s a Scion who has no idea who and what he is. This amuses me but it does make matters more complicated. “You are a child of the Goddess Bast, as yet unclaimed and unacknowledged. It’s possible,” she shrugs her shoulders, “I was a gambit on the Goddess’ part to introduce you to who and what you are.” She pauses a moment. “Who asked you to steal me? Let’s start there. You don’t strike me as the type to kidnap women, of marble or flesh.” “It was a museum,” Felix says. “The Gilman Gallery. A Miss Gilman, if I remember her agent correctly. It was all pretty standard; her agent asked me to procure you, and my fee would likely be somewhere around a hundred thousand. A lot of that would have been spent getting you there without any … governmental … entanglements.” “Gilman?” the Venus repeats. She then gives a laugh. “It would be amusing if she is the daughter of who I think she is. Some Scions, Felix, are absolutely possessed of bad tastes in puns. “I do recall a daughter of Poseidon is making a living as an artist and a writer in New York, last I was in the possession of a Scion like yourself and got the latest gossip. It’s not to say that this Miss Gilman is the same person, but you do see the possibilities in the name, yes?” “What I see,” Felix says slowly, “is that you said Poseidon. And you’re claiming I’m a child of Bast, right? The cat chick. Who has nothing to do with the Greek pantheon. And while we’re at it, the Egyptians didn’t have anything to do with Greece, other than that the Romans conquered them both. Sort of. You get what I’m aiming at?” “The Gods are divided into Pantheons,” she replies. “This is true. There are many Pantheons, Felix. The Dodekatheon and the Pesedjet are but two of them. The Gods have rivals, lovers and allies across the various pantheons. All, except the foolish or the treacherous, work to counter the actions of the God’s progenitors, the creators of the Universe. Call them Elder Beings. Call them the Old Ones. Call them Jotun. There are many names for them. “But generally, all of the Pantheons call them the Titans, as the Dodekatheon do.” “Do they all agree that they were locked up in Tarterus? Or does everybody have a different name for it?” Felix, despite himself, looks like he’s beginning to relax. A little. “Er, do transformed magical Venus statues drink coffee?” “I can and do eat and drink,” she says. “And a cup of coffee would be most welcome. “Perhaps you should use a name for me rather than calling me a transformed statue. I’ve been called many things, depending on how I’ve been used. Perhaps Galatea will make you more comfortable?” Galatea waits for Felix to get the offered drink for her before she continues. “Everyone has different names for Tarterus,” she confirms. “It is the Underworld, the dark afterlife and the prison for the Titans at the same time. They reside at the very bottom of the realm, or its very center. Depends on how you view it. “There are portals to and from Tarterus, of course,” she says. “The agents of the Titans use them in their efforts to free their masters, and restore them to glory and power. “I don’t think,” she sips the cup of coffee, “that you have to be convinced this would not be a good thing for humanity, much less the Gods and their children.” “Humanity wouldn’t believe it,” Felix says, “until the Titans were nibbling on their bums. And maybe not even then. Much less believe in gods and goddesses that have been dead for thousands of years. Dead to them, anyway. “That’s it, isn’t it? Agents of the Titans, you said. So there’s agents of the gods, too, and since I haven’t seen this war going on, it’s being done in secret, under our noses. And I wouldn’t believe any of it if I hadn’t seen you…” He breaks off and turns away. “Difficult truths are no less truths for it,” Galatea says, sipping her coffee. “And one should pity those who find themselves the vessels and agents of such truth. But you bear it better than many might.” “Okay. Let’s go find the fish girl and get some answers. Or I can get some psychotherapy, either one. Let me send down for some clothes for you.” “If I am to travel in my living form, clothes would be less conspicuous,” Galatea agrees, finishing her cup. “And I find I would prefer to remain living for the nonce, rather than return to a statue.” She pauses a beat and smirks. “It occurs to me that I haven’t told you the secret to that, either, Felix. Later for that. Let us move at a march to meet Poseidon’s daughter.” “Mmm, let’s drive instead.” Felix rings down to the concierge, knowing the obscene amounts of money he’s about to spend will keep the man from asking too many embarrassing questions. Money talks, and greasing the wheels a little bit is going to impoverish him a bit, but getting clothes, no questions asked, for Galatea, is worth the expense. They’ll be up in an hour. As he hangs up, he says, “Has anybody seen you… I mean the mobile you… in a very long time? Anyone who’s possessed the statue, I mean. If you’re relatively inconspicuous, I won’t have to worry too much about people tailing or recognizing us.” “Not here in your United States, recently,” Galatea says with a smile. “If we were in Libya or elsewhere in that vicinity, there might be a danger of being recognized. But here, there are few that would recognize me as I am. “If the Scion of Poseidon is perceptive, she will know what I am straightaway,” she adds. “But I do not think I will have to skulk or hide my appearance for fear of drawing dangerous attention. “After I am clothed, of course,” she adds. (continued in Wheeling and Dealing) |
