Grimalkin Pays a Visit

[skybright]

Regina Dawson surveyed the lobby of Tiernan Enterprises with thinly veiled wonder. She'd know the company was a wealthy one; she hadn't realized quite how wealthy until now.

The lobby/reception area was done in marble and Italian tile, all pastels and creams that practically screamed "more money than most deities". Warm sunlight filtered in from artfully concealed windows; potted plants and expensive furniture dotted the room.

There were elevators at the far end, of course; but they were the keycard-operated type found in all the best buildings these days. A bored security guard was seated between the two elevator doors -- firearm at his side.

Daws tipped her hat back and inhaled the scent of money, power, secrecy -- about what she'd expected -- before sauntering up to the reception desk.

She'd contemplated merely passing the information she'd gathered on through George or Pink at Lusus; but that smacked faintly of flunky behaviour. Regina Dawson was not about to let Nicholas Tiernan think that she was a hireling on the level of George Stubbs. So here she was, much farther uptown that she generally went in daylight; she'd dodged multiple outraged or stunned looks and heard the epithets for "mutant" in four of the seven languages she knew them in. It was easy to forget, staying as she usually did in the fringe and ethnic areas of the city, that there were places in New York where she wasn't just a curiosity -- she was an outright freak of nature.

Still, she wasn't scared of Uptown any more than she was of Chinatown. Daws squared her shoulders and leaned casually against the marble-topped reception desk.

"Wonder if I might speak with Mister Tiernan?"

[Jordanna]

The receptionist, a svelte blonde ripped from the cover of a fashion magazine, didn't bat an eye at Daws' appearance. Like all of Tiernan Enterprises' employees, she was a mutant herself, but she was a "passer"--one whose conventionally attractive looks wouldn't distract any mundanes with whom the company had to deal. (At least, not for any reason other than the cut of her blouse.)

Indifferently she asked Daws' name, then relayed an inquiry in a sort of verbal shorthand over her wireless telephone headset. After a brief pause she informed the detective, "Mister Tiernan is away from the telephone, but he'll be told you're here. Please wait a moment."


At that time Nicholas Tiernan was, in fact, enjoying the end of the day in his garden. It was now nearly dusk, and the daylight had faded to a comfortable level for his sensitive eyes, freeing him to venture forth from the confines of his private empire.

The garden was even more of a refuge to him than his office-fortress. Traffic sounds drifted distantly over the ivy-covered brick walls, but they were muted by the pleasant splashing of the stone fountain at the center of the garden. The softest and greenest of grass grew underfoot. Roses and lavender perfumed the air, and a fortune's worth of exotic orchids crawled over a white trellis. This small patch of earth was changeless as a still-life portrait; it was eternally populated with Tiernan's favorite flowers, even in the winter, when he spared no expense to keep the air warm for them.

The blooms meant more to him than his priceless collection of gemstones--yet it was only in these brief intervals of dawn and dusk that he could admire their colors in any degree of natural light. In that way, perhaps nature had been far more cruel to him than humanity ever was.

Having already given the flowers their daily inspection, he was sitting on a stone bench adjacent to the fountain, placidly browsing through a folder of reports on his more legitimate ventures. A few pigeons strutted and cooed at his feet, pecking up the breadcrumbs he had scattered for them. Nocturne alone in his garden was much like the Nazi butcher Reinhard Heydrich with his violin: a different man, sensitive and at peace.

The door of the solarium opened, and a Hispanic woman stepped out. "Someone named Dawson wants to see you, Boss."

"Ah." Tiernan closed the folder and handed it to Cinders. "Our detective friend is timely--and quite direct. This should be interesting... Bring her to me here, Cindi."

Cinders retreated with a nod, and Tiernan smiled to himself, leaning over to sniff his roses indulgently.

A few moments later, Cinders returned, escorting a rather quizzical Regina Dawson through the solarium and into the garden. Tiernan rose to give her his habitual crooked bow.

"Good evening, Miss Dawson. I'm honored that you chose to visit this time." With a dark smile he spread his hands, taking in the lush setting that surrounded them. "Welcome to my sanctuary."

[skybright]

" 'Evening." Daws removed her fedora and looked around appreciatively. A thousand subtle floral scents filtered around her, a pleasant contrast to the heavy exhast-filled street air outside.

"Nice place you've got here, Mister Tiernan. Classy." She eyed the financier suspiciously; that ugly, dangerous undertone she'd felt at their last meeting was still there, but it was blunted, softened -- by what, Daws didn't know; but she didn't have much trust in people who could hide their darknesses like that. She took a seat on one of the stone benches in the twilit garden. "I've got that information you were after."

[Jordanna]

"Ah, you work quickly... You may go, Cinders," Tiernan added offhandedly to his follower, who obediently departed.

"Now then." Tiernan seated himself on the broad rim of the fountain, facing Daws. "Let's hear your news."

[skybright]

Daws twirled her fedora casually between her hands. "There's nothing out of the ordinary going on at Pier Twenty-Seven. Just the regular round of harbor patrol inspections and so on -- which I'd assume you're already prepared for. The police haven't got anything going on that night at all. Your 'shipment' oughtta be just fine."

Daws leaned back and waited, tail twitching slightly. She knew well enough that this had been a test -- now she wanted to see what the next level was going to involve.

[Jordanna]

"I'm very glad to hear that," Tiernan replied, in a satisfied tone. "Thank you."

So Daws had, indeed, confirmed the information he already had. Of course, it was possible that she might be trying to put him off guard, with the intention to alert the police about his activities later... if she was stupid. And he didn't believe she was.

He rose, giving the false impression that their meeting was at an end--although it wasn't, not quite. He still had a burning curiosity to satisfy.

"Judging by your performance in this, I'm sure you'll be of great assistance to me in the future. Pay a visit to my accountant's office before you go--he's been instructed to give you a small... consideration for your services." Tiernan smiled. "I think you'll begin to see the benefits of dealing with me."

As Daws turned to leave, Tiernan settled back again on the edge of the fountain, and spoke in a casual tone that belied his morbid anticipation.

"By the way, that was a rather unusual visitor you had earlier today. Is Mister Malone a client of yours, or did he simply get lost in the wrong part of town?"

[skybright]

Daws' spine stiffened and the fur along her back rose. Cold anger roiled in her gut and her claws extended almost of their own volition. Keep your cool, Ace. Her inner voice warned her, Unless you wanna be fertilizing this garden.

She clenched her jaw and spoke levelly, her back still to Tiernan. "I don't discuss my business with anyone, Mister Tiernan -- not even with other clients." She let just enough emphasis rest on that last word.

Now she did turn back to face Tiernan. "I want to help you do what you do, don't get me wrong. But let's not anyone get the wrong impression; I work with you, sir, not for you. I'm not a housecat. Nobody," She lashed her tail, "Owns me."

She forced a grin and settled her fedora on her head, biting back desperately on the instinct to take a swing at Tiernan. "Besides, nobody hires a shamus who spreads their clients' dirty laundry out for everyone to see."

[Jordanna]

Tiernan smiled silkily.

"I meant no offense, Miss Dawson. Your business is as much your own affair as mine is mine, but... Well, I'll not mince words. I can guess the reason why that gentleman called on you. I don't know him, but I have a certain... business relation with his employer--and I'm quite sure you realize that."

He stood up. "If my presumptions are correct, you seem to have a slight conflict of interest. I'm merely curious to see how you plan to resolve it."

[skybright]

Tread lightly, Ace.

She could lie to Tiernan, say that Malone's business wasn't what he thought -- but she had absolutely no illusions about what that would get her. If she wanted to get out of this unscathed -- and if she wanted Malone to as well -- then her best bet was to skirt the edges of the truth.

Daws scratched behind her left ear and chuckled. "Well, I had thought of taking the money and running." She said lightly, "But something tells me that folks who try outrunning you don't end with much of a track record.

She squared her shoulders. "Look, Mister Tiernan, I'm not interested in committing suicide and I'm getting too old to push against walls that won't move. So whatever I do to resolve my so-called 'conflict of interest', I assure you that the worst trouble you'll get out of it is a little good advice that you may or may not decide to take. I'm not out to topple any empires this year."

[Jordanna]

"I appreciate your goodwill," Tiernan replied, with a trace of amusement. Then he put his hands on his hips.

"I'll make it easy for you. I'll... cancel the Paragon Club's debt, so to speak." He smiled. "You see, it's really very simple, Miss Dawson. If you do well by me, nothing you might ask will be refused you--if you do ask."

[skybright]

Daws managed -- barely -- to keep her jaw from dropping, although she did feel her eyebrows shoot up under the brim of her fedora. She swallowed a couple of times and then nodded cordially. "Well, I appreciate that, Mister Tiernan. And I'll keep it in mind."

She chuckled. "Asking's supposed to be my business, but you'd be surprised how bad I can be at it." Daws nodded again and turned to go. "You know where to find me, obviously. But I'll ask you to keep George away from my place from now on -- he'll scare off the clientele. Good evening, Mr. Tiernan."

[Jordanna]

"You might have noticed that George is a jealous bugger. I'll give him his instructions not to stray." Tiernan bowed. "Good evening, Miss Dawson, and may all our future associations be as successful."


Nocturne lingered in his garden for a few minutes after Daws had left. Then he went into the solarium, and picked up the telephone to page the Ferret over the intercom.

He had decided to do something--purely for the sake of seeing what would happen.

After a few minutes, George traipsed into the solarium. "Yes, Boss?"

"Ready my car, George... I'm going out."

George twitched. "Boss?"

"You heard me." Tiernan strode past the little thief. "Be waiting for me out front in five minutes."

"Yes, Boss," George murmured, and slowly headed off toward the parking garage to do as he was told, with some trepidation. It seemed to him unusually soon for the Boss to be going out in public again...

Especially since they'd found the body last time.