seymoure

Chapter 23

A Well Funded Assault

The strongest thing in their war chest was money. Jason and Chance were both phenomenally wealthy.

The people in the downstairs rooms were always pretty well healed.

Money would not be a problem.

This was a whole new world for Harriet Dante.

For the greatest part of her career she had cut the corners of the budget at every turn. Half of her clients had never paid, or paid only part of her fees. It was not an area of the world where things could be taken to small claims court. Judge Judy was not interested in the fact that Harriet had not been paid for ridding the house of it’s 8^th level demon named Tagadon.

As they crowded into the observatory, where it was decided the 8 would hold their initial meeting, she was aware that four of these people were unknown to her.

Sebastain found himself wondering why the number was eight. Impossible mission crews were, traditionally seven strong. Samurai, Magnificent gunfighters & gladiators, battlers beyond the stars, it always seemed to be a corps of half a dozen plus one. Maybe this happened because they were all based on the same Akiro Kurasawa film. His tangential mind now skipped across the waters of thought to consider why Kurasawa came up with the number.

“Perhaps he knew 7 perfect actors,” a voice curled up from behind him, “Just as we have gathered eight perfect people to act in our drama.” Claus wheeled about to find a very short woman standing and smiling up at him.

She was dark haired, with glasses and a drink in her hand. Her other hand was offered to him in a genteel manner that correlated with the very slight Southern drawl he had heard.

“Dorothy Cottey,” she said with a knowingness that made him know that he would have to identify himself only out of courtesy, since she would already have read his mind.

“Sebastian Claus,” he smiled back at her, trying not to let his mind go to the question of whether or not she was a “little person.”

“You needn’t worry about insulting me,” she said, with a bit less lilt than she had had a moment before, “There is nothing wrong with being short enough to be a dwarf or midget.”

She took a long slow drink

“And I am 3 inches too tall for that anyway.”

She turned and walked away, and he wondered if he had just made an enemy.

“She a telepath,” Harriet whispered, “One of the best they tell me.”

She leaned in to him and said, “And on of the shortest.”

Claus shushed her, and then the two of them giggled for a moment, before they noticed Cottey glaring at them.

“How is it,” Sebastian started as Dante handed him a DiSaronno Ameretto neat, “We are taking a psychic with us? Aren’t we supposed to be going with non-magic and psychic users, so as not to be detected?”

“Maybe some of them can be shielded or cloaked or something,” Harriet said while turning to take in the view of all their new comrades.

Just then a man approached.

“You’re Claus and Dante, right?” He asked in a manner that made them both fear that they might be sold a used car.

“That’s right,” Sebastian took the hand and found it squeezed like an teat being milked and pumped like slot machine that had paid off a minute before, “Sebastain and Harriet.”

“Willy Wood,” The heavyset, heavily sweating blond curly headed man announced, “DJ, host of the KBOB ‘Morning Wood’ Hour.”

Harriet’s mental tape recorder heard flushing toilets, shooting guns and oogah car horns. She knew the kind of show this guy probably did and wanted to avoid it at all costs.

“Where is KBOB?” She asked.

“99.9 FM in Lebanon Mo., “ was the slightly shamefaced reply, “But I’ve gotten some nibbles from St. Louis!”

“That’s great,” Harriet told him, “To bad we miss it in Kansas City.”

“Oooh, might go there too!” The man in the white suit said.

With a “wha-wha” sound effect echoing in her head the detective turned, saying, “We ought to try and meet everyone.”

Wood may have gotten the idea, because he added, “Oh, yeah, me too.”

This was the first time that she noticed that her friend had slipped away and was talking to a man who looked like a refrigerator with arms.

“Harriet, this is Coach Hammerman,” he offered.

“Football?” she queried as she took the ham that could have been a Virginia ham with fingers.

“Wrestling.” Said the man who’s 50-60 year old face was topped by a red-headed crew cut carpet that was very nearly as old as he. She noticed that he was wearing a grey T-shirt under his sport coat, and found herself picturing his closet filled with other T-shirts and no other coats.

The man was about 5’ 11” and had the barrel chest that would have been equally suited for a lower primate, but his smile was from an angel. His face was worn and covered with equal amounts of wrinkles (a lot of smile lines as well as crow’s feet) and freckles (that might or might not contain a bunch of age spots intermingled).

Someone said the word “Coach” and the man excused himself.

Harriet was just about to ask if Claus had seen the last member of the team when she heard something just short of a gasp escape from his chest.

She looked at his face and saw from his eyes that someone impressive had just entered the room.

Turning she saw a perfect green eyed Eurasian woman standing a few feet from them. He ebony black hair hung down to her waist, but he legs extended over half her body length beyond. Her hands were those of a musician and her movement was that of a dancer.

She started to say something of her friend, and then realized that she might as well have just become invisible.

She looked around the room and saw that, other than Cottey, the same was true everywhere.

“Houston,” she said, “I think we have a problem.”

Link to Chapter 1
Continue on to Chapter 24