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Chapter Eight




“Motley, I’m so sorry these boys bothered you,” Zeckenbush said with just a hint of dismissal in his voice.

Motley shook his head. “So am I. But they made some points that I think we should discuss.”

“You’ll believe these fools over me, Motley?” Zeckenbush said. “They broke into my house tonight! They’re nothing but common theives!”

“And giving a woman a heart attack isn’t worse?” Motley growled. Zeckenbush paused, his ready reply dying on his lips. “And what’s that?” he gestured toward Peter. “I thought you said nobody would get hurt!”

“He broke into my house,” Zeckenbush replied a bit petulantly. “He deserved it.”

“Speaking of houses,” Motley crossed his arms. “Where exactly did you build that home to house those people you displaced?”

While the others exchanged puzzled looks Peter got a look of triumph, tilting his chin back and spearing Zeckenbush with a look that screamed “gotcha.”

Motley’s eyes narrowed. “You have lied to me from the start, Wilbur.”

“You’re listening to these . . . long-haired weirdoes and old people over me, your business partner?”

“They have shown me proof. Where’s yours?”

“I don’t have to show proof to anyone!”

“Is that so?” Mike asked, rolling and grabbing the envelope from him.

Zeckenbush could do nothing as Mike handed the envelope to the mayor.

Motley opened it and looked at it—and thunderheads began to build.

“Now, now look, Motley. This isn’t what it seems,” Zeckenbush said, his smug demeanor faltering.

“Then suppose you tell me just what it is?”

Zeckenbush looked at Mike, who just glared. “Yeah, Mr. Zeckenbush. Why don’t you just tell the mayor what it is.”

Motley stepped forward. “You can’t can you? It’s all here, isn’t it?”

“I’m not saying anything without my lawyer,” Zeckenbush said, turning to leave. His henchmen fell into step behind him.

Peter’s foot lashed out and blocked him. “Not so fast. Mike, call the police.”

Mike nodded and moved toward the phone.

“Was it worth it, Wilbur?” Motley asked as Mike made the call. “Was it worth hurting the people that I was elected to serve?”

“Oh, come off it, Motley. You were in it with me.”

“No,” Mike said, hanging up the phone. “The mayor didn’t know what you were really up to.”

Davy shook his head. “He was horrified when I told him.”

“You’re going to pay, Wilbur,” Motley said. “You are going to pay for every house you tore down. Out of your own pocket. I’ll see to that.”

Bennett walked forward. “How?”

“Local circuit court judge is a close friend of mine. With these files and the testimony of Mrs. Wade and Mrs. Jenkins he’ll authorize the full reimbursement of the victims.” He speared Zeckenbush with a glare that said “I wish I’d never known you.”

“And what about those of us who’ve been forced out?” Bennett asked coolly, staring at Zeckenbush.

“You’ll go back to your homes,” Motley said. “With the full assurances of City Hall that nothing like this will ever happen again.”

There was a quiet whoop from somewhere among the Winds, then one of the henchmen got stupid and pulled a gun.

Mike and Peter both lunged, but they were too far away. A hand shot out and grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it counterclockwise. The man gave a yelp of pain and dropped the weapon. All became silent, the Winds gaping at the sight before them.

“M-Mr. Bennett?” Mike whispered.

“I told you boys,” he said in a soft, controlled tone, “I know a little something of what you do.” Eyes never leaving the man, he gave a shade more pressure. The man fell to his knees, begging for mercy.

“I like him a lot,” Micky said, giving Davy a gentle nudge.

“I like him too,” Davy chuckled.

“I like him more!” Peter couldn’t resist.

The sound of engines brought the laughter to a halt, and within seconds blue-clad officers stormed the Pad, taking Zeckenbush and his men into custody.

Mike walked over to Motley. “ . . . you truly had no idea?”

“None. I knew . . . that we planned to build parking lots and increase revenue to the city, but I was promised that a luxurious community home was being built to house those who had to be moved.”

“We’ve been housing them,” Davy admitted.

Motley reached into his pocket and drew out a handful of bills—almost five hundred dollars. “Here. For your civic duties and for your help.”

Two pairs of eyes shifted to Peter and Mike.

“We can’t accept it,” Mike said. “We were just doin’ what friends do for each other.”

Bennett reached out and took the money from Motley, pressed it into Mike’s hand. “Fine. Then I accept it, and I’m giving it to you. Rent for myself, Emma, and Rose for the past week.”

“Now hold on, Mr Bennett!”

Motley smiled. “Just take it, son. I’ve a feeling Bennett won’t back off until you do.”

“Keeper of the winds indeed,” Mike growled good-naturedly, but he took the money.

“If you boys ever feel like going into the bodyguard line of work, call me,” Motley said as he followed the officers once more.

When all was quiet Mike turned to face the others. “Well?”

“Deep subject,” Micky couldn’t resist.

“Oh ha ha.”

“I’m gonna miss Mrs Filchok’s cooking,” Peter sighed.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to stop Rose from cooking for you boys,” Mr. Bennett said. “For what you did, she’ll always be grateful.”

“We didn’t do anything any other friend would do,” Peter portested.

“No, you went beyond. Boys, I’ve lived a long time and had a lot of friends—not may would invite neighbors to stay with them and put two of them out of their bedroom. You’ve done more than you had to. Thank you.”

Four sets of cheeks tinged with red as they acknowledged it with nods.

“Why don’t we go up and tell the ladies the good news?” Bennett said.

“Sure thing, Aeolus,” Peter said with a grin.

Laughing, Bennett led the way up.

Davy caught Mike’s arm. “It feels over . . . ”

Mike smoothed the hairs above his collar. “It is.”

Davy’s grin shone out as he tore up the stairs.

Peter walked over to him. “Thank goodness.”

“Peter,” Mike said. “What do you think about . . . what Mr. Bennett said this mornin’? Makin’ him a . . . mentor or somethin’?”

Peter studied his face before he replied. “I have one giant reservation about it.”

“What’s that?”

“Safety.”

Mike smiled wryly. “His or ours?”

“His.”

Mike sighed. “Peter, I’m gonna be honest with you. From the way his eyes were glowin’ once he found out about us, I don’t think we could keep him away. And he’s smart enough to handle himself . . . and understand the risks.”

“So like it or not he’s in?”

“Pretty much.”

Peter nodded. “I think you’re right. And maybe he can teach us a thing or two. Mike?”

“Yeah, Peter?”

“Always be honest with me?”

“Always, Peter.”

Peter nodded and they started toward teh stairs. As they passed the phone, it began to ring. “Hello?” Peter answered. He listened, and he smiled. “Just a minute.” He turned to Mike. “It’s Liang’s granddaughter An-Mei. She wants to speak to Micky.”

“Hey Micky!” Mike shouted. “Phone! It’s An-mei!”

Micky stuck his head out. “That’s Ahn-may, Mike! Not Aan-mei!”

“Ahn-may your ass down here, Micky, or we’ll hang up the phone!” Mike said, sticking his tongue out.

Peter hovered the receiver over the cradle teasingly.

“No, wait!” Micky said, scrambling down the stairs. “I’m coming!”

Laughing, Peter handed it over. “He is gone . . . ”

Mike watched as Micky purred into the phone. “At least it’s him and not Davy for a change.”

Peter just shook his head as he followed Mike upstairs.


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