Blood Debt

not invulnerable."
    Vicki leaned forward and covered his mouth with hers. A few heated moments later, she pulled back just enough for speech. "I'll be careful if you'll admit my theory might be valid."
    "You know me, I always keep an open mind."
    She flicked his lips with her tongue. "If you weren't such a good liar, I might even believe you."

    The alarm went off at 5:00. Ronald Swanson reached up to slap it off before he remembered it wasn't bothering anyone but him. Sinking back against his pillows, he smoothed nonexistent wrinkles out of the far side of the big bed and thought about the phone call he was about to make.
    Basic groundwork had been laid for months. Details had been worked out by a trusted employee back East last night. This morning, he would close the deal.
    It would probably be safer to distance himself from that as well as from the donors, but he couldn't. A personal touch, his thumb never leaving the pulse of the company, had made him an obscene amount of money, and successful habits were hard to break.
    "If it ain't broke, don't fix it," he muttered, throwing back the single blanket and swinging his legs out of bed. His feet imprinting the plush carpet with each step, he strode into the en suite bathroom, habit closing the door behind him before he switched on the light. In the dark, empty bedroom, the clock said 5:03.

    "Tony? It's Mike Celluci. I didn't wake you up, did I?"
    Tony blinked wearily at the clock on the bookshelf and dragged himself up against the back of the sofa bed. "Yeah. You did. It's only eight. What's up?"
    "Only eight." The repetition arrived complete with an implied and weary, kids. "Aren't you working today?"
    "Yeah, but not till ten." He yawned and scratched at the near stubble covering his head. "I got lots of time."
    "Good. I need to know the channel of the cable show I was watching yesterday."
    "Cable show?" Staring across the den at the multipane window partially hidden behind hanging plants, he got lost in an attempt to figure out if the ripples were in the glass or in his vision.
    "It was on yesterday evening before Henry came home. Patricia Chou was interviewing a businessman named Swanson about kidneys."
    "Oh, yeah." Beginning to wake up, he decided the ripples were in the glass. "So?"
    Celluci's voice came slowly and deliberately over the phone line.
    "What channel was it?"
    "The number?"
    "No, the name, Tony."
    Tony yawned again, suddenly remembering why he'd never liked Detective-Sergeant Celluci very much. "I think it's called The Community Network. Anything else? You like want me to make an appointment for you?"
    "No, thanks; but keep your ears open today. If, as Vicki's current theory insists, there's a gang actually organ-legging…" His tone made it clear he considered that highly unlikely. "… there'll be a buzz of some kind on the street."
    "Sure, but I'll be spending eight hours in a video store, and the only buzz I'm likely to hear today is while I'm rewinding weekend tapes returned by inconsiderate assholes who can't read the contracts they signed."
    "You've got to get there and get home. And you've got to eat lunch.
    Vicki says you're the best, Tony. If there's a buzz out there, you'll hear it."
    Cheeks hot, Tony mumbled an agreement.
    "My apologies to your hosts if I woke them as well."
    Dropping the receiver back on the cradle, Tony stretched and wished he could erase his personal tapes as easily as the ones at the store. In spite of how far he'd come, some reactions still seemed impossible to control. "I get a pat on the head and I'm just like a fucking stray dog." He sighed, drew in a lungful of air redolent with the aroma of freshly brewed hazelnut cream coffee, and decided he might as well get up since either Gerry or John was obviously in the kitchen. Pulling on a T-shirt to go with the boxer shorts he'd slept in, he realized he was going to enjoy having someone to share breakfast with.
    Especially since he wasn't on the menu.

    The Community Network was in the basement of a three-story, sloped-roof building on the corner of Tenth Avenue and Yukon Street just in back of City Hall. Which made a certain amount of sense, Celluci figured as he cruised slowly along the block looking for parking, since most of their business seemed to be concerned with broadcasting city government.
    "Might as well stay close to the source," he muttered, adding,
    "Lousy son of a bitch," through clenched teeth as a smaller and infinitely more maneuverable vehicle