TWENTY-EIGHT
Oz stepped back into the alley, passing a couple of Mugs’s goons who had taken off after Vito. He paused, twisting to watch them, their brown robes swinging as they bolted through the street, the slap of their sandals strange and echoing.
Weird. Where did Mugs get these guys?
Leaving a brow quirked, he turned back to the scene before him. Benedict was on his knees, snarling at Mugs. Sassa and Shakes were physically restraining him. Brown-robed figures milled around, some of them watching the scene unfold, while others appeared to be taking their duties as guards seriously, scouting the perimeter or even patrolling.
He took a deep breath, and everyone paused, then turned to him as one. He resisted the urge to dive under a dumpster and hide; he wasn’t used to being the center of attention.
The anger melted from Benedict’s face as he slowly stood up. “Is that … you?”
“Who else would I be?” Oz scoffed, folding his arms. Seriously, he masqueraded as human for one evening and …
Benedict’s hands landed on his biceps, shaking him furiously. “How did you escape him, he ran off with you, he?—”
Oz pushed him back, trying to steady the felid. “Vetruvian, remember?” He tilted his head. “I shapeshifted.”
“Oh,” Benedict said softly. “Into what?”
“Does it matter?” Oz asked.
Benedict actually glowered at him. “Yes.”
Oz sighed. “Fine, I turned into a puddle again.” He didn’t want to say what the particular puddle he’d joined had been made of. Suffice to say he needed a scalding shower, which would hopefully peel off several layers of skin, before he’d feel clean again.
Benedict sighed, as if in relief.
Then, he slung his arms around Oz and squeezed, like he was trying to throttle the life out of him. Oz stiffened, then gasped as his breath was forced out of his lungs. “Benedi?—”
“I am so sorry, Oz, I should have listened to you, I never meant to put you in harm’s way, I didn’t think he wanted to sell the human to someone else, I figured it would just get him off our backs and Mugs said we could trick him and?—”
“Hey,” Oz wheezed, landing a hand on the felid’s shoulder. When Benedict jerked his tear-stained face up to meet his gaze, Oz tried a trembling smile. “All’s well that ends well?”
If he told the truth, he was probably still pissed at both Benedict and Mugs for putting him in this situation, but right now, he couldn’t summon the energy. He was exhausted, shaking as adrenaline finally evaporated from his veins, leaving him hollow and tired.
He could be pissed later. Right now, all that mattered was he’d managed to get away from Vito.
He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Benedict. “And I got this off him while he was kidnapping me.”
Benedict stared at it for a second, eyes slowly widening with recognition. “The deed!” he cried.
“Yes,” Oz agreed, then coughed as Benedict crushed him into another hug. He was pretty sure his ribs crossed.
He heard Sassa and Shakes sigh in the background, even over Benedict murmuring, “Thank you, thank you, thank you” as he nuzzled in.
Part of Oz wanted to melt to the floor.
“Er,” Mugs cut in. “No need to worry about that.”
Benedict’s hold on Oz went slack, and they turned to face the other Vetruvian. Mugs smiled and offered a half shrug. “I may have posed as Gwuill. That’s a fake.”
“A fake,” Benedict spat.
“The hell would you do that for?” That was Sassa, and she bashed a fist over Mugs’s head. “Seriously! Your plan was so complicated, no wonder it didn’t work out, you dumbass!”
“Yeah,” Shakes echoed, “keep it simple, stupid.”
Mugs dodged another blow from Sassa. “Did it really fail though?” he asked.
“Uh, yes!” Sassa cried angrily. “Oz got kidnapped, that slimeball got away, we probably made enemies with whoever the hell that lackey was working for, Benny got his ass kicked, and Vito thinks he owns this place!”
“How is that everything working out?” Shakes asked, glancing between everyone, and Oz felt his stomach sink.
They were right. There was no time for celebration; there was a lot of shit that they needed to set straight still. First thing would be convincing Vito that he didn’t own Saveur or any of Benedict’s other properties.
“Oh,” Mugs said airily, waving a hand, “that’s not going to be a problem.”
“How the fuck do you figure that?” Sassa spat, crossing her arms.
Mugs grinned toothily. “Just a hunch,” he said, shrugging.
Sassa huffed and rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she grumbled.
“Uh, guys?” Everyone turned to Oz, including the brown-robed warriors. “I think … we may need to get the boss some medical attention.” Benedict was still dripping blood from his nose, and he was now swaying on his feet.
“Oh, shit,” Sassa said, then darted back inside Saveur.
Oz slung one of Benedict’s arms over his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get that nose treated.”
He hauled Benedict toward the door. The felid was fading fast, but as they approached the door, he slurred, “Not yer boss.”
“Hm?” Oz cocked his head.
Benedict shook his. Then he cleared his throat. “I said, I’m not your boss anymore.”
Oz snorted. “Okay, did you hit your head? Of course you’re the boss?—”
“I’m not,” Benedict insisted. “I’m setting you all free.”
Oz rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”
“I’m serious!” Benedict squawked, which might have been hilarious, given the broken nose and all, except he was still wobbling and spraying blood everywhere.
Oz grimaced, then hiked the felid’s arm up over his shoulders again. “All right, Benny,” he said. “Whatever you think—we can talk about this after you get patched up.”
“Been meaning to do it for a while,” Benedict slurred as Oz guided him over the threshold, into the kitchen.
“Sure, sure,” Oz said, patting his back and steering him to a table, where Sassa had set up the first aid kit.
Oz was sitting at the dining room table in Benedict’s penthouse when the sun rose the next morning. Mugs had invited himself back, along with his band of warriors—who, Oz was told, were brothers of Benedict’s monastic order, although Oz was having trouble believing a bunch of monks were toting machine guns and fighting off mobsters. He’d listened to one of them spiel about how Mugs had shown up, and they’d all thought it had been to complete some trade deal—apparently, Benedict had written to them asking if they wanted to supply Saveur with cheese or something—only for Mugs to recruit them to help Benedict ward off Vito and his goons.
Oz was still having a hard time believing it, but there the monks were, and if that didn’t prove the story, he didn’t know what did.
Sassa and Shakes and the whole Saveur crew had invited themselves back to the penthouse as well—“someone’s going to have to cook,” Sassa insisted, and Oz had grimaced. Shakes had secretly called Mig at some point, and Mig had brought the crew from The Pub. Now they were basically having a breakfast banquet, replete with plenty of ale and hearty cheers from the monks.
Everyone was worse for wear. Having not slept all night probably hadn’t helped any, but Oz doubted he would have been able to wind down after all that adrenaline and with Vito still at large …
He supposed everyone else felt the same, because although they were partying, there was still a tense edge in the room, like they were all waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It did when Shakes rushed in, yelling her fool head off. They’d sent her to the store to get more … something. Oz wasn’t sure what Mig had run out of, but she’d been bitching about not being able to do a “proper fry-up.”
Mig planted her hands on her hips. “Young lady, I sent you for groceries, and I don’t see any supplies at all!
“Forget that! Look, look, look!” Shakes cried, grabbing the remote and turning on the television.
The room fell silent as Shakes switched to a news channel, where the announcer was currently telling them about the weather forecast.
Sassa cast the younger hostess a quizzical look. “You rushed back here to tell us it’s going to be sunny with a high of twenty-five?”
“No!” Shakes bellowed, glaring at the felid. “Look!”
She gestured to the screen with the remote. “Back to you, Tom,” said the weather announcer with a bright smile.
“Thanks, Sandy,” Tom replied, shuffling some papers and plastering on a serious look. “Breaking news just in from the streets of Kateria: notorious mobster Vito Frolone has been apprehended by InterGal officers.”
Oz swallowed a yelp of surprise as they watched images of Vito being marched out of a building, handcuffed, snarling at the armed officers around him.
“Frolone has been indicted on fifteen criminal counts and will be tried in the intergalactic courts.”
A stunned silence settled across the room, before one of the monks finally ventured, “Is that the guy we were chasing off last night?”
“Yes,” someone answered, and there was a dumbfounded silence.
Finally, one of the other monks lifted his stein. “Should’ve kept chasing him,” he grumbled before taking a swig, and the tension shattered. Everyone dissolved into laughter.
Mugs sidled up beside Oz, all smiles. “See?” he said. “I told ya it would all work out.”
Oz gave the other Vetruvian some serious side eye, pondering how likely it was that the simpering prick was involved in calling fucking Intergalactic forces down on Vito.
Not very likely , he thought. Mugs was a wanted criminal himself, so calling InterGal in would be dangerous. Unless he left an anonymous tip or somehow bargained to get clemency or immunity or something.
Oz couldn’t decide how likely that was. He knew if he suggested it, Mugs would absolutely take credit for it, whether he did it or not.
Instead of saying anything, he took a sip of his own lukewarm ale and let Mugs go on smirking, like he was the biggest goddamn hero this side of the Milky Way.
Mig stepped back into the room, and Oz straightened instantly. She looked at him, then gestured for him to join her as she traversed the space from the kitchen to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Benedict was currently sleeping off a nasty headache from his broken nose and the blood loss.
The hallway was quieter than the dining room and living room area; the clink of utensils across plates and the murmur of conversation became static in his ears. “So?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Gwuill’s a slimy bastard, but they say they never saw that scuzzbucket Vito. Never drew up any deeds—Mugs seems to be telling the truth on that front, at least.”
Oz nearly melted. “Then I can tear this up.” He pulled the false deed from his pocket, and Mig bobbed her head again.
As he shredded the fake, Mig continued. “The Pub’s been cleared out.”
Oz nodded, his gaze drifting toward the closed door at the end of the hall. Benedict was right beyond there. Maybe he should go … check on him.
Mig clapped him on the back suddenly. When he looked up at her, she was wearing a broad smile. She didn’t say anything, though, just kept smiling and patting him on the back.
Finally, her hand slid away, and she turned back to the dining room. Oz shook himself out of his stupor, wondering what the hell had just happened.
He glanced down the hall again, then forced himself to return to the party. Benedict needed to rest, after all.