Hammer of the Gods Page 13

  Thor balanced their combined weight on one knee, staring down into those deep-brown eyes twinkling in the spotlights. “I had a very good teacher!” he shouted over the music.

  Her smile grew wider than those beautiful eyes. “Show me what you’ve learned!”

  With speed that surprised Iona, Thor had them on their feet, his hands moving to her waist, lifting her over his head as he rose. She was a light as a feather, and as graceful as a swan as she followed his every movement. He tossed her into the air, fearful he may have put too much force into the toss.

  Iona spun like a top, her ankles locked as her feet passed over her head. She found his steady hands with hers on the way down, and used her momentum to coil herself around his waist like a snake, touching down in front of him as if they had practiced the routine for months. She tossed her hair, gazed into his eyes, and twisted her lips into a smile that said things were about to get interesting.

  Damn, she’s good! But if she keeps doing things like that, I’m going to forget why I’m doing this! There was a small part of him that wondered if that would such a terrible thing.

  The air seemed electrically charged. The people gathered around the dance floor roared with cheers, whistles, and applause. Some of the more exuberant spectators began to thump their hands against the railing surrounding the dance floor to the rhythm of the drumbeats, threatening to snap the bolts securing them to the floor.

  Thor and Iona were oblivious to the chaos they were causing. The sheer mass of people crowding in from all corners of the club were overwhelming the bouncers; already having enough problems pulling men and women from chairs and table tops, just to get a peek.

  Thor pulled Iona close and glided across the floor, Iona matching him step for graceful step; a succession of twirls fallowed, then Iona crouched, clawing at Thor’s clothing with both hands.

  Half-way through the song, he felt the change. Iona was starting to control the movement, and Thor let her; this was for her, after all. Their steps became more and more complicated. Each twist and turn became more erotic, each stare into her eyes showed more fire; her smile wider as she let herself become engrossed in their movement. The woman truly was in her element. Thor had never seen Iona smile as much as she was at this moment.

  The sea of young people reached a fever pitch of undulating bodies. An army of reinforcements swarmed in to contain the herd, before things grew out of hand; as if it were not dangerously close to that point, already. It would not take much to turn the erotic spectacle into a riot that could turn Club Kepolo ruined heap. Fuck it, I’ll pay to have it rebuilt!

  The song neared its end, and Iona turned her back to Thor, grabbing his hands and placing them on her waist. She reached behind her, arching her back and locking her arms around his. As smooth as silk, her feet were off the floor and her ankles were locked behind Thor’s back. Then, to the rhythm of the music, she pumped her hips and ground them into his.

  I stand corrected. That position from that magazine isn’t impossible, after all!

  The crowd went wild; the cheers and whistles heard plainly over the loud music, until the song faded, then the cavernous space echoed with thunderous applause. Bouncers strained to keep control, some at the back were tossing unruly guests from the side doors. Thor did not realize at the time, but this night would be talked about for years to come, and Felix was to make a small fortune selling tee shirts that said: I survived the Club Kepolo riot.

  Iona eased herself to the floor. She turned, resting her forehead against Thor’s, breathing heavy and smiling.

  “I told you, when we got to port, you’d have your choice of any man you wanted,” Thor said between pants. “Any man here that doesn’t want you with every fiber of his being, is either gay or blind. My money is on blind. After that performance, even a gay man would want you, tonight!”

  Iona kissed Thor gently on the lips. She took a step backwards, her smile worth a million times the amount he gave Felix – which was going to be quadrupled before the weekend. “Thank you,” she said.

  The music started, and Fat Tony’s voice echoed; “What the fuck are you waiting for? Back on the dance floor.” It came none too soon. The crowd needed an outlet for all that penned-up sexual energy before things turned ugly.

  Thor stepped close to one of the men Felix hired for the evening. “If anything happens to one of my girls, they’ll make movies about what I do to you guys. Not a threat, just a stone-cold fact.”

  The man gave Thor a measuring look. Deciding Thor could back-up his statement, the man nodded. “All eyes on tour targets,” he said into the microphone pinned to his collar, “it’s about to get crazy in here.”

  “See you tomorrow, my Brother,” Thor said, slipping into his jacket. “Sorry about what’s coming!”

  Felix gave him a crushing embrace. “Are you shitting me? You two just doubled my business for the next three months! I should be paying you – I’m not, but I should! Breakfast at mama’s?”

  Thor shook his head. “I’ll, probably, be tied-up till lunch, but I’d love to go then!”

  Felix eased Thor to the floor, giving him a measured look, then nodded.

  Thor weaved through the throng of bodies, vaulted over the bar, and dashed out the delivery door.

  Chapter 10

  It took less than an hour for the Hummer to reach the cemetery. It was a beautiful night for strolling amongst the dead and think what should have been; if such a thing really existed. He had been here over a hundred times, and doubted it did.

  Thor stepped from the vehicle and nodded to the two men that would wait inside, both grateful to be away from the craziness of the club, now that a dozen squad cars were on scene, and who knows how many headed to jail. Thor passed through the tall, wrought iron gates into the cemetery, heading straight for the enormous mausoleum that dominated the landscape with its sheer size, as it loomed atop the gentle-sloping hill, beckoning Thor to sit and pay penance for his biggest mistake.

  The building itself was nothing much to look at; just four walls made of reinforced concrete and a peaked slate roof. There were no ornate carvings depicting religious deities, nor scenes of nature, nor even a door. The contractors had sealed it upon completion, and ensured Thor the thing would stand for the next three hundred years, but he only needed it to be sound for the next fifty or so.

  The hill overlooked the point where the Willamette forked before converging with the Columbia River a few miles beyond the tall trees. The plot had been originally six hundred yards outside the cemetery until Thor purchased the land, donating it to the cemetery with an iron-clad agreement that fifty-percent went to anyone unable to pay for a proper plot. Chelsea would have loved the romance of the first, and the selflessness of the later.

  A marble bench between two marble urns containing lavender plants stood a few feet from the concrete structure. Thor sat down next to the wicker basket on the bench. Felix really was a good man. Without failure, that basket had been waiting for him these past ten years.

  Thor’s eyes drifted to the small bronze plaque on the wall before him. The moonlight was far too dim to read the words, but that did not matter, he knew them by heart.

  Chelsea Lynn Gillard

  Born August 26, 19 – Died May 14, 20 –

  The world is a lesser place at her passing

  The last line held the truest words ever engraved on bronze. A light was extinguished that could never be replaced, and Thor hated the all-consuming darkness that remained. He thought he knew the meaning of grief when his parents died; Chelsea’s murder taught him how wrong he was.

  Chelsea’s body lay within those eighteen-inch thick walls. Her coffin was placed in a thirty- foot burial ship, along with five million dollars- worth of gold, silver, and jewels. Two bulls and a goat had been sacrificed and placed there, as well. That had been done secretly, though. There was no need to make Chelsea’s tomb a target for PITA freaks, just because he wanted to enrich his best friend in the afterlife; it was bad enough
there were some that thought they could loot the treasure trove.

  Thor made sure that will never happen, though. Or, at least, the private security firm he pays an exorbitant sum of money every year to does, making would be grave robbers disappear. What had happened to the few that tried, Thor neither knows, nor wants to.

  Sometimes it was unsettling knowing there were very scary people hiding in the shadows with guns, but it is better to have them working for you, than looking for you.

  Thor sat for hours, listening to crickets and letting his mind wander to better times, before he saw a figure moving toward him.

  “A big part of me hoped you wouldn’t come this year,” the female voice called out.

  Traci Gillard, Chelsea’s mother, emerged from the shadows as if by magic. The woman had her daughter’s slender frame, minus three inches of height. Her long, straight hair was darker, and did not have the red highlights Chelsea’s had. She had always been pretty, sharing many of her daughter’s features, and looked much younger than she was. No longer – she was still pretty – but losing Chelsea had nearly ripped the woman apart, aging her beyond her years.

  “I feel guilty every day,” he said, “this day more than most.”

  Traci slapped his face hard, much harder than Thor thought possible from a woman her size. “Never say that again. You did nothing but love my daughter, as she loved you! You didn’t take her life. I know, if you had the choice, it would be your body in there instead of hers.”

  She took a deep breath, lifting her face to the sky. “I’ve buried a husband. Your mother and father were my best friends; I buried both. I’ve buried my daughter, my only child. I refuse to bury you because you let a guilt that is not yours to have, take you from me!”

  Thor stood, and she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him with a crushing embrace. He immediately broke into tears. “I miss her so much, Aunt Traci,” he sobbed, “so goddamned much.”

  “Let it out, son,’ she said. “LET IT OUT! And be done with it, before it consumes you.”

  Thor sank to the damp grass, Traci with him, her arms tight around his chest. He cried, for what seemed hours, with Traci stroking his hair as she held him. He cried until there was nothing left.

  “Are you done, honey?” she asked, wiping tears from Thor’s face with her hands. He nodded. “Good,” she said, helping him to the bench as if he were a small child unable to complete the task without assistance, and Thor wondered if he would ever mature beyond boyhood in the woman’s eyes.

  Traci opened the basket and pulled out a hand-made, ceramic jug and three matching goblets. She filled the clay goblets with mead – all made by a friend of Felix – and placed one beneath the bronze plaque, handed Thor one, and held the third high.

  “To Chelsea, and to Family,” they said together.

  The mead was as smooth as silk, if very strong, and could warm the coldest night. Felix’s friend had out-done himself this year.

  “This is the last time,” she said, sternly. “You can come here any day but this. I’ll meet you anywhere in the world, but here. Promise me!”

  Thor’s eyes fell to the ground. “I promise.” It would be a difficult promise to keep, but he would do his best.

  “Good. Now tell me some good news,” she said, leaning against one of the urns. She sniffed the lavender and a faint smile crossed her lips. The urns had been a compromise. With the way Chelsea loved the scent of lavender, he originally wanted to cover the hill with the plant.

  “I’m going to spend the summer in Portland,” Thor said. “Felix is already planning a party. You know, once his mom finds out, she’ll invite enough people to fill the club.” He met Traci’s eyes. “You could bring your fiancé; I’d love to meet him.”

  Traci looked surprised. “How did… who?... You do have people watching me! How long?”

  He stared her in the eye. The woman had been a second mother to him for as long as he could remember – longer than that, actually – and she treated him as if he were her son; doling out her disapproval as she felt the need dictated. “The past ten years.”

  Traci stared, incredulous. “You’re so much like your father,” she sighed.

  Thor took pride in that statement, though it was most likely not meant to be a compliment.

  They sat for some time, catching up on each other’s lives. Before long, they were sharing funny stories involving Chelsea. Smiles became soft chuckles that turned into raucous laughter, enough to bring tears to both their eyes. Sometimes, during the pain, it was difficult to remember how funny Chelsea could be, or how devious she was when it came to tormenting him.

  Hearing the truth about how Chelsea really broke her ankle when they were fifteen was particularly intriguing. The official report had been she had tripped over a skateboard, left lying carelessly around by Thor. It was plausible; he sometimes acted like a child with severe ADHD, dropping things without a second thought to do something else; a fact he could never deny. So, guilt kept him doing every little thing Chelsea wanted for months, while she milked it for all it was worth!

  Now he learned it was a lie. Chelsea fractured her ankle while learning to walk in high-heels for the first time. What made matters worse, Julia and Bryndis were in on it, too. They were probably right to keep it from me. There’s no way in Hel I would let Chelsea live that one down.

  During a lull in the conversation, Thor noticed Traci staring at him. “What is it?” he asked, fearing her next words. She was the only person never to ask him what happened to the five losers that killed Chelsea. I would tell her the truth, she deserves that much. Though I doubt she’d believe me.

  “I’ve never understood this,” Traci gestured toward the mausoleum. “I’ve known you from the day you were born. Hell, you went from your mother’s womb to my hands.”

  “True,” Thor said.

  She smiled at Thor, shaking her head. “You’ve always been a boy of ridiculously-grand gestures, especially when it came to Chelsea. I still remember all of us flying to Milan to get a prom dress deigned for her. I just never expected you to do this for Chelsea… that’s all.”

  Thor cleared his throat. “It’s not for Chelsea, it’s for you. So you can come and sit near your daughter.” He met Traci’s eyes. “After you pass, the back wall will come down. The burial ship will be loaded onto one of my cargo ships, repaired if necessary, and taken to a secret location. She will be set adrift, and burned as the sun sets. Hopefully, I’ll still be alive to send her off.”

  Traci held a trembling hand to her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks. “That is unmistakably you,” she said, voice quivering. “I have one request.”

  “Anything, just name it.”

  “I would like to be at her side.”

  Thor took a sip of mead. “That’s already been arranged.”

  She cupped his cheek in her hand. “I was wrong… You are exactly like your father.”

  This time, it was definitely a compliment.

  Chapter 11

  Special Agent Martin LeMay took a sip from the paper coffee cup as he drove the long, winding road to the cemetery. He hated the little plastic lids with the hole in it, they detracted from the taste of an exceptional brew; but hitting a pothole and spilling hot coffee all over your suit tended to be a mood altering experience. His mood was bad enough as it was, without something ignorant to help it along.

  He had managed to get around four hours sleep, but that was just enough to take the edge off the feeling of total exhaustion. Coffee helped, but there was a fine line between being alert and as jittery as a crack-head, and he was becoming dangerously close to crossing it.

  Tilde Heitman seemed fine, radiant even, as she sipped her coffee and stared out into the darkness. Why shouldn’t she? She probably slipped into a coma after picking-up a guy built like a lumberjack in the hotel lounge, taking him up to her room, for what sounded like the fight of the century. They made so much noise, some of the guests swore they were remodeling. The hotel manager was
at her door around 1:00 A.M. with a complaint from the guest in the room below hers that ended the wrestling match. Well, at least, quieted it… somewhat.

  What the woman did, and with whom, was her business. LeMay just didn’t appreciate all the noise while he was trying to get some goddamned sleep, that’s all.

  The female Interpol Agent hadn’t said much to him since emerging from her room an hour ago. That was alright. The way she had screamed “Oh, God” in Danish half the night, her throat was probably sore.

  LeMay pulled-up next to a black, stretched Hummer parked near the gate, and turned off the engine. One of Felix Kahalawal’s gigantic head thumpers eased out of the Hummer’s passenger seat, another rounded the front to join him. LeMay and the foreign Agent flashed their credentials. The goons seemed unimpressed.

  “At six o’clock, I’m taking Odinsson in for questioning,” LeMay said. “Now, I know you fine, upstanding gentlemen wouldn’t want to be charged with hindering a federal and international investigation. Would you?”

  One of the men checked his watch, then leaned against the front of the Hummer. The other folded massive arms across his barrel chest. LeMay startled. They were going to stand their ground for the next half-hour. That was… admirable, if completely stupid.

  LeMay rolled up the window, shaking his head.

  Tilde’s eyes widened. “Do you think they’d really try to stop us?”

  “Those two work for Felix Kahalawal, the closest thing Odinsson has to a brother. One word from Kahalawal, and we’ll both be in the trunk till the local agents arrive.” LeMay cracked a smile at the thought of sharing a cramped space with Heitman – if she’d taken a shower, that is. “Bryndis Angantýrsdóttir is the one you have to worry about; she’d have us in deep graves before noon.”

  LeMay took a sip of coffee, then pulled off the plastic lid. They weren’t going anywhere for a while, no sense ruining the rest of his coffee with a bitter plastic aftertaste.