Mid-Flinx (2 page)

Flinx couldn’t hear a word they were saying. He didn’t have to; not while he could effortlessly monitor the ebb and flow of their respective emotional states. The greatest intensity emanated from the slim young man and the chef, the two heavies projecting nothing more vivid than mild amusement leavened with boredom.

One leaned back against the wall and crossed his lower left leg over his right, while his counterpart took in the view and occasionally cast an intimidating glare at any diners bold and foolish enough to glance in the direction of the altercation.

As the conversation reached audible levels, the degree of emotional distress intensified correspondingly. The woman was shouting now. She sounded defiant, but alone in the room only Flinx could sense her underlying terror. A mother shook a child too young and innocent to remain indifferent. Near the back, two couples rose and left quickly without finishing their meals.

The chef turned back toward the kitchen, only to have the heavy who’d been leaning against the wall step sideways to block her retreat. Flinx saw him grin. His employer grabbed the woman by her left arm, none too gently, and spun her around. The surge of fear that rushed through her started a throbbing at the back of Flinx’s head.

That was typical of his unpredictable, erratic talent. A whole room full of uneasy people hadn’t caused him so much as a twinge, but one woman’s distress sparked the inevitable headache.

It was evident that the young man wasn’t going to let her return to the kitchen until he’d achieved whatever sort of satisfaction he’d come for. Even without the two heavies, it was an unequal confrontation.

Flinx had passed by or otherwise ignored a thousand such encounters. Calmly he worked on the last of his meal. For all he cared or could do about it, the confrontation taking place behind him could escalate to actual violence. Either way, it was none of his business. Nothing that happened in this city, along this river, or on this rustic world of Samstead, was any of his business. Circumstances beyond his control, indeed, beyond his birth, had estranged him from the rest of humankind. It was a separation that for his safety and peace of mind he was forced to acknowledge. All he wanted was to finish his food, pay, and leave quietly.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t upset by the situation. Having been looked down on for much of his life, he hated to see anyone bullied. But interfering would draw attention to him, something he was at constant pains to avoid.

An older man emerged from the kitchen, painfully intent on resolving the confrontation. If anything, Flinx decided, the level of tension and unease he was generating exceeded that of the young woman. The heavy who’d been enjoying the view promptly put a palm on the senior’s chest and shoved him back toward the kitchen doorway. The woman tried to intercede but the man holding her arm refused to relinquish his grip.

The heavy finished pushing the oldster back into the kitchen and turned, blocking the doorway with his bulk. Flinx wondered at the old man’s interest. Was he merely an associate, or perhaps a relative? An uncle, or even her father? Again, it was none of his business.

Noting her master’s steadfast emotional keel, a relaxed Pip fluttered back down to the table and resumed picking among the crumbs there. Flinx watched her fondly. Digging through the remnants of his lunch, he slipped half a nut onto his spoon and flipped it into the air. With a lightning thrust of neck and flash of wings, Pip darted up and snatched it before it could hit the table, swallowing the morsel whole.

“Just a minute.”

The voice came from behind him, completely under control yet hinting it was always on the verge of violent exclamation. It suggested tension without edginess. Unintentionally, Flinx had attracted the attention of the principal protagonist in the unpleasant domestic drama being played out near the entrance to the kitchen.

“Are you going to let me go now?” The woman’s voice was insistent and frightened all at once. Her emotional temperature was fully reflective of her false bravado. Flinx had to admire her for it.

“Yes, Geneen.” It was the tight, soft voice of the man who’d been holding, and hurting, her arm. “Go back to your cooking. For now. We’ll continue this later.”

“But Jack-Jax . . .” the heavy blocking the doorway protested.

“I said let her go, Peeler.” Paradoxically, the quieter he became, the more intimidating the speaker managed to sound. “Don’t try to leave, Geneen.”

Flinx didn’t have to turn to know that the three had started toward his table. He sighed resignedly. At the first sign of trouble he should have risen quietly from his chair, paid his bill, and departed. Now it was too late.

Only the one called Jack-Jax evinced any real emotion. The two heavies were emotional blanks, waiting to be imprinted by the whims of their master. As they drew near, Peeler projected a modicum of disappointment, no doubt displeased at the interruption of what had been for him an amusing diversion. Flinx disliked him immediately.

Reflexive as automatons, the two big men took up positions on either side of the table. Peeler stopped behind Flinx while his counterpart eyed the recumbent minidrag curiously. Neither showed any fear. They were paid not to.

The one called Jack-Jax, whose presence had so thoroughly and effortlessly intimidated the entire dining establishment, sauntered around the table until he was blocking the view. His piercing jet-black eyes bordered on the remarkable. The emotions Flinx sensed behind them were uncontrolled, unformed, and immature. Outwardly he was the soul of calm, but internally the man seethed and boiled like a sealed pot on a high flame. Only Flinx knew how close to the proverbial edge his visitor was treading.

Unable to ignore that intense stare, he raised his own gaze to meet it. “Yes?” he ventured politely.

The response was as cordial as it was superficial. “That’s a very, very interesting pet you have there.”

“Thanks. So I’ve been told.”

“I’m Jack-Jax Landsdowne Coerlis.” A little emotional pop accompanied each name.

It was an innocuous enough salutation. “Lynx,” Flinx replied pleasantly. “Philip Lynx.” He didn’t offer a hand. Neither did Coerlis.

Lips didn’t so much smile as tighten. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Sure I do. You’re Jack-Jax Landsdowne Coerlis. You just told me so.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Impatience bubbled beneath the other’s impassive visage. “It doesn’t really matter.”

Knowing he should leave it alone and, as was too often the case, unable to do so, Flinx nodded tersely in the direction of the kitchen. “Girlfriend?”

“After a fashion.” The lips thinned like flatworms. “I have a lot of girlfriends. It’s a matter of timing.”

“You didn’t seem to be getting along too well.”

“A minor disagreement easily resolved. I’m good at resolving things.”

“Lucky you. I wish I could say the same.”

This semicomplimentary rejoinder caused Coerlis to mellow slightly. His attention shifted back to the snake shape relaxing on the table.

“Absolutely gorgeous. Really magnificent. It’s an Alaspinian miniature dragon, isn’t it? Warm-blooded, toxic reptiloid?”

Flinx displayed surprise, deliberately flattering the other. “You’re very knowledgeable. It’s not a well-known species and we’re a long ways from Alaspin.”

“Exotics are a hobby of mine, especially the resplendent ones. I have a private zoo.” Flinx looked appropriately impressed and was rewarded with something akin to a genuine smile of satisfaction. “I collect all kinds of beautiful things. Animals, sculptures, kinetics.” Coerlis jerked a thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “Women.”

“It must be nice to be able to indulge in such a diversity of interests.” Despite the cordial banter, Flinx was very much aware that Jack-Jax Coerlis was an emotional bomb waiting to go off. For one thing, beneath the underlying tension and anger a vast sorrow lingered, turgid and repressed, which bordered on despair.

Curious patrons kept sneaking looks in their direction, frantic to ignore the confrontation but unable to wholly rein in their curiosity.

“How much?” Coerlis said abruptly.

“How much what?”

“How much did she cost you?” He indicated the flying snake.

“Nothing.” Reaching out, Flinx gently rubbed Pip on the back of her head. The minidrag couldn’t purr. Beyond an occasional expressive hiss, she made hardly any noise at all. Instead her eyes closed contentedly and a small but powerful warmth emanated from within her pleasure center.

“I found her. Or rather, she found me.”

“Then that should make my offer all the more inviting. What do you say to fifty credits?” When no response was forthcoming, Coerlis added, as if the actual amount was a matter of supreme indifference to him, “How about a hundred? Two hundred?” He was smiling, but internally the first stirrings of irritation were beginning to surface.

Flinx withdrew his finger. “She’s not for sale. At any price.”

Coerlis’s emotions were as easy to read as if he’d presented them to Flinx in the form of a printed hardcopy. “Three hundred.”

A flicker of interest showed in Peeler’s eyes.

Flinx offered up his most ingratiating yet apologetic smile. “I told you: she’s not for sale. See, she’s been with me since I was a child. I couldn’t part with her. Besides, no one knows how long Alaspinian minidrags live. She could up and die on you next year, or next month. A poor investment.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Coerlis was unrelenting.

Flinx tried another tack. “You’re aware that Alaspinian minidrags spit a highly lethal poison?” This time both heavies reacted. Flinx sensed a jolt of real unease in the one standing behind his chair. To his credit, the man held his ground.

Coerlis didn’t flinch. “So I’ve heard. She doesn’t look very threatening. If she’s sufficiently domesticated to allow you to pet her like that, I think I could handle her. She’ll be in a safe cage, anyway.” He reached toward the table.

The flying snake instantly coiled and flared her wings, parting her jaws and hissing sharply. Coerlis froze, still smiling, while his companions reached for their jacket pockets.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Flinx spoke softly but firmly. “Alaspinian minidrags are telepathic on the empathic level. She’s sensitive to my feelings. If I’m happy, she’s happy. If I’m angry, she’s angry. If I feel threatened—If I feel threatened, she reacts accordingly.”

Impressed, Coerlis slowly withdrew his hand. Pip shuttered her wings but remained alert, watching the stranger. “Not only beautiful, but useful. Whereas I have to rely for that degree of protection on these two clumsy, ugly lumps of mindless protein.” Neither of the heavies reacted. “She can ride your arm beneath a jacket, or sleep inside a travel bag. I’m sure she’s capable of delivering a really nasty surprise.”

Flinx said nothing, willing to let Coerlis draw his own conclusions. He was growing tired of the game, and the confrontation was attracting entirely too much attention. By now it was reasonable to assume that someone in the kitchen, the old man if not the pretty chef, had taken the step of notifying the authorities. Flinx didn’t want to be around when they arrived. He glanced toward the service doorway.

Though he wasn’t telepathic on any level, Jack-Jax Coerlis had a feral understanding of human nature. “If you’re waiting for someone to call the police to come and mediate, I wouldn’t. You see, in Tuleon Province I pretty much go where I want and do as I please.” Keeping a thoughtful eye on Pip, he leaned forward slightly.

“Any decisions reached between you and I will be achieved without the intervention of any outside parties.” With a finger, he nudged the purple glass. “Anything else you’d like to know?”

“Yes. Who have you lost recently?”

The question took Coerlis completely by surprise. He straightened, gaze narrowing. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve lost someone close to you, someone very important. You’re still mourning them. The result is anxiety, fear, sorrow, and a mindless desire to strike out at those less powerful than yourself. It’s a way of reasserting control: not over others, but over yourself.”

Coerlis’s uncharacteristically unsettled tone reflected his sudden inner turmoil. “Who are you?
What
are you?”

“A perceptive visitor.”

“You some kind of traveling therapist?”

“No.” Flinx had very slowly edged his chair away from the table.

Attempting to reassert himself, Coerlis’s tight grin twisted into an unpleasant smirk. “You’ve been poking around, asking questions. I’ll bet my cousins hired you. Not that it matters. They can dig all they want. They’re still getting nothing.” He plunged on without waiting for his assumptions to be confirmed or denied. “So you know about my father. What of it? He’s been dead two years last month.”

“You still mourn him. His memory plagues you. He dominated you all your life and you suffer from consequent feelings of inferiority you’re unable to shake.”

Flinx’s evaluation of his antagonist’s emotional state of mind was part reading, part guesswork. Coerlis’s hesitation suggested that he had deduced correctly. Now the question was, how far could he push this paranoid without nudging him over the edge of rationality? It wouldn’t do to embarrass him in front of his flunkies, much less the other diners. A glance showed the young chef and her elder protector watching from the safety of the kitchen portal.

“I’ve run the House of Coerlis as well or better than the old man did ever since the accident! I don’t know what you’ve heard or who you’ve been snooping around with, but I’ve done a damn good job. The interim administrators all agree.”

Paranoid, neurotic, and pathologically defensive, Flinx decided. Traits that did not necessarily conflict with ability or intelligence. Coerlis had been forced to assume control of a large trading House hastily and at a young age. No wonder he bristled at any hint of defiance, any suggestion of a challenge to his authority. He was secure within his position, but not within himself. The shade of a domineering sire loomed over everything he did. It went a long ways toward explaining his anger and frustration, without in any way lessening the danger he posed to those around him.