LEGACY Book 1: Forgotten Son Read online

  As Liz was laid down, she stopped snoring and unconsciously flashed her professional smile.

  Oh brother, Kylie thought. She’s even campaigning in her sleep.

  Sunny Joe brought in an old pail and dumped water over her head.

  “Oh, my God!” Liz sputtered, instantly awake. Her wool costume was now a sticky, clingy mess. “Why did you do that?”

  “This is the Sinanju cleansing ceremony,” Sunny Joe said. “It rids a person of evil spirits and stupidity. Most of the time.”

  Noting the ever-present cameras, Liz forced a smile back on her face, but was clearly gritting her teeth.

  “I gladly receive your cleansing as a part of acceptance into the Sinjonanan tribe and I thank…”

  “This does not make you a member of the Sinanju tribe,” Sunny Joe interrupted, standing over her with a look of disappointment. “You have failed the first test of a Sinanju warrior.”

  “There are…more?” Liz asked, wide eyed.

  “There are forty tests to become a Sinanju warrior.”

  “Forty? How many to make me a Sanjo princess?”

  Sunny Joe’s caretaker Dale slowly marched into the room, holding a butterfly net in front of him like a flag. Sunny Joe raised an eyebrow. Dale just shrugged his shoulders and grinned. When Sunny Joe had asked him to bring something in, he had told Dale to be creative.

  Dale ceremoniously held the butterfly net out in his hands and bowed. Sunny Joe moved his hands over the net, blessing it.

  “Sheesa notta too-uh smarta Dale!” Sunny Joe intoned over the net in his fake Indian voice. “Stoooooo Pidwuh muuuun! Stoooo Pidwuh mun!”

  Dale grunted to stop from laughing.

  “What’s that?” Liz asked as Sunny Joe handed the net to her.

  “It is a…Sinanju spirit net,” Sunny Joe said after a moment of thought. “Only a true member of our tribe can harness its power. You will have fifteen minutes to try and capture a Sinanju spirit.”

  “But how do I…”

  “Fourteen minutes and fifty-five seconds,” Sunny Joe said, looking at his watch.

  Liz grabbed the butterfly net and raced out the door. The cameras scrambled after her, leaving Sunny Joe and Dale alone.

  “Five bucks says she comes back and claims to have caught one,” Sunny Joe said.

  Dale put ten dollars on the counter.

  “You’re on,” Dale said, shaking his head. “Ain’t nobody that dumb.”

  Liz walked back into the heat, keeping to the shaded walkways. While that took her out of the direct sunlight, it also took her out of the slight breeze that had kept her cool. She sipped air while trying to figure out what to do, trying to face away from the cameras.

  She didn’t want them to see the anger on her face.

  What kind of idiot did they think she was? Everyone knew you had to have one of those dream catcher things to catch a spirit. She would trick them at their own game.

  Liz stopped walking and began looking around. The cameras zoomed in on the suddenly serious look on her face.

  “It’s her, my ancestor!” she squealed, pointing to an empty spot in the air.

  The cameras began focusing on the area she was pointing toward, but saw nothing.

  “She’s come back to tell me something!” Liz shouted. “What is it, oh great-grandmother? I’m what? It can’t be!”

  “What did it say?” one of the cameramen asked.

  “She says that I am full blooded Suntonjonian!”

  Liz made a slow, swooping motion with the net and, spirit of her great-grandmother in tow, triumphantly returned to the storefront. As she approached the door, it opened suddenly, banging her in the head.

  “Oops,” Sunny Joe said, pulling the door back as Liz collapsed to the wooden plank sidewalk. “Did she catch one?”

  Liz awoke ten minutes later, her butterfly net nowhere to be seen. The camera crew was packing up and Sunny Joe and Dale stood grinning by the counter.

  “What happened? What’s going on?” she asked, panicked at seeing the camera crew leaving. “What’s the next test?”

  “I don’t think you would survive another,” Sunny Joe said, shaking his head.

  “Bull! You’re just afraid that a woman can be a better Suntan Indian than you. Get those cameras back here! I’m not finished yet!”

  The cameraman looked sheepishly at his producer, who reluctantly nodded. If nothing else, they would record the candidate’s meltdown for later play.

  “Okay, Sunjo, I’ve played your game,” she said, winking. “Now it’s time that I am recognized as full Sunjanian.”

  Sunny Joe’s top lip curled in disgust.

  “I will not declare you a member of the Sinanju, but you show great spirit. I will honor you with a Sinanju name.”

  Liz waited until the cameras were rolling to take her place in front of Sunny Joe.

  “That’s better. Now get to it. I don’t have all day.”

  “Slow-witted one, not of our tribe, you have failed every test given to you, but you show great spirit. Though I do not make you a member of the Sinanju tribe, I will grant you a name. Everywhere you go, members of the Sinanju tribe shall recognize you as such.”

  Liz smiled. Finally! Now she could get back to her opponent’s high school cheating scandal.

  Sunny Joe looked at Dale and held out his hands for something. Not knowing what to give him, Dale opened the refrigerator behind the counter and handed Sunny Joe an old fish.

  Sunny Joe slapped it over both of Liz’s shoulders until her woolen smock smelled of dead fish.

  “Hear ye, hear ye! Citizens of the world, now and forever more, this woman shall be known as …”

  Here it comes! Liz thought. The end of my long nightmare. Freedom from this fake scandal. The Senate Seat that once belonged to the Lion of the Senate handed to me on a silver platter!

  “…‘Crazy As a One-Eyed Mule’.”

  Sunny Joe turned to leave and Liz came unglued. Her anger ignited to the point that she forgot the cameras were on.

  She tried to attack Sunny Joe from behind, but ended up sprawled on the floor, her damp brown skirt above her head.

  “Well,” Sunny Joe said as he exited the room. “Maybe not as smart as one, though.”

  Liz stood, suddenly remembering the cameras. She ignored Sunny Joe and smiled her professional smile before turning around.

  “You heard him!” she yelled. “He named me. I’m in.”

  Chapter Twenty

  In Mexico City, Stone exited the terminal first. He knew without looking that Freya was behind him. It wasn’t from a sound she made; she was always too quiet. It wasn’t from a scent; she was pheromonally invisible.

  It was because her name was Freya and she was told to follow him.

  “Why won’t you talk?” Freya asked. “We’re on a mission. Shouldn’t you be telling me how we’re going to do this?”

  Stone stopped and turned around.

  “See, that’s the problem. You have all of this training and no experience. I shouldn’t have to tell you how we’re going to do something. You should just know what to do.”

  “Here’s what I’m going to do,” Freya said, leaning toward Stone. “I’m going to slap you silly if you don’t stop talking down to me. You said you’re a professional, so you ought to start acting like one. Keep the personal attacks for when we’re not on a job.”

  Stone grunted. She was right. Besides, she was already here and there was nothing he could do about it.

  “Deal,” Stone said. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  Stone spent eight minutes quietly detailing the plan to Freya, who asked surprisingly informed questions.

  “Stone, I can do this,” Freya said, pulling the large sunglasses down to cover her eyes.

  “I sure hope so,” Stone said, following behind at a safe distance.

  Juan “Beef” Torres sat outside the Mexico City airport, staring at the main entrance. He took a quick glance at the photos of the two people
he was looking for: a guy and some chick. Beef took an extra-long look at the girl. She was pretty young, with the emphasis on pretty. Hiding the pictures under his seat, he pulled up in front of the taxi gate and waited.

  It didn’t take long for the girl to appear. Beef stepped out of the taxi and looked around for the guy, but he was nowhere to be found. The other cab drivers got out of his way as he approached the girl.

  Good thing for her that the boss told him not to touch her.

  Freya walked out the door and instantly felt the eyes crawling all over her body. One set of eyes though, were looking at her for a different reason. A large man with meaty paws lumbered out of his cab, walking her way. He was six feet tall, about eye level to Freya, but at least four times as heavy and ten times as hairy. His low cap and sunglasses made him look like a seventies cartoon character. He even had a toothpick in his mouth.

  Freya walked directly to him, smiling.

  “I surrender. Take me to your leader,” she said.

  Beef stared at her and then looked around. Was this a joke?

  He was supposed to intimidate her into the taxi, not the other way around.

  “What?” he asked, momentarily confused.

  “You’re here to take me somewhere,” Freya repeated, smiling. “I’m ready. My bags are over there.”

  Beef didn’t know why, but he picked up her bags and carried them to the cab. The other cabbies, even the ones who feared him, were smiling.

  “¡Cállate!” he yelled and the other cabbies gathered together to talk about the situation. He would take care of them later.

  Beef loaded both small suitcases into the trunk and sat in the driver’s seat. He looked in the back seat.

  Freya was already sitting there.

  Stone rushed out the door, only to see Freya grinning at him as she drove off in the taxi. She should have delayed the cab driver so Stone could get in another cab. And while a dozen cabbies stood near the airport entrance, they were too busy laughing about something. Frustrated and unable to speak much Spanish, Stone grabbed a deep breath.

  Sinanju training or not, he hated running.

  The oxygen flooded power to his thighs and he followed the cab. In traffic, the taxi wasn’t going more than twenty miles per hour, and though that wasn’t his top speed, Stone wouldn’t be able to maintain running like this for long. Air slowly seeping out through his lips as he ran, he leapt across a busy intersection, ignoring the stares and pointing fingers. Mexico City was just too crowded. Keeping one eye on Freya’s cab, Stone looked around. There had to be another ride.

  “Sis, when I catch up…” he whispered, careful to keep his breath tightly inside.

  Stone leapt silently inside the back of a passing truck bed and, sensing the driver’s curiosity at the small bump that had shaken the bed of his truck, leaned closer to the front, out of sight.

  Stone waited until he could no longer sense the driver’s attention and then released his breath. Spots appeared around the edge of his eyes. He had been at peak too many times in the past week. Sunny Joe told him that his body was still processing poisons that had built up in the first decades of his life. Once the time of the purification came and his body acclimated to its Sinanju bearings, he would be like Freya.

  But with his smoking, that was still years away.

  Until then, he had to manage peak cycles and when he stayed at peak too long, his body began to decay. Sinanju was too powerful for an impure body to process. Once, his fingers and toes had turned black as if they were frostbitten. Sunny Joe saved them from being amputated by applying a poultice that smelled like goat cheese and waffles. Stone had to repeat novice breathing lessons for the next week to make sure his body was once again balanced.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tomás’ fingers flew across the keyboard. Over the past few months, he had wormed his way into his uncle’s life and slowly began to loot each of his uncle’s bank accounts under the pretense of improving the security at the fortress. From there it was a simple matter to begin bleeding off small percentages to start hiring new guards. It only took two weeks to replace the entire staff, except the butler. He couldn’t risk firing the man his uncle saw on a daily basis. Tomás was surprised that it only took five thousand dollars to pay off the butler. He had been with Manny for two decades, but from the way the butler shooed him out of the house, it was obvious he had not been a happy employee.

  Manny never saw it coming.

  After Manny left, Tomás took his money back and spent two hundred dollars to bury the butler behind the water fountain he loved to sit at during break.

  Tomás accessed each bank account, leaving a single dollar as he transferred the funds to a single new offshore account. He had almost forgotten how many separate accounts his uncle had. Anytime he received a large sum of money, he opened a new account. Tomás found over a dozen accounts that his uncle had forgotten about. He had always lived the life of luxury, flaunting his cars and girls, leaving small trinkets as the only support to his large family. Tomás resisted the urge to have one of his men — and they were now his men — hunt Manny down and shoot him.

  Tomás had bigger plans for his uncle.

  He began typing on a search page when his screen darkened, only to be replaced with the face of Helmut.

  “Good afternoon, Tomás. I see that your poor uncle failed to heed my warning.”

  “I was wondering when you were gonna show your face,” Tomás said, leaning back in his chair, propping his feet in the direct line of the webcam.

  “It doesn’t matter to me who is on the other side of the camera, Tomás. Only that my instructions are followed without question.”

  “Hey man, you’re not going to push me around like you did my uncle! I’m not weak like he is.”

  “Correct,” Helmut replied. “Your ignorance of history and your arrogance make you a much weaker man.”

  “Eurotrash. You all think you’re better than us! You come down here, flash some money and your fancy technology and expect us to hop. Well, I ain’t nobody’s hopper.”

  “This is purely a business relationship, Tomás. If we are to do business together, you will need to set aside your personal…”

  “My uncle’s first mistake was allowing a man to talk to him like that. You’re done here, puto!” Tomás interrupted, powering off his monitor.

  Instantly, the music on his stereo stopped. The steel doors to the office slammed shut. The window bars slid into place and the lights turned off.

  His monitor turned back on and the face of the smiling European returned.

  “Your uncle was a wise man, Tomás,” Helmut said, taking a moment to puff on his cigar. “But like you, he had to learn a lesson about true power. You would do well to learn from his example. Manuel knew his place in this world. In his own world, I made him a king. In the real world, he was just a lieutenant but he was at least still a lieutenant. Tomás, you are not a lieutenant and probably never will be; you are a barbarian, but you will do what I say or you will be replaced.”

  Tomás was about to unleash a string of curse words harsh enough to sting his ancestors when he heard the gas. Sealed inside the room, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not lethal,” Helmut replied. “But you will soon wish it was.”

  Tomás allowed an angry glare at the monitor while he held his breath. If it was not lethal, he was going to show this puto just who he was dealing with.

  Then the first wisps of gas brushed across his face.

  It crawled across the cellular membrane of his skin with the sensitivity of battery acid. Tomás’ expression instantly betrayed his fear. As the gas became stronger, he instinctively covered his eyes, but the gas made him nauseous and as he opened his mouth to regurgitate chef’s sliced beef tips, the gas invaded his throat.

  Scalding nerves all the way down, Tomás could barely hear himself surrender before passing out on the floor.

  Helmut hit a switch and the gas
nozzles shut off. The vapors receded. On the screen, he left a list of what Tomás was expected to do when he recovered and appended a note: “Never be rude to me again, you ignorant peon.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kylie tried to straighten the rounded collars of Liz’s Indian costume. The wool had gotten wet during the trip back to New England and was a wrinkled mess. It had taken nearly an hour for Kylie to dress Liz in a way that honored both her Indian and Jamaican heritage. Kylie carefully took over twenty minutes to apply the war paint to Liz’s face.

  “There, finished,” Kylie said, smiling.

  Liz sat straight up and looked around as if she had just woken up.

  “Do I look like I’m on the warpath?” she asked.

  Kylie looked at her and smiled even more broadly. “You look absolutely savage!”

  Liz stood and looked at herself in the full-length mirror —

  — and then giggled like a schoolgirl.

  “Here, let me take that. You finished that two hours ago,” Kylie said, removing the peace pipe from Liz’s hands. Liz poked out her bottom lip as Kylie stashed it behind the dressing room door.

  “It’s time to go,” Kylie said. “The debate starts in a few minutes, but you need to get onstage.”

  Liz looked at the clock. She couldn’t read it. The numbers were blocking the face.

  She laughed as she saw the number ten.

  Who ever heard of ten o’clock?

  She had originally declined the peace pipe, telling Kylie that smoking would hurt the ozone. But Kylie said it would put her in touch with her true animal self.

  Liz reached for her head. She shouldn’t have smoked that much. Liz tried to hold in her breath to slow down her carbon monoxide assault on the ozone, but that only made her laugh all the harder.

  Her stomach growled.

  “I hope they have snacks afterwards,” Liz grumbled.

  Kylie looked around. The hotel staff had provided wine, cheese and small sandwiches, but Liz had drunk the entire bottle of Grand Cru and used the platter of cheese to finger-paint a peace sign on the wall. She hoped that Liz wasn’t too drunk and high to reach the stage.