Catching the carved ebony quickly, Damali felt a renewed wave of adrenaline course through her. She needed her long blade, Madame Isis, but this would have to do. Marlene had promised she could have it when she turned twenty-one, but she didn't see why Marlene had put up such a fuss about her taking it a few days early. Marlene was getting on her nerves.
Damali walked over to the drums and put three titanium anchors in her waistband, and a razor-sharp chime in both back pockets of her leather pants. "No time to change outta stage gear, huh?"
"You know the drill," Marlene said in a firm voice. "Shabazz, you're lead point. You're out front to feel the vibe as we move. I'm right behind you, next to Damali - to keep an eye on any sudden movement."
Again, she and Marlene shared a stare. This one felt like a standoff. What the hell was Marlene doing giving her and her crew the move-out logistics?
"I decide when we roll." Damali glanced around the room at her team and allowed her line of vision to settle on Marlene. "Everybody clear?"
Marlene only nodded and spoke in a tense, quiet voice. "If you're up to it, fine."
"Yeah. I'm up to it, so long as you're clear."
"Very."
"All right. Normal formation, then. Everybody ready?"
Shabazz opened his one-button, black leather suit jacket and smoothed his washboard abs beneath the turquoise silk shirt, flashing a ceramic Clock nine stashed in his waistband, and then toyed with the small gold star and crescent dangling about his neck. His jaw was set hard. "I'm always ready."
Marlene cut a vicious glance at Shabazz. They all knew what that look was for. They had all agreed - no incidents that could further raise suspicion with authorities. It was hard enough trying to get out of Dodge after an attack without getting hung up in a search, or have it come out in the media that one of them was carrying a concealed weapon.
Damali smiled. She knew that both Shabazz and Rider were carrying. Neither had ever been comfortable with the crossbows. Well, a man had to do what a man had to do. She could appreciate that. Next time she'd smuggle her sword along, too, just like Shabazz had claimed his nine.
"Ceramic," Shabazz explained. "Breaks down and rode stowaway in Big Mike's FX case along with what appears to be stage smoke bombs, et cetera. Felt I needed Sleeping Beauty this time. As long as everything stays beautiful, she'll stay sleeping. Anyway, they can't detect the ceramic pieces in the airport X-ray equipment - it's all good. Special-effects gear was a solid cover... Chill,"
Rider and Shabazz exchanged a fist pound, while Mike chuckled low in his throat. Jose and J.L. gave a nod of agreement. Mutiny against Marlene's rules was in full effect.
"We'll take this up back at the compound," Marlene muttered. "Anybody else got any contraband that can get us nailed by the police - if we make it to daylight?"
If?Aw, shit... Marlene didn't do "if." Homegirl was always sure - positive. If was not a good thing.
Everyone shook their heads and Marlene let out a long breath, closed her eyes, and then shook her head, too. "We move out." As soon as the words escaped her lips, she opened her eyes and briefly glanced at Damali. "On Damali's order."
All of them were silent as they waited for Damali to give the word. However, a sense of dread coiled in the pit of her stomach as she witnessed the oldest members of the Warriors of Light Productions team take a familiar stance. It was on her to lead the potential battle, but it was also on her to make sure she didn't lose any of her people. Tension threaded through the room with a palpable static charge as the group watched her for the move-out signal.
The traces of gray in Shabazz's dark locks, and at the temples of Rider's brownish-blond spike cut, made her wonder how long these warriors could keep up their protective vigil. Marlene was a fifty-year-old enigma, driven by something Damali realized she'd probably never fully understand. Sure, Jose and J.L. only had her by ten years, and were a decade or more younger than the core team members, but how long would it be before they either got nicked, or wanted a real life and defected from the group - just like the other guardians who'd tried to give this up, and then wound up worse than dead? She loved these crazy people. They were family, like brothers and a mom. Fuckin' A. Not one of them was expendable.
She looked at Jose's handsome amber-hued face, and J.L.'s lithe, Jackie Chan-type athletically honed body. Damali shook her head as she wondered how men as fine as Shabazz and Big Mike had never found permanent solace in someone's arms. This was no way to live. The money, the fame; none of it could be totally, freely, normally enjoyed. Sooner or later, they, too, might be lost, one way or the other. It was on her as the Neteru to see that that didn't happen. But what could she do, really, to indefinitely protect them all as they guarded her? Damned catch-22, as Rider always said.
As though sensing her unspoken question, Rider swaggered over to a chair and turned it around, propping his cowboy boot in the center of it, and then leaned on his knee as he spoke. "We're ready to rock when you are. Everybody here is grown. We know the deal. Fresh-packed the rhino bullets this morning with hallowed earth," he announced with a wide grin. "Put crosses on the blunt end to leave a brand on whatever's left."
"Got something for 'em in the rear," Mike said in a blase manner, unfurling his six-foot-seven-inch frame from the task of packing small vials in his vest on the coffee table. The slow, easy action belied the power and speed that he could unleash from his huge, muscular structure. "Got enough of these holy-water grenades to make it look like a C-4 hit 'em. Picked up a lot of activity on my soundboards during the show, thanks to the computer rig J.L. hooked up. Comes in blips like radar. Cold body readings. It's more than one of 'em tonight. Problem is, though ... can't tell you how many - just many."
"Me and Jose are ready," J.L. announced, receiving a nod of confirmation from Jose.
"All right, Mike. Then, no sense in having Wizard and J.L. put those stage lamp kits away, completely." Damali let her breath out hard. "Leave the instruments, though. We've gotta travel light, and we can't carry it all while armed. The club will send in a couple of bouncers or security guys to load up the limo and equipment van in the front. But we do need two bows, and ultraviolet Fresnel lamps out back. Keep the UV lamps near. So, gentlemen, you're on flank, with crossbows ready. One of you wear the battery-vest to light it up on cue."
"That's why I didn't fully pack everything away," Jose replied, locking together the last bolts to transform the stands from their lighting gear into weapons. Tossing a converted bow to J.L., Wizard caught a return volley of wooden ammunition and began loading it.
"You're pretty nice on the lights, man," Joe Leung said with a sly grin. "Like the new design."
"Let's wrap this discussion up," Marlene said. "Like Damali told you guys. Shabazz walks point with Rider at his back; both sharpshooters go first. J.L. and I flank Damali with a crossbow and my stake, and then Big Mike and Jose are bringing up the rear - with our lights, crossbows, and explosives. Look alive, stay alive. There's only seven of us left."
"Yeah, and we strut out there in a giant human cross formation, like that'll help."
"Save it, Rider," Marlene warned. "Not now. Nobody's in the mood for the sarcastic commentary."
"Truth," Mike agreed, making Rider scowl.