Showdown at the OK Corral...Part 3

Dressed in Ravyn’s best attempt at a 2 hour Medieval-chic makeover, I felt like quite the Genghis Khan as I strode through the mid-September crowds near the entrance to the festival. as I stomped through the crowds glowering through my dark mask, I glimpsed flashes of Ravyn practically dancing among the throngs, sharing quick laughs and saucy smiles with the various male gawkers who enjoyed her low cut top and short, flouncy skirts.

She had chosen that outfit from among dozens of costumes she had at the community house precisely because it created such a contrast with the one she had chosen for me. When I commented that the outfit looked a little on the distracting side for the kind of meeting we were headed to, she flashed that devilish grin of her and retorted, “That’s why it’s such a good choice. Drake may not be so easily distracted, but the kind of men he employs are. If they are looking at my ‘assets’, they won’t consider me the threat that they ought to.”

“Well, I certainly won’t complain!”

She harrumphed a bit as she stepped behind the screen to change. I had shuffled off to make my own less spectacular transformation.

It was relatively easy for me to push my way through all of the people. One look at my menacing appearance first gave onlookers a pause, then caused them to stumble back a step as they took in the entire picture. I was taller than normal, between the tall, shiny black leather boots with a slight heel to them and black metal and leather helmet that came to a slight point. My long black cloak billowed out behind me in the breeze as I stalked through the grounds looking for any sign of Drake or his men. Over each shoulder, the hilts of Diego and Herlinda poked out from under the cloak, the leather straps that served as ‘peace bonds’ more for show than actually restraining me from drawing either blade. The studded leather breast plate and greaves added even more to my already formidable bulk. I clanked and creaked as I moved. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about getting overheated or about sweating inside this get-up, and I was very glad to not have to smell the sweat of all of the previous wearers mixing with my own odors...there are advantages to being dead after all! The only way I knew it smelled was by watching Ravyns nose crinkle as she had set it out for me. All in all, I went from being a rough looking character to being a pure medieval badass.

Ravyn, on the other hand, had transformed from her normally modest and reserved looking self to a stunning vision in peasant wench-chic. From her gauzy white top that slipped off of shoulders, always seeming on the edge of revealing too much, to her short, layered skirts that came to just above her knees, her appearance just screamed ‘bawdy tavern-wench’.

So while we each drew attention as we walked about the festival leading up to our scheduled meeting with Drake, that attention actually worked to our advantage. Those men who didn’t back down from my menacing presence and challenging appraisal marked themselves as potential tough guys for further observation, while those men who didn’t trade flirty smiles with Ravyn were either also potential targets, or were just in view of jealous wives.

As we circled throughout the grounds of the Faire though, my mind was only half on the people around me. The rest of my consciousness was absorbed in playing out the phone conversation I had had with Drake to set this meeting up and how much things could go badly wrong with this whole encounter.

The conversation itself had been fairly short, but as always with Drake, had taken place on multiple levels, leaving so much open to speculation and interpretation:

The phone had only rung once before he answered, “Bernstein, you’d better have a good explanation for disappearing. You know you won’t be able to hide from me forever.” His voice was cold and hard, but with a slight edge of something else to it...desperation?

“Drake, Daniel’s a little busy at the moment, I thought I would speak to you on his behalf.”

There was just the smallest of pauses before he spoke again, with an almost imperceptible hitch to it. “Rusty, how nice of Bernstein to give you this number. What have you done to him?”

“I didn’t call you to talk about one of your former flunkies, Drake. We’ve got some things to discuss, face to face.”

I could almost sense his cold, evil smile through the phone. “You want to see me again. Ah, yes, I should like that very much. Shall we catch up on old times together? How’s your new daughter doing, by the way?”

“She’s one of the things we need to discuss, you bastard. But this time, I’m not the only one with family members to discuss.”

A longer pause this time. That smile was gone by the time he spoke again. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“Let’s just say that Daniel was playing some dangerous games of his own, one that I have ended prematurely. Those items he had been trying to blackmail you with are now solidly in my possession. I also rescued a relative of yours from a particularly nasty fate.”

“What have you done with those items?”

“I thought you would be more concerned about those than you would be about Zenni. She’ll be so very disappointed to hear that.”

His words were coming quickly now. “Bones, you have no idea what kind of danger you are putting those you love in by holding onto those containers. Are the seals still intact?!?!”

I couldn’t help but to pause a little in hearing his voice this strained. “Drake, somehow I don’t think you are all that concerned about my loved ones. I have the cannisters, they are still sealed-for the moment. We need to come to some form of...agreement...before I decide what to do with these things. So, we need to meet, face to face.”

“Will you be bringing the containers?”

“Sorry, but I’m no longer that naive. They are well guarded in a place I know you can’t reach, so if you ever want to see them again, you better be on your best damn behavior. Meet me this Sunday, at 3 PM at the Michigan Renaissance Festival near the jousting field. Just you and me, so keep your goons in check. Got it?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Oh, don’t even think of bringing El Diablito with you this time. The next time I see that little cripple, I’ll finish the job that was started in New Orleans.”

The phone went dead...